Ten North Frederick (57 page)

“It'll take dynamite to get him out. Do you think that fellow's going to be satisfied with the one term? The campaign he ran? The wanting to show his fifth cousins? He'll run in '
36
and he's going to make a fight for this state the likes of which you never saw. We haven't put in a Democrat for governor since
1890
, and if it wasn't for somebody named Gill that ran on the Prohibition ticket we'd have won then, but that was
1890
. This'll be
1934
and there won't be enough Prohibitionists to cut any ice one way or the other. We're not going to be running against the fellow that gets the Democratic nomination, either for governor or senator. We're going to be running against the fellow they just elected President. He'll see to that.”

At
10
North Frederick Street there was another conversation of a political nature.

“Well, our friend had his parade,” said Joe.

“Our friend? What parade?”

“You know our friend, the friend of the common people. The Harvard snob.”

“Oh, of course,” said Edith. “He had a parade?”

“Didn't you know about the parade? The N.I.R.A. parade, the Blue Eagle. What fools these mortals be. Every day I pick up the paper and it's getting so that if there isn't some new socialistic scheme, I'm surprised. Arthur thinks the N.I.R.A. may be unconstitutional, even though he's rather sympathetic toward some of our friend's wild schemes. I don't know whether it's unconstitutional or not. I haven't examined it that carefully, but I'm damned sure it's dictatorial.”

“Well, if it's dictatorial isn't it unconstitutional?”

“That will have to be decided in court and it'll take some time.”

“When does he get out?”

“When the people get some sense and vote him out, in
1936
.”

“How old will you be then? Let me think,” said Edith.

“In
1936
I'll be fifty-four.”

“And in
1934
is when—”

“Yes. Is when we go to the polls to elect a new governor. And lieutenant governor.”

“You're going to run, aren't you? You still plan to?” said Edith.

“As fast as my legs can carry me,” said Joe. “A rather appropriate remark, considering the shape of my legs, or one of them. Feeling the way I do about our friend, I
have
to run. It isn't only the honor any more. It's something I feel inside me, a matter of conscience, not to be too high-sounding about it, but that's what it is. Anything I can do to shorten his stay in the White House or to make it unpleasant, I'm duty bound to do. I'll campaign, I'll spend as much money as I can afford without endangering your financial security. I'll run as fast as my legs can carry me. And that's appropriate, too. You know our friend is worse off than I am, much worse. I can walk. He can't.”

“Yes, you told me that,” said Edith.

“I'm struck by the points of similarity between us. First, the kind of background he had, not too much unlike mine, although he's trying to destroy people like us. Second, this isn't a point of similarity, but I did know him slightly and couldn't stand him, and the point of similarity is that he didn't like me either. Third, remember when I told you how he'd run for vice-president without any political experience?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“And then there's the similarity of handicaps. Mine isn't serious, but his is. He contracted infantile paralysis, and I broke my leg. I think it's fascinating. I could probably think of a better word than fascinating, but fascinating will do.”

“And of course Arthur thinks you look a little like him.”

“Arthur also used to think I looked like Woodrow Wilson. Arthur would like me to be a Democrat so that he could be one too.”

“Not really,” said Edith.

“No, not really, but it does irritate me,” said Joe. “Oh, he told me a rather amusing thing that happened at The Second Thursdays. Last week it was unanimously agreed to stop drinking the customary toast to the President of the United States.”

“Well, I should hope so,” said Edith.

Joe smiled. “They couldn't wait till next winter. Henry Laubach polled the members and they all agreed.”

“Didn't he call you?” said Edith.

“He didn't have to. Arthur said he felt sure he could speak for me, and he was right,” said Joe. “It's interesting, you know. Woodrow Wilson wasn't the most popular man with the Second Thursdays, but they kept on drinking the toast.”

“We were at war,” said Edith.

“Yes, so we were. Well, I'd have felt like a damned hypocrite toasting Roosevelt, and now we won't have to.”

“In
1936
you'll be fifty-four,” said Edith.

“What made you come back to that?”

“Thinking ahead,” said Edith. “Suppose you were elected lieutenant governor next year. Does the lieutenant governor get to be so widely known that they'll consider him for President?”

“Frankly, no,” said Joe. “It would be an accident, politically. But I'm afraid
1936
isn't the year I'll try for. Nineteen-forty's the year now.”

“In
1940
, you'll be fifty-eight,” said Edith.

“Yes. Still in my fifties.”

“Your late fifties, though,” said Edith.

