CHAPTER 5 Hermann Hagedorn’s: The Boy’s Life of Theodore Roosevelt.

HE   FINDS   HIS   PLACE   IN   THE   UNIVERSE   WITHOUT QUITE   KNOWING IT

'I PUT myself in the way of things happening, said Theodore Roosevelt, "and they happened. " It was with the deliberate intention of having a part in the government of his country that Theodore Roosevelt joined the Twenty-first District Republican Association in the fall of 1880.  He did so from particularly grand passion for public service and with no notion that the country needed saving and lat he was the one to save it.  He wanted to be "on the team. " That was all.  It was that old desire of his boyhood, to be of the fellowship of the doers of great deeds.  Ward "Heelers," he might have said, were not as romantic as vikings, but they were probably in their way quite as effective fighters.  The battle between right and wrong, he might have added, is at bottom the same in all ages.  Merely the clothes and the weapons change.  Joe Murray, of the Twenty-first, might have had some difficulty fighting in King Olaf's chain armor.  King Olaf, on the other hand, would never have been able to swing the nominating convention for Theodore Roosevelt against Jake Hess and the party machine.  But Joe Murray and King Olaf would undoubtedly have liked each other very much; for they were both fighters, fearless and clean and strong. 

Roosevelt's friends told him mournfully that politics were "low," that political organizations were controlled not by "gentlemen," but by saloonkeepers, horse-car conductors, and the like.  Theodore replied that if saloon-keepers and horse-car conductors were the ones who were governing the United States, and the lawyers and merchants and social lights of his own class were merely the ones who were governed, he thought that the saloon-keepers and horse-car conductors were emphatically the ones he wanted to know. 

"If they're too hard-bit for me," he remarked, "I suppose I shall have to quit.  But I do not intend to quit until I have made an effort and have found out whether I actually am too weak to hold my own in the rough and tumble. "

So, to the distress of his friends, he joined the Republican Association and began to attend its meetings at Morton Hall, a large, barn like room over a saloon in Fifty-ninth Street.  The "boss" of the district was the City Commissioner of Charities and Correction, a man named Jake Hess, who treated him with distant affability; and the men he met at the meetings were the saloon-keepers and horse-car conductors he had been warned against.  But they were neither "unpleasant" nor "brutal. " For a time they were a bit wary of him, for, as one of them remarked later, "he looked like a dude, side-whiskers an' all, y' know. " But he soon showed his quality, and it was not long before the scoffers began to realize that Theodore Roosevelt possibly had more hard common sense and practical ability than the lot of them combined.  He showed his fighting qualities over a question of a non-partisan system of street-cleaning which he wished the organization to support.  The members applauded his speech on the subject enthusiastically, for they liked the "ginger" behind it.  Possibly it was nothing but stern duty which prevented them from voting as he wished.  But stern duty, in the shape of Jake Hess, shook its head and Roosevelt was buried 

Roosevelt took his defeat with a grin. 

His fellow-Republicans of the Twenty-first District liked that grin and began soon to have the kind of respect for the man behind the grin that they had for prize-fighters, political "bosses," and all others who could give and take vigorous punishment.  There was one man in particular who eyed him first with humorous tolerance and then with growing, and possibly slightly puzzled, interest.  He was a stockily built Irishman in the middle of the thirties, with sparse reddish hair and drooping mustache, a fine head, a fighter's chin, and twinkling eyes. 

His name was Joe Murray, and he had come over from Ireland in the steerage at the tender age of three, enlisted in the Army of the Potomac at eighteen, and at the close of the war "settled" on First Avenue as leader of a gang.  He was fearless, powerful, and energetic, and so it came about that the local Tammany Hall "boss" found a "job" for him of a kind that he enjoyed.  This "job " was with his gang to make life miserable for Republicans on Election Day.  He fulfilled every requirement nobly.  But it happened that a time came when the local "boss" waxed proud and forgot to reward Joe Murray and his "gang. " Joe Murray on his part was not forgetful.  He remembered for a full year, and at the next election it was not the Republicans who were knocked over the head.  As far as the Republicans of that particular district were concerned, justice that day "came to her own with a whoop. " The Republican leaders sent for Joe Murray and expressed their gratitude by giving him a place in the Post Office. 

Joe Murray and Theodore Roosevelt had met at the meetings and liked each other.  Like Bill Sewall, Murray, too, could see beneath the surface; and he admired the "college dude " for his ideas, his courage, his energy, his human understanding, his boyish and unreserved friendliness.  Roosevelt, on his part, noting not the superficial qualities which Joe Murray might lack, but the fundamental qualities which he possessed, conceived a great liking and admiration for the shrewd and witty Irishman.  He was not slow to realize that all the wealth and all the educational advantages in the world could not of themselves make a man a match for Joe Murray's unpretentious power and sagacity. 

That discovery made him fittingly humble. 

And so it was that an Irish immigrant gave Theodore Roosevelt another lesson in the meaning of democracy.  

Meanwhile, Theodore the younger was doing things besides attending meetings and learning to know the American '' ruling class. '' His uncle Robert had persuaded him to take up the study of law at Columbia, which he did without enthusiasm.  A part of every day he worked in his uncle's law-office; in off hours he went ahead with his history of The Naval Wat of 1812, which he had begun at college.  In the spring of 1881 he journeyed abroad with his wife, climbed a few mountains, visited endless picture-galleries, and returned in the autumn more ardently American than ever.  He found the Republican Association of the Twenty-first Assembly District oiling the machinery for the November election. 

The "boss," it seemed, wanted to renominate for the Assembly the man then representing the district.  That, under ordinary circumstances, would have been enough to end the discussion.  But it happened that that particular Assemblyman had figured, none too favorably, in the newspapers, and one of the "boss's" lieutenants had a firm conviction that the man would be defeated.  The big "boss" was obdurate, but the little "boss" was not a man to knuckle under at any one's dictation. 

For it happened that the little "boss" was Joe Murray. 

"I'm an organization man," he said to his friend, Major Bullard, with a wink.  "I'm always with the organization when it's of my way of thinking. "

So, without arguing the matter further with Jake Hess, Joe Murray and his friend Major Bullard contrived matters in such a way that they beat the "boss" at his own game and, without making any fuss or feathers about it, quietly obtained control of the nominating convention. 

That was all very well.  But they had no candidate. 

"How would young Roosevelt suit?" asked Joe Murray. 

Major Bullard was dubious.  '' Do you know anything about him?"

"We've got to elect some one," said Murray.  "And he's a live one.  He'll get the swells and the Columbia crowd. "

Columbia University was then at Fifty-fourth Street. 

That evening it happened that Roosevelt came to the hall. 

"By the way, Mr.  Roosevelt," remarked Joe Murray, casually, "how'd you like to go to the Legislature?"

"Pooh!" said Theodore Roosevelt, suspecting that the Irishman was poking fun at him. 

But Joe Murray was quite serious.  "I'm looking for a candidate. "

"It's out of the question for me to run," said Roosevelt, emphatically.  "I've been working against Jake Hess's man.  I'd be suspected at once of selfish motives. "

"Will you find me a candidate?"

"You can find plenty. "

"I want the right kind," the Irishman insisted. 

They parted, Roosevelt promising to look about.  They met again next evening by appointment: 

Well?" asked Joe Murray.  "Have you got a candidate?"

Roosevelt mentioned a half-dozen names.  Joe Murray objected to them all.  He had made up his mind, though he shrewdly did not say so. 

"The convention's coming on," he said, "and I've got to have a candidate to put up against Jake's man. "

"I'll find you some one," said Roosevelt. 

"In case you don't, would you be willing to?"

"Under certain conditions, but"
The next night Roosevelt ran up to Murray with both hands outstretched.  He had been endeavoring to secure a candidate.  He had found none, but he had found out something that made his eyes shine as he greeted his friend. 

"I owe you an apology," he cried, earnestly.  "Joe, I thought you were guying me.  I've found out you're really serious.  I'll run. "

Joe Murray carried the convention against the machine and Theodore Roosevelt was nominated. 

For an "off-year" election, the campaign that fall had its points; and for once Fifth Avenue was thoroughly interested, for it had two "silk-stocking" candidates in the field Theodore Roosevelt, running for Assembly, and William Waldorf Astor, running for Congress.  Astor kissed the babies, treated "the boys," and let the money run like water.  Theodore Roosevelt told the saloon-keepers, to the dismay of Joe Murray, that he favored not lower license, but higher license; he made speeches here, there, and everywhere, speaking of cleaner streets and cleaner politics.  He asked his neighbors for their votes not because of his name and not because of his money, but because of the things he stood for; and his neighbors, stirred by his sincerity, rallied to his support. 

Election Day came, and with it, from the seclusion of their brownstone fronts, came millionaires and college professors to work hand in hand with Joe Murray and the boys of the Republican Association to elect Theodore Roosevelt, twenty-three years old, to the Assembly.  His sisters folded ballots.  His brother-in-law, Douglas Robinson, paid two dollars for the use of a news-stand and gave out tickets all day long.  The football and baseball squads of Columbia came out in a body, asking, "Where do you think the most trouble is going to be?" and demanding to be sent there. 

That night, after the returns were in, William Waldorf Astor was a defeated and bitterly disappointed man. 

But Theodore Roosevelt was an Assemblyman-elect.  Joe Murray sat back, chuckling, and decided that on the whole he had done a good job, an opinion for which there is much to be said. 

Albany in 1882 was very much like every other state capital in 1882.  There were in the Assembly and Senate a few disinterested, public-spirited men with ability and drive, a somewhat larger number of good people who preferred honest government to dishonest government, but had not the vision or the force to achieve it, and a sinister group, known as the "black-horse cavalry," who were the paid agents of "the interests" and whose point of view is best represented by the declaration of one Albany statesman: "I'm in politics working for my own pocket all the time.  Same as you. "

Theodore Roosevelt quickly found his place in the Assembly among that small number of Democrats as well as Republicans who were wise and forceful as well as "good. " He himself was whole-heartedly a Republican, but he realized soon that it was not on lines of party principle or political theories that the Legislature split.  "The interests" were powerful, and to them it made no difference whether the man who took their money was of one party or the other.  "When you've been here a little longer, young man," said one old war-horse to him one day, "you'll learn that there's no politics in politics. " It was not Democrats against Republicans.  It was honest government against corruption; justice and right against bribery, theft, and blackmail. 

Theodore Roosevelt needed no one to tell him which of these two forces to support.  He found a number of strong and attractive fighters, moreover, ranged on his side.  There was "Billy" O'Neill, for instance, who owned a country store in the Adirondacks somewhere, and had run for Assembly against the local "machine" and, with the aid of a buggy and a horse, beaten it.  There was "Mike" Costello, who had been elected as a Tammany man, believing that Tammany was a patriotic organization, and who cheerfully defied it when he discovered that it was nothing of the kind; and there was "Pete" Kelly, of Brooklyn, another Democrat, who also fought for the people of his state against the armed legions of corruption, and was later flung aside without pity by his "bosses," and died like a soldier.  Day after day,, night after night, with shoulders squared and feet, set firm, these men fought with Theodore Roosevelt for justice and honest government. 

It was not an easy battle to fight, for the enemy had wealth and powerful influence, and in many cases the issues were not clear.  Theodore Roosevelt and his friends found that it was often a heartbreaking business not so much to defend the right and defeat the wrong, but to find out which side was right and which side was wrong.  When Roosevelt came to Albany he thought that the agents of "the interests " would be the only ones he would have to fight.  He had to fight them, and he fought them hard.  But he had not been in the Legislature a week before he discovered that there was another variety of criminal there as bitterly hostile to the interests of the people of the state as any bribed tool of the corporations. 

That was the man who pretended to be a "friend of the people" and who introduced bills aimed at "big business" for no other reason except to be paid by "big business" not to push them.  Some of these bills were just; the majority of them, however, were wild and improper.  None of them were expected to pass.  They were introduced merely as blackmail a form of hold-up and highway robbery to which the corporations had to submit or perish 

Outwardly opposed to these two varieties of grafters, but actually their allies, were, on the one hand, certain good men who were naturally conservative and thought that rich men were a noble, national institution which should always be protected and coddled; and, on the other hand, certain other good men who were naturally radical and thought that rich men were always wrong and should always be thwarted, merely because they were rich.  There was another group besides these, consisting of "amiable idealists" who talked a great deal and never got very far. 

Between these various groups of ineffective men with high ideals and decidedly effective men with no ideals at all, Theodore Roosevelt and his associates took their stand, believing that men could follow a high ideal and still be effective.  Taken all in all, they put up a first-rate fight for clean government and a "square deal. "

The most important affair in which Roosevelt was individually prominent was the battle for the impeachment of Judge Westbrook, and in this Roosevelt from first to last played the leading part. 

The case was not unusual.  The judge had used his judicial office to further the schemes of Jay Gould and other financiers in connection with a fraudulent and bankrupt elevated railway company in New York City. 

The scandal was public and the newspapers called for action.  But no one acted.  The Legislature was averse to touching it.  There was dynamite in scandals of this sort.  The members hoped the thing would blow over. 

Theodore Roosevelt was in years, as well as in experience, the youngest member of the Legislature.  He had been in Albany less than three months.  He hoped that an older man would take the lead.  But no older man did.  The older men were cautious. 

Suddenly, on March 2gth, Roosevelt presented a resolution calling for an investigation.  And then the storm broke. 

A few friends stood by him, but the majority of the Legislature were either timid or openly antagonistic.  The newspapers took sides.  The New York Herald and Times applauded; the Sun rapped him sharply, declaring that he had rashly made charges which he could not support, and intimating that the whole matter was grand-stand play and that Roosevelt himself did not believe the charges. 

The politicians sharpened their knives.  For a week Roosevelt did nothing to bring his resolution to a vote.  People began to say that Roosevelt had been "called off. " The judge and his associates began to breathe more freely. 

And then, early in April, Roosevelt spoke. 

He did not speak long, but he spoke with vigor, presenting the damaging facts.  He called thieves thieves and swindlers swindlers. 

"Mr.  Roosevelt's speech was delivered with deliberation and measured emphasis," said the Albany correspondent of the Sun, next morning, "and his charges were made with a boldness that was almost startling.  The members gave the closest attention and he went through without interruption. "

"We have a right," cried Roosevelt, in closing, "to demand that our judiciary shall be kept beyond reproach and we have a right to demand that, if we find men acting so that there is not only a suspicion, but almost a certainty, that they have had dealings with men whose interests were in conflict with those of the public, they should be at least required to prove that the charges are untrue. "

He called for a vote on the resolution, but an old war-horse of Syracuse known as Old Salt, a master of parliamentary trickery, leaped to his feet and began to talk against time.  Roosevelt, in his inexperience, had made the mistake of introducing his resolution within an hour of the close of the day's session.  Old Salt took what remained of that hour to pour ridicule and contempt on "the young man from New York. "

Roosevelt interrupted and called for a vote to extend the session.  It was refused.  The session closed with the war-horse for the moment victorious. 

But the battle was to be fought not only on the floor of the Assembly.  By the next morning the whole state was the battle-ground.  The newspapers from Buffalo to Montauk Point carried the story of the fight.  The people of the state, whose cause Roosevelt was defending, began to take an interest. 

Meanwhile, in the words of the New York Times, "mysterious influences" were at work to cover up the scandal.  A messenger from John Kelly, the boss of Tammany Hall, hurried to Albany.  Agents "from wealthy stock gamblers " whom Roosevelt had openly denounced as "swindlers" appeared in the lobby of the Capitol.  Roosevelt himself was urged, not only by his enemies, but by his friends, not to press the hopeless fight.  They pointed out to him that, with "the interests" against him, he could never in the world secure the passage of the resolution; they made clear to him that he was ruining his promising career. 

He set his jaw which was already a solid jaw even in those days and presented a motion next day to lay aside the regular order of business in order to consider the resolution.  He needed a two-thirds vote.  He received it, but the clerk deliberately reported a false count, and once again he wab1 defeated. 

"We told you so," said his friends. 

