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Woodrow Wilson as I Know Him

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WOODROW WILSON AS I KNOW HIM

BY

JOSEPH P. TUMULTY







To the memory of my dear mother Alicia Tumulty whose spirit of generosity,
loyalty, and tolerance I trust will be found in the lines of this book




ACKNOWLEDGMENT


In preparing this volume I have made use of portions of the following
books: "The War The World and Wilson" by George Creel; "What Wilson Did at
Paris," by Ray Stannard Baker; "Woodrow Wilson and His Work" by William E.
Dodd; "The Panama Canal Tolls Controversy" by Hugh Gordon Miller and
Joseph C. Freehoff; "Woodrow Wilson the Man and His Work" by Henry Jones
Ford; "The Real Colonel House" by Arthur D. Howden Smith; "The Foreign
Policy of Woodrow Wilson" by Edgar E. Robinson and Victor J. West. In
addition, I wish to make acknowledgment to the following books for
incidental assistance: "My Four Years in Germany" by James W. Gerard;
"Woodrow Wilson, An Interpretation" by A. Maurice Low; "A People Awakened"
by Charles Reade Bacon; "Woodrow Wilson" by Hester E. Hosford; "What
Really Happened at Paris," edited by Edward Mandell House and Charles
Seymour, and above all, to the public addresses of Woodrow Wilson. I
myself had furnished considerable data for various books on Woodrow Wilson
and have felt at liberty to make liberal use of some portions of these
sources as guide posts for my own narrative.




PREFACE


Woodrow Wilson prefers not to be written about. His enemies may, and of
course will, say what they please, but he would like to have his friends
hold their peace. He seems to think and feel that if he himself can keep
silent while his foes are talking, his friends should be equally stoical.
He made this plain in October, 1920, when he learned that I had slipped
away from my office at the White House one night shortly before the
election and made a speech about him in a little Maryland town, Bethesda.
He did not read the speech, I am sure he has never read it, but the fact
that I had made any sort of speech about him, displeased him. That was one
of the few times in my long association with him that I found him
distinctly cold. He said nothing, but his silence was vocal.

I suspect this book will share the fate of the Bethesda speech, will not
be read by Mr. Wilson. If this seems strange to those who do not know him
personally, I can only say that "Woodrow Wilson is made that way." He
cannot dramatize himself and shrinks from attempts of others to dramatize
him. "I will not write about myself," is his invariable retort to friends
who urge him to publish his own story of the Paris Peace Conference. He
craves the silence from others which he imposes upon himself. He is quite
willing to leave the assessment and interpretation of himself to time and
posterity. Knowing all this I have not consulted him about this book. Yet
I have felt that the book should be written, because I am anxious that his
contemporaries should know him as I have known him, not only as an
individual but also as the advocate of a set of great ideas and as the
leader of great movements. If I can picture him, even imperfectly, as I
have found him to be, both in himself and in his relationship to important
events, I must believe that the portrait will correct some curious
misapprehensions about him.

For instance, there is a prevalent idea, an innocently ignorant opinion in
some quarters, an all too sedulously cultivated report in other quarters,
that he has been uniformly headstrong, impatient of advice, his mind
hermetically closed to counsel from others. This book will expose the
error of that opinion; will show how, in his own words, his mind was "open
and to let," how he welcomed suggestions and criticism. Indeed I fear that
unless the reader ponders carefully what I have written he may glean the
opposite idea, that sometimes the President had to be prodded to action,
and that I represent myself as the chief prodder.

The superficial reader may find countenance lent to this latter view in
the many notes of information and advice which I addressed to the
President and in the record of his subsequent actions which were more or
less in accord with the counsel contained in some of these notes. If the
reader deduces from this the conclusion that I was the instigator of some
of the President's important policies, he will misinterpret the facts and
the President's character and mental processes; if he concludes that I am
trying to represent myself as the instigator he will misunderstand my
motives in publishing these notes.

These motives are: first, to tell the story of my association with Mr.
Wilson, and part of the record is contained in these notes; secondly, to
show what liberty he allowed me to suggest and criticize; how, so far from
being offended, he welcomed counsel. Having this privilege I exercised it.
I conceived it as part of my duty as his secretary and friend to report to
him my own interpretations of facts and public opinion as I gathered these
from newspapers and conversations, and sometimes to suggest modes of
action. These notes were memoranda for my chief's consideration.

The reader will see how frankly critical some of these notes are. The mere
fact that the President permitted me to continue to write to him in a vein
of candour that was frequently brusque and blunt, is the conclusive answer
to the charge that he resented criticism.

Contrary to the misrepresentations, he had from time to time many
advisers. In most instances, I do not possess written reports of what
others said orally and in writing, and therefore in this record, which is
essentially concerned with my own official and personal relations with
him, I may seem to represent myself as a preponderating influence. This is
neither the fact nor my intention. The public acts of Mr. Wilson were
frequently mosaics, made up of his own ideas and those of others. My
written notes were merely stones offered for the mosaic. Sometimes the
stones were rejected, sometimes accepted and shaped by the master builder
into the pattern.

It was a habit of Mr. Wilson's to meditate before taking action, to listen
to advice without comment, frequently without indicating whether or not
the idea broached by others had already occurred to him. We who knew him
best knew that often the idea had occurred to him and had been thought out
more lucidly than any adviser could state it. But he would test his own
views by the touchstone of other minds' reactions to the situations and
problems which he was facing and would get the "slant" of other minds.

He was always ahead of us all in his thinking. An admirer once said: "You
could shut him up in an hermetically sealed room and trust him to reach
the right decision," but as a matter of fact he did not work that way. He
sought counsel and considered it and acted on it or dismissed it according
to his best judgment, for the responsibility for the final action was his,
and he was boldly prepared to accept that responsibility and
conscientiously careful not to abuse it by acting rashly. While he would
on occasion make momentous decisions quickly and decisively, the habitual
character of his mind was deliberative. He wanted all the facts and so far
as possible the contingencies. Younger men like myself could counsel
immediate and drastic action, but even while we were advising we knew that
he would, without haste and without waste, calmly calculate his course.
What, coming from us, were merely words, would, coming from him,
constitute acts and a nation's destiny. He regarded himself as the
"trustee of the people," who should not act until he was sure he was right
and should then act with the decision and finality of fate itself.

Of another misapprehension, namely, that Mr. Wilson lacks human warmth, I
shall let the book speak without much prefatory comment. I have done my
work ill indeed if there does not emerge from the pages a human-hearted
man, a man whose passion it was to serve mankind. In his daily intercourse
with individuals he showed uniform consideration, at times deep
tenderness, though he did not have in his possession the little bag of
tricks which some politicians use so effectively: he did not clap men on
their backs, call them by their first names, and profess to each
individual he met that of all the men in the world this was the man whom
he most yearned to see. Perhaps he was too sincere for that; perhaps by
nature too reserved; but I am convinced that he who reads this book will
feel that he has met a man whose public career was governed not merely by
a great brain, but also by a great heart. I did not invent this character.
I observed him for eleven years.




CONTENTS


PREFACE

CHAPTER
I. THE POLITICAL LABORATORY
II. DOING THE POLITICAL CHORES
III. MY FIRST MEETING WITH THE POLITICAL BOSS
IV. COLONEL HARVEY ON THE SCENE
V. THE NEW JERSEY SALIENT
VI. SOMETHING NEW IN POLITICAL CAMPAIGNS
VII. THE CRISIS OP THE CAMPAIGN
VIII. THE END OP THE CAMPAIGN
IX. A PARTY SPLIT
X. EXIT THE OLD GUARD
XI. EXECUTIVE LEADERSHIP
XII. COLONEL HARVEY
XIII. THE "COCKED HAT" INCIDENT
XIV. WILSON AND THE OLD GUARD
XV. MR. BRYAN ISSUES A CHALLENGE
XVI. THE BALTIMORE CONVENTION
XVII. FACING A SOLEMN RESPONSIBILITY
XVIII. WILLIAM F. McCOMBS
XIX. THE INAUGURATION OF 1913
XX. MEXICO
XXI. PANAMA TOLLS
XXII. REFORMING THE CURRENCY
XXIII. RENOMINATED
XXIV. THE ADAMSON LAW
XXV. GERMAN PROPAGANDA
XXVI. WILSON AND HUGHES
XXVII. NEUTRALITY
XXVIII. PREPAREDNESS
XXIX. THE GREAT DECLARATION
XXX. CARRYING ON
XXXI. THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD
XXXII. COLONEL ROOSEVELT AND GENERAL WOOD
XXXIII. WILSON THE WARRIOR
XXXIV. GERMANY CAPITULATES
XXXV. APPEAL FOR A DEMOCRATIC CONGRESS
XXXVI. THE GREAT ADVENTURE
XXXVII. WILSON--THE LONE HAND
XXXVIII. JAPAN--SHANTUNG
XXXIX. IRELAND
XL. PROHIBITION
XLI. THE TREATY FIGHT
XLII. THE WESTERN TRIP
XLIII. RESERVATIONS
XLIV. WILSON--THE HUMAN BEING
XLV. THE SAN FRANCISCO CONVENTION
XLVI. THE LAST DAY

APPENDIX

INDEX




WOODROW WILSON AS I KNOW HIM




CHAPTER I

THE POLITICAL LABORATORY


My introduction to politics was in the Fifth Ward of Jersey City, New
Jersey, which for many years was the "Bloody Angle" of politics of the
city in which I lived. Always Democratic, it had been for many years the
heart and centre of what New Jersey Democrats were pleased to call the
great Gibraltar of Democracy. The ward in which I lived was made up of the
plainest sort of people, a veritable melting pot of all races, but with a
predominance of Irish, Germans, and Italians, between whom it was, like
ancient Gaul, divided into three parts.

My dear father, Philip Tumulty, a wounded soldier of the Civil War, after
serving an apprenticeship as an iron moulder under a delightful, whole-
souled Englishman, opened a little grocery store on Wayne Street, Jersey
City, where were laid the foundation stones of his modest fortune and
where, by his fine common sense, poise, and judgment, he soon established
himself as the leader of a Democratic faction in that neighbourhood. This
modest little place soon became a political laboratory for me. In the
evening, around the plain, old-fashioned counters, seated upon barrels and
boxes, the interesting characters of the neighbourhood gathered,
representing as they did the leading active political forces in that
quaint cosmopolitan community.

No matter how far back my memory turns, I cannot recall when I did not
hear politics discussed--not ward politics only, but frequently the
politics of the nation and the world. In that grocery store, from the lips
of the plainest folk who came there, were carried on serious discussions
of the tariff, the money question, our foreign relations, and all phases
of the then famous Venezuelan question, which in those days threatened to
set two continents on fire.

The make-up of the little "cabinet" or group which surrounded my father
was most interesting. There was Mr. Alexander Hamill, the father of
Congressman Hamill of Jersey City, a student of Queen's College in Ireland
and who afterward taught in the National Schools of Ireland, a well-read,
highly cultured, broad-minded man of affairs; and dear Uncle Jimmie
Kelter, almost a centenarian, whose fine old gray hair gave him the
appearance of a patriarch. Uncle Jimmie nightly revelled in the recital to
those who were present as ready listeners, his experience when he was
present at a session of the House of Parliament in London and heard the
famous Irish statesman, Daniel O'Connell, denounce England's attitude of
injustice toward Catholic emancipation. He loved to regale the little
group that encircled him by reciting from memory the great speech of
Robert Emmett from the dock, and excerpts from the classic speeches of the
leading Irish orators like Curran, Sheridan, and Fox.

While these discussions in the little store wended their uneasy way along,
a spark of humour was often injected into them by the delightful banter of
a rollicking, good-natured Irishman, a big two-fisted fellow, generous-
hearted and lovable, whom we affectionately called "Big Phil." I can see
him now, standing like a great pyramid in the midst of the little group,
every now and then throwing his head back in good-natured abandon,
recounting wild and fantastic tales about the fairies and banshees of the
Old Land from whence he had come. When his listeners would turn away, with
skepticism written all over their countenances, he would turn to me, whose
youthful enthusiasm made me an easy victim upon which to work his magic
spell in the stories which he told of the wonders of the Old Land across
the sea.

I loved these delightful little gatherings in whose deliberations my dear
father played so notable a part. Those kind folk, now off the stage, never
allowed the spirit of provincialism to guide their judgment or their
attitude toward great public affairs. I recall with pleasure their
tolerance, their largeness of view, and fine magnanimity which raised
every question they discussed to a high level. They were a very simple
folk, but independent in their political actions and views. Into that
little group of free, independent political thinkers would often come a
warning from the Democratic boss of the city that they must follow with
undivided allegiance the organization's dictum in political matters and
not seek to lead opinion in the community in which they lived. Supremely
indifferent were these fine old chaps to those warnings, and unmindful of
political consequences. They felt that they had left behind them a land of
oppression and they would not submit to tyrannous dictation in this free
land of ours, no matter who sought to exert it.

In this political laboratory I came in contact with the raw materials of
political life that, as an older man, I was soon to see moulded into
political action in a larger way in the years to come. I found in politics
that the great policies of a nation are simply the policies and passions
of the ward extended. In the little discussions that took place in that
store, I was, even as a youth, looking on from the side-lines, struck by
the fine, wholesome, generous spirit of my own father. Never would he
permit, for instance, in the matter of the discussion of Ireland--so dear
to his heart--a shade of resentment or bitterness toward England to
influence his judgment in the least, for he believed that no man could be
a just judge in any matter where his mind was filled with passion; and so
in this matter, the subject of such fierce controversy, as in every other,
he held a judgment free and far away from his passionate antagonisms. I
found in the simple life of the community where I was brought up the same
human things, in a small way, that I was subsequently to come in contact
with in a larger way in the whirligig of political life in the Capitol of
the Nation. I found the same relative bigness and the same relative
smallness, the same petty jealousies and rivalries which manifest
themselves in the larger fields of a great nation's life; the same good
nature, and the same deep humanity expressing itself in the same way, only
differently apparelled.

One of the most interesting places in the world for the study of human
character is the country store or the city grocery. I was able as a boy
standing behind the counter of the little grocery store to study people;
and intimately to become acquainted with them and their daily lives and
the lives of their women and children. I never came in contact with their
daily routine, their joys and sorrows, their bitter actualities and deep
tragedies, without feeling rise in me a desire to be of service. I
remember many years ago, seated behind the counter of my father's grocery
store, with what passionate resentment I read the vivid headlines of the
metropolitan newspapers and the ghastly accounts of the now famous
Homestead Strike of 1892. Of course, I came to realize in after years that
the headlines of a newspaper are not always in agreement with the actual
facts; but I do recall how intently I pored over every detail of this
tragic story of industrial war and how, deep in my heart, I resented the
efforts of a capitalistic system that would use its power in this unjust,
inhuman way. Little did I realize as I pored over the story of this
tragedy in that far-off day that some time, seated at my desk at the White
House in the office of the secretary to the President of the United
States, I would have the pleasure of meeting face to face the leading
actor in this lurid drama, Mr. Andrew Carnegie himself, and of hearing
from his own lips a human and intelligent recital of the events which
formed the interesting background of the Homestead Strike.




CHAPTER II

DOING THE POLITICAL CHORES


For the young man who wishes to rise in the politics of a great city there
is no royal road to preferment but only a plain path of modest service
uncomplainingly rendered. Of course, there seem to be exceptions to this
rule. At times it is possible for the scion of a great family to rise to
temporary distinction in politics without a preliminary course in the
school of local politics, for as a Democratic boss once said to me: "Great
family names are fine window-dressers," but in my own experience I have
seen the disappointing end of careers thus begun and have found that
sometimes after a great name has been temporarily used to meet certain
political emergencies, the would-be politician is quickly thrust aside to
make way for the less pretentious but more capable man. There is nothing
permanent or lasting about a place in politics gained in this adventitious
way. Of course, there sometimes come to high office men from military
careers, or men, like the distinguished subject of this book, from fields
apparently remote from practical politics, but such successes are due to
an appealing personal force, or to exceptional genius which the young
aspirant had better not assume that he possesses. The general rule holds
good that a political apprenticeship is as necessary and valuable as an
industrial apprenticeship.

My first official connection with politics was as the financial secretary
of the Fifth Ward Democratic Club of Jersey City. My father had told me
that if I intended to play an active part in politics, it would be
necessary to begin modestly at the bottom of the ladder, to do the
political chores, as it were, which are a necessary part of ward
organization work. I recall those days with singular pleasure, for my work
gave me an unusual opportunity to meet the privates in the ranks and to
make friendships that were permanent.

The meetings of the Club were held each week in a modest club house, with
part of the meeting given over to addresses made by what were then
considered the leading men in the Democratic party. It is queer how the
average political worker favours the senator, or the ex-judge, or the
ex-Congressman, as a speaker on these occasions. Ex-Congressman Gray, of
Texas (I doubt whether there ever was a congressman by that name), would
often be the headliner and he could be depended upon to draw a crowded and
enthusiastic house. The knowledge and experience I gained at these
inspirational meetings were mighty helpful to me in the political life I
had carved out for myself. I found that when you had convinced these
plain, everyday fellows that, although you were a college man, you were
not necessarily a highbrow, they were willing to serve you to the end. It
was a valuable course in a great university. It was not very long until I
was given my first opportunity, in 1896, to make my first political speech
in behalf of Mr. Bryan, then the Democratic candidate for President. I was
not able at that time to disentangle the intricacies of the difficult
money problems, but I endeavoured, imperfectly at least, in the speeches I
made, to lay my finger on what I considered the great moral issue that lay
behind the silver question in that memorable campaign--the attempt by
eastern financial interests to dominate the Government of the United
States.

After my apprenticeship, begun as secretary of the Fifth Ward Democratic
Club, an incident happened which caused a sudden rise in my political
stock. At a county convention I was given the opportunity of making the
nominating speech for the Fifth Ward's candidate for street and water
commissioner--a bricklayer and a fine fellow--who was opposing the machine
candidate. It was a real effort on my part and caused me days and nights
of worry and preparation. Indeed, it seemed to me to be the great moment
of my life. I vividly recall the incidents of what to me was a memorable
occasion. I distinctly remember that on the night of the Convention, with
the delegates from my ward, I faced an unfriendly and hostile audience,
our candidate having aroused the opposition of the boss and his
satellites. While I felt that the attitude of the Convention was one of
opposition to our candidate, there was no evidence of unfriendliness or
hostility to myself as the humble spokesman of the Fifth Ward. When I
stood up to speak I realized that I had to "play up" to the spirit of
generosity which is always latent in a crowd such as I was addressing. I
believe I won, although my candidate, unfortunately, lost. My Irish
buoyancy and good nature brought me over the line. I felt that the
audience in the gallery and the delegates on the floor were with me, but
unfortunately for my cause, the boss, who was always the dominating
influence of the Convention, was against me, and so we lost in the
spirited fight we made. In this first skirmish of my political career I
made up my mind to meet defeat with good grace and, if possible,
smilingly, and no sore spot or resentment over our defeat ever showed
itself in my attitude toward the men who saw fit to oppose us. Evidently,
the boss and his friends appreciated this attitude, for it was reported to
me shortly after the Convention that I was to be given recognition and by
the boss's orders would soon be placed on the eligible list for future
consideration in connection with a place on the legislative ticket.

One lesson I learned was not to be embittered by defeat. Since then I have
seen too many cases of men so disgruntled at being worsted in their first
battles that their political careers ended when they should have been just
beginning.




CHAPTER III

MY FIRST MEETING WITH THE POLITICAL BOSS


After serving my apprenticeship as a ward worker, devoted friends from my
home ward urged my name upon the Democratic leader, Mr. Robert Davis, for
a place upon the Democratic legislative ticket for Hudson County. I had
grown to have a deep regard and affection for this fine old fellow. While
he was a boss in every sense, maintaining close relations with the Public
Service Corporations of the state, he had an engaging human side. He never
pretended nor deceived. With his friends he was open, frank, generous, and
honourable in all his dealings, and especially kind to and considerate of
the young men who became part of his working force. With his political
enemies he was fair and decent. Many a time during a legislative session,
when I was a member of the House of Assembly, word would come to us of the
boss's desire that we should support this or that bill, behind which
certain corporate interests lay. The orders, however, were clean and
without a threat of any kind. He took no unfair advantage and made no
reprisals when we failed to carry out his desires.

While a member of the New Jersey Legislature, the name of Woodrow Wilson
began to be first discussed in the political world of New Jersey. It came
about in this way: By reason of the normal Republican majority of the
state the nomination by the Legislature in those days of a Democratic
candidate for the United States senatorship was a mere compliment, a
courtesy, a very meagre one indeed, and was generally paid to the old war
horses of democracy like James E. Martine, of Plainfield, New Jersey; but
the appearance of the doughty Colonel Harvey on the scene, at the 1907
session of the New Jersey Legislature, gave a new turn to this custom. A
request was made by Colonel Harvey and diplomatically conveyed by his
friends to the Democratic members of the Legislature, that the honorary
nomination for the United States senatorship at this session of the
Legislature should be given to President Wilson of Princeton. It may be
added that I learned years afterward that Mr. Wilson was not a party to
Colonel Harvey's plans; that once he even sent a friend as an emissary to
explain to the Colonel that Mr. Wilson did not believe that the use of his
name in connection with political office was a service to him or to
Princeton University.

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