He smiled. “Well, I hope by that time our friend will be forgotten and I won't have to campaign so hard. Is that what you were wondering about?”

“No, just getting the dates arranged in my mind,” said Edith.

“I've decided not to spend much time thinking about the presidency. Our friend is a good man to oppose, and if I run for lieutenant governor, I'll start right out opposing Roosevelt and everything he stands for. I'm not going to bother my head about the other candidate for lieutenant governor. I'm going to campaign against their top man, because they're going to try to make the short-sighted voters believe that Roosevelt is thinking of them night and day, every step of the way. Preposterous, of course, but that's what they'll try to argue. And I'll bang away at Roosevelt, Roosevelt, Roosevelt in every speech I make.”

“Are you sure that's the best idea?”

“Because it might hurt me? Edith, if I campaign against Roosevelt and lose, at least I'll have campaigned against Roosevelt, not against whoever the Democrats put up for lieutenant governor. And even if I lose the election, it can still be a successful campaign as far as I personally am concerned. There are some fellows at the club that say we have nothing to worry about. Just sit tight and let him ruin himself. I don't agree with that. In the first place, he's going to have to be ousted, kicked out. If we just let him hang himself, he's going to take his own good time doing it. In the second place, I'm not going to pass up a glorious opportunity to say what I think about him, and simultaneously prove that I can be a good campaigner, a fighter. I've never had that opportunity because I didn't want to take it and waste it on a campaign for Common Pleas. When Mike offered me that job, Judge of Common Pleas, he and I both knew that all I had to do was say yes, and go get measured for my robe. I wouldn't have had to make any speeches. I could have gone to Atlantic City for the whole campaign. But if I want to be elected to anything next year, anything at all, I'll have to campaign. All Republicans will, because we're out to beat Roosevelt. It will be a great pleasure.”

“Especially if you win.”

“Especially if we win,” said Joe. “Well, first I must convince Mike Slattery that he must convince that State Committee that I'm the logical man for lieutenant governor. Logic. There is no such thing as a logical man for that job. But I suppose if logic had anything to do with it, I could be called the logical man on account of Grandfather Chapin.”

“What is there against you?”

“Against me? Well, first the State Committee has to decide on the governor, and not always, but usually, they allow him to have some say in picking his running mate. I don't think Gifford Pinchot would want me as his running mate, for instance, but Gifford Pinchot won't be nominated again. Then there are other considerations. I'm not a breaker boy, I've never pretended to be poor, and if having some money worries a voter I don't see how he can vote for our friend. Our friend has a family place up the Hudson that—oh, well, you know. I've never believed that having money hurt a candidate. Mr. Hoover is a
very
rich man,
very
.”

“But he was defeated.”

“Before that he won,” said Joe. “What is there against me? Well, I'll find out.”

Joe met Mike Slattery by appointment at the Bellevue-Stratford in Philadelphia. If they were seen together, what more natural than two Gibbsville friends running across each other in the city? If they were not seen together, so much the better for Joe's first plan, which was to have an uninterrupted discussion in which he could sound out Mike. Mike came to Joe's room, where lunch was served, and when the waiter was dismissed, the two men smiled at each other.

“Mike, I think my best strategy with you is to be completely frank with you,” said Joe.

“Well, I wouldn't know about the strategy, Joe. But at least it'll be a change from the way fellows usually approach me. Naturally you didn't lure me to your room and give me a fine big lobster just for a change from Bookbinder's.”

“For a long time I've been working at building up my contacts, as some people call them, and when I had my accident I was just getting ready to have this talk with you. But it's taken me a long time to get on my feet again, you might say, but now that I am on my feet, both feet, I'll put my cards on the table.”

“Right,” said Mike.

“Next year we're going to have the two big state contests. For governor, and for United States senator.”

Mike nodded, but said nothing.

“I don't want either of them.”

“You don't want either job, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“I'm only making you say these things so there'll be no misunderstandings. Some men who are somewhat less experienced might think we've already picked our candidates. But we haven't.”

“I see,” said Joe. “Well, as I say, I don't want either job, I don't want either nomination.”

“But now that you've told me what you don't want, you're going to tell me what you
do
?”

“Yes,” said Joe. “I want the nomination for lieutenant governor.”

Mike leaned forward and took a tiny sip of his ice water. “Who knows that you want it?”

“Edith knows. Until now, no one else. Arthur has a pretty good idea. But that's all.”

Mike whistled softly an unrecognizable tune, unrecognizable to Joe because it was the Stabat Mