The Titanic Plan

by Michael Bockman

  “What you need, Miss Greene, is a little confusing to me at the moment.”

  “Good!” Belle laughed. “Confusion is not a bad thing, Archie…as long as a man knows how to untangle it.”

  “I will take that into account,” Archie replied, looking completely disconcerted. “Now, perhaps we should return to the White House.”

  Sitting across from each other, William Howard Taft and J. Pierpont Morgan looked like two unwieldy mastodons, their flesh so profuse that even their massive chairs could hardly contain their outsized bodies. Their odd, animal appearance was accentuated by the long cigars each man had poking from his mouth. Both men had alert eyes with which they scrutinized each other, noting every blink and tic, trying to decipher the concealed truth behind their careful words.

  “Mr. President,” Morgan began. “I would like to thank you for allowing me to visit you this morning. As you know, I am an ardent supporter of you and your policies. Since you took office, it’s comforting to know that the country is in the able hands of a calm, judicious conservative.”

  “I appreciate your kind words and confidence, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Now I suppose you’re going to bring up the idea of a central federal bank again. And let me tell you straight off, I agree with you, it would be a prudent initiative to undertake. However, the political winds are not currently blowing in that direction.”

  “I understand that, Mr. President, and it is most unfortunate. However, that was not the primary reason for requesting this meeting.”

  “No?”

  “Not this time.” Morgan drew on his cigar and exhaled the stream of smoke. “Mr. President, I must be frank. There is stagnation in the business community. It is quite serious. In part, it has to do with the unions and radicals that are trying to tear down the profit initiative of our most productive industries. And, in part…” Morgan cleared his throat and bore his fierce eyes right at Taft, “it comes from the lack of clear direction from government.” Morgan leaned back and drew on his cigar again. He was directly criticizing the President’s administration and he wanted to judge Taft’s reaction. Taft didn’t give him much of one; he was a better poker player than Morgan believed. “Go on, Mr. Morgan,” Taft said, flicking the ash from his cigar.

  “Mr. President, as a representative of the business community, we need a signal from this administration that it is behind business.”

  “The Republican Party has always been the party of business, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Yes, it has. But recently the government has been giving contradictory messages. On one hand it says it encourages free capitalism, on the other hand it ties the capitalists’ hands with rules and regulations. It was only three years ago that the United States teetered on economic chaos. Without the diligent intervention of the business community, the entire financial system of our country would have collapsed. And yet, the business community has not been appreciated for the sacrifice and patriotism it exhibited.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little audacious to have appointed yourself spokesman for the entire American business community?” Taft said, trying to bring down Morgan a notch.

  “Considering my service to the business community and to this country, no, I do not think it is audacious. In fact, I think it is quite appropriate,” Morgan parried, showing Taft where the real power resided. “Perhaps we should get back to the subject at hand.”

  “All right then, Mr. Morgan,’ Taft said, trying to hold his ground. “How do you believe the business community would like to be appreciated?”

  “Unshackle us, sir. Let business do what it does best. Create jobs. Grow the economy. Do not hinder companies whose main goals are to expand the great wealth of the nation.”

  Taft began chuckling. “You want me to undo the anti-trust laws? You know that’s quite impossible.”

  “Yes, I know it’s impossible. I’m not asking that. What I do ask is to apply anti-trust when there is an egregious breach of the law. Otherwise, unleash business, unleash the power of the American capitalist and you and the country will benefit.”

  “I wish no personal gain in this, Mr. Morgan.”

  “May I be blunt, Mr. President, as that is my reputation. You need to be reelected. America needs you to be reelected. I want you reelected. But unless you exhibit real leadership and make our economy vibrant again, you will not be reelected. I want your legacy to be as a President of prosperity. You have the possibility of being greater than Theodore Roosevelt who, I dare say, history will judge as a reckless interloper who tried to stifle business.”

  Taft got up from his chair, chewing on Morgan’s words. He began circling his new office, his hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. “While your arguments sound convincing, Mr. Morgan, I suspect you have some self interest at heart. A new project, perhaps? Maybe one that walks the delicate line of legality?”

  “At the moment, no. There are several promising projects that have been brought to me that I believe would bring great economic boon to the country. And they would ultimately need the cooperation of the government.”

  “I cannot promise government support on a business venture that would be illegal,” Taft said emphatically.

  “I would never do anything to circumvent any laws of our land,” Morgan replied. “But you are a former judge and you know the law is as much about interpretation as it is application.”

  “Astute observation, sir. So I ask again: what is it you want from me?”

  Morgan measured his words carefully. “I want assurance that any business venture I undertake would not be unnecessarily persecuted by some showboating government attorney who wishes to make a name for himself.”

  “It is not the job of the Executive branch to interfere with the judicial wing of the government. You know that, Mr. Morgan.”

  “I would never request interference, Mr. President, but I also know that the Executive Branch, through the Justice Department, holds sway over the bringing of federal lawsuits.”

  “What I can assure you, Mr. Morgan, is that within my administration the rule of law will be applied fairly. I can also assure you that as long as there is a Republican majority in the government, frivolous federal lawsuits that might hamper business will not come to pass. But that’s all I can promise you.”

  Morgan nodded. “In that case, Mr. President, what can I do to help ensure a Republican victory in November?”

  “I’m meeting you today within my capacity as President of the United States and, while it is probably legal, I believe it would be unethical for me to discuss any contribution, financial or otherwise, that you might wish to make to the Republican Party.”

  “Of course,” Morgan grinned. “Is there anyone who I might speak with about that matter?”

  “I do have a new secretary. Mr. Charles Norton. It would probably make his day to have a chat with the great Pierpont Morgan.

  “And you’ve made my day, Mr. President,” Morgan said, pushing himself out of the chair. “I shan’t keep you from your busy schedule. I appreciate you extending your valuable time to me.”

  The President and the tycoon pressed their fleshy hands together in a handshake. As he felt Morgan’s grip in his, Taft thought: For such a hard man, what a soft hand he has. Morgan’s eyes flicked away for a second, catching the curved walls around him and he thought: What a worthless office. It will probably end up as a storeroom in no time.

  CHAPTER 15

  Big Bill Haywood had a house in Denver, Colorado. That’s where his wife, Nevada Jane, lived with their two young daughters. But Bill Haywood was rarely there. His head usually found its pillow on rackety railroad sleepers or cheap prairie hotels. Big Bill Haywood was a restless man. He had been thrust into the role of the workingman’s champion and he took to it with messianic fervor.

  1910 marked three years since his murder trial for assassination of the governor of Idaho, Frank Steunenberg. The murder indictment was a frame-up and it almo
st worked. The captured triggerman, Harry Orchard, spun a tale that had Haywood hiring him to kill the governor. The mine-owners who Haywood fought with and the lawmakers who he railed against, worked hard to set up a conviction, promising leniency to Orchard and several others for their testimony against Haywood. What they didn’t anticipate was that the greatest defense lawyer alive, Clarence Darrow, would take Haywood on as a client. When all looked lost at the trial, Darrow delivered an eleventh-hour summation that is considered one of the greatest closing arguments in legal history. He concluded with an impassioned plea: “Out on the broad prairies, where men toil with their hands: out on the wide seas where men are sailing the ships: through our mills and factories: down deep under the earth, thousands of men and women and children – men who labor, men who suffer, women and children weary with care and toil – these men and these women and these children will kneel tonight and ask their God to guide your judgment. These men and these women and these children – the poor, the weak and the suffering of this world – will stretch out their hands to this jury and implore you to save Bill Haywood’s life.”

  When he finished, Darrow broke down in sobs. Most of the courtroom was crying. Still, odds were that Bill Haywood would hang and it came as a shock when a “not guilty” verdict was pronounced. The trial catapulted Haywood from being a provincial organizer to a full-blown national labor hero.

  Whistle-stopping through the country, Haywood rained down his own brand of fire and brimstone, but instead of God versus the Devil, the players were the Common Man versus the Rich Capitalists. He became so popular that his name was placed in nomination for President at the 1908 national convention of the Socialist Party of America. He withdrew in favor of Eugene Debs, who garnered almost half a million votes, coming in third to Taft in the election.

  By 1910, there was a feeling in many progressive circles that change really was in the air. In Los Angeles, Job Harriman was poised to be elected the first socialist mayor of a large city. In New York City, a 23 year-old, 4 foot 10 inch firebrand named Clara Lemlich, led 20,000 women workers in a strike that effectively shut down the nation’s garment industry. Major strikes were sweeping the country. Hundreds of thousands of American workers were taking to the streets. Hopes were being fueled that there was real momentum for radical change.

  Still, Bill Haywood was hardly satisfied. Despite the massive rallies and strikes, Bill Haywood saw America as a nation entrenched in capitalism, mired in a class struggle of rich and poor, boss and worker, exploiter and exploited. He thought most Americans bought into a great lie: that free enterprise could make anyone rich, even as the common worker labored back-breaking hours for pennies a day. Bill Haywood knew that something dramatic must happen, some great event must take place to sway the vast American public to the side of a second American revolution, this time socialist.

  CHAPTER 16

  On April 21, 1910, while most people in America were preoccupied with a dim swath of light that appeared in the evening sky, an old man lay dying. During the last years of his life he was frequently seen sitting alone feeding birds in Madison Square Park. The old man was embittered with the world. He loved his family more than anything and was shattered by the loss of three of four daughters and then his wife. A man of his time, he had optimistically invested in new technological inventions only to lose everything he owned in a devastating bankruptcy. He was born seventy-five years earlier, when Halley’s Comet had last made an appearance and often said he wished to go out with that same celestial firework display.

  The dying old man was named Samuel Langhorne Clemens. Years earlier, under his pen name, Mark Twain, he wrote a novel that satirized the time he was living in, when rampant economic and political corruption colored American society. The book’s title caught on as a catchphrase for that era: The Gilded Age.

  During that month of the comet, young Clara Lemlich was recovering from the injuries she suffered during the garment industry strike that was christened The Uprising of 20,000. Lemlich was always at the front of the picket line, leading chants like “We’d rather starve quick then starve slow.” The strikers met with stiff opposition from the factory owners, who initiated a new tactic: fear. Thugs were hired to first intimidate, then actually beat up the girls, often with the police turning a blind eye. When threatened by the mercenary goons, Clara would shoulder up to them, daring them to attack. One day they did, breaking her ribs and fracturing her skull. When word got out that hired thugs were beating the striking girls, help was organized. Society women such as Alva Vanderbilt Belmont and Anne Morgan (Pierpont’s daughter) donated bail money for the thousands of girls that were being arrested. With Clara’s beating, the Uprising of 20,000 became a national story and touched off wildcat strikes. Ultimately, over sixty thousand workers in America’s major garment manufacturing cities were walking picket lines. Labor strife burned throughout 1910. Even Bill Haywood was growing optimistic, seeing that sympathy instead of scorn was now being given to striking workers across the country.

  Halley’s Comet began brightening in May, stretching radiantly across the sky as if brushed onto the heavens by a master painter. The inhabitants of the earth had a serious case of comet fever. Sky-watchers in Bermuda reported the comet acted strangely, wavering in the sky, following the death of England’s King Edward on May 6. Because it was an abnormally cold spring, many believed the comet was drawing the sun’s heat rays away from the earth. It was predicted that the Earth would pass through the comet’s twenty-four million mile tail on May 18. Many people believed it was to be the end of the world.

  On the morning of May 18, the front-page headline of the New York Times read: “If this is the last edition of THE TIMES we wish you a fond farewell.” Church services were scheduled around the clock and the churches were full. Besides prayer vigils, comet parties were organized. John Astor threw his party on the rooftop of the Waldorf-Astoria. It was a dual purpose party: to celebrate the comet (or the end of the world) with buckets of champagne and also to celebrate his divorce from Ava, which finally became official. He invited 150 guests and laid out more than $25,000 for the rooftop soiree. Hearing about the party, Ava decided to throw her own divorce celebration at Sherry’s the same night. Harry Lehr, the musical butterfly of the social set, indicated who had the higher social standing by manning the piano at John Astor’s party, serenading breathless society matrons as the comet stretched across the sky above.

  As it turned out, the comet’s tail missed Earth by 197,000 miles. The planet survived.

  President William Howard Taft was far less concerned about the end of the world than he was by the looming specter of Theodore Roosevelt, who was preparing his return to the United States after a year of African safari.

  Roosevelt had arrived in Khartoum in mid-March and was given a hero’s welcome. Banners proclaimed “Welcome Teddy” and American flags waved throughout the city. Crowds of local citizens gathered to greet the ex-President, as did throngs of tourists and a swarm of newspaper reporters, who besieged him with questions about Taft. Roosevelt was uncharacteristically cautious, knowing full well that if he criticized his handpicked successor it would cause a political earthquake in the United States.

  From Khartoum, Roosevelt went to Cairo. At a reception at the Shepheards Hotel, Roosevelt shook hands with over 700 American tourists. They beseeched him to wield a big stick again. “Won’t you straighten up old man Taft when you get home?” “We want to see you in the White House again.” “We want you back again.” Roosevelt grinned his toothy grin and tried to restrain his urge to comment. He couldn’t, finally saying, “I am not going to make a speech, but I am pleased to meet you Americans so far from home,” then adding a reference to Pierpont Morgan’s famous dinner party remark: “I am glad to furnish you evidence that the lion did not do his duty!”

  Taft followed accounts of the ex-President’s travels and became increasingly upset about Roosevelt’s imminent return. On May 28th, Taft wrote a long letter to Roosevelt telling him
what he had accomplished during the past year and what he hoped to accomplish in the next three years. When he didn’t receive an immediate reply he began complaining about his former mentor. He griped that he hadn’t heard from Roosevelt during the entire African safari, not even a “thank you” for the gold ruler Taft gave him as a going away present. Taft debated whether he should be dockside to greet Roosevelt on his return or whether it would be too undignified for a sitting President to participate in the return of an ex-President. He finally decided to send Archie to New York as his personal envoy to welcome Theodore Roosevelt back home.

  CHAPTER 17

  John Astor and George Vanderbilt kept the original list of potential partners in a desk drawer in Astor’s office. It was an ever-shifting roster, filled with cross-outs and additions, stained with coffee and Courvoisier. In its margins were notes on how to approach each man and what they had to contribute in money, influence or talent. Astor and Vanderbilt realized that in order for The Plan to succeed, they needed people who could work together. This was no small task; the titans of industry usually functioned as grand captains of their own ships, running their business empires with autocratic authority.

  Their first meeting was with Andrew Carnegie. They traveled uptown to Carnegie’s mansion at 91st Street and Fifth Avenue. At age 72 and standing five foot one, Carnegie looked like a mischievous Scottish wood sprite. Few would imagine that this genial elf who sprinkled his talk with old folk tales and moral homilies, was considered one of the most Machiavellian figures in business when he ran Carnegie Steel with his partner, Henry Clay Frick.

  “Come in, please gentlemen,” Carnegie said in a squeaky Scottish brogue. “So good of you to visit a useless old man.” Self-deprecation was a disarming technique Carnegie used throughout his life. The “useless old man” was, in pure cash assets, the richest man in America. Through his philanthropy he was working to transform his image from a hard-nosed businessman to a saintly humanitarian.