Roosevelt's reply was characteristic.  This was the Sun's brief report next morning, '' Mr.  Roosevelt says he shall keep on trying until he wins. "

Everything and everybody were against Roosevelt and his resolution except the people.  The Easter recess interrupted the session.  The Assemblymen went to their homes.  When they returned, a change had come over them.  Roosevelt presented his resolution once more. 

It passed the Assembly 104 to 6. 

The fight had made a sensation, and though, subsequently, the majority of the investigating committee voted to "whitewash" the judge, the charges were not disproved.  Roosevelt became a state figure.  His renomination was inevitable.  

But Roosevelt had made enemies, and they were powerful and active.  The Times, pleading for his reelection, declared that Jay Gould's money was being used to defeat the young Assemblyman who had dared to attack the great financier and his judge. 

He had friends, moreover, who played the game of his enemies.  There was a prominent lawyer, for instance, an old family friend, who took him out to lunch one day. 

"You've done well in the Legislature, Theodore," he remarked.  "It's a good thing to make the 'reform play. ' It attracts attention.  You've shown that you possess ability of the sort that will make you useful in a large law-office or business.  But if I were you I don't think I'd overplay my hand. "

"Eh?" interrupted Roosevelt. 

"You've gone far enough," the lawyer went on, calmly.  "Now it's time for you to leave politics and identify yourself with the right kind of 'people. ' 

" The right kind"

"The people who control others and in the long run always will control others and get the only rewards that are worth having. "

"You mean to say," cried Roosevelt, hotly, "that you want me to give in to the 'ring'?"

The older man answered, impatiently: "You're talking like a newspaper.  You're entirely mistaken if you think there is a 'ring' made up of a few corrupt politicians who control the government.  Those men have only limited power.  The actual power is in the hands of a certain inner circle of big business men.  The 'big politicians, lawyers, judges are in alliance with them and, in a sense, dependent on them.  No young man can succeed in law, business, or politics who hasn't the backing of those forces.  That is as it should be.  For it is merely the recognition that business is supremely important and that everything else must bow to it. "

Theodore Roosevelt had never before come in contact with that point of view, and it gave him a shock.  It threw a vivid light backward on the impeachment investigation.  He understood now why, with all the evidence against the venal judge and the people of the state of New York calling for his impeachment, he had nevertheless escaped. 

Theodore the younger did not take his friend's advice.  "I think I'll try to go back to the Legislature," he said. 

And he did. 

He won his re-election in spite of the open opposition of Jay Gould and those other forces which his friend had declared no man could ever successfully oppose; in spite even of a Democratic landslide in the state which carried an almost unknown sheriff from Buffalo into the Governorship and introduced to a surprised world Grover Cleveland.  In the Twenty-first District, Roosevelt ran two thousand votes ahead of his party. 

Roosevelt was glad to return to Albany, no longer a novice now, but, at twenty-four, the leader of his party in the Assembly.  He was nominated for Speaker, but defeated, for the Democrats were in full control.  His force and influence were unquestioned.  He was known as the "cyclone member. "

It would have been strange if his swift rise had not somewhat turned his head.  It did turn it for a brief period.  He had won his place in the Assembly and in the respect of the people of the state through his straightforward and blunt independence.  He thereupon became so impressed with the virtue of complete independence that he paid no attention to the opinions or the prejudices of others.  He had fought the fight against Judge Westbrook practically alone.  He came to the conclusion consequently that he could fight any fight alone. 

He no longer sought advice or co-operation.  His own conscience, his own judgment, were to decide all things.  He refused to make concessions, being unable to see that a man might disagree with him on details or methods and yet be heartily with him in principle. 

His opponents talked of "big head. " His friends grumbled: "What's got into Roosevelt? He won't listen to anybody.  He thinks he knows it all. "

He fought hard for good causes.  But he was no longer successful.  Before he knew what was happening, his influence had evaporated.  He was a leader without a following the laughing-stock of his enemies, the despair of his friends. 

But he had vision; and he had a sense of humor. 

Gradually he began to understand.     No one can live by himself alone, he realized, and with increasing.  clearness he saw that his only hope of doing effective work lay in close co-operation with the men who, though differing from him in minor matters, agreed with him on the fundamentals. 

It was not easy for Theodore Roosevelt to eat humble pie.  But he ate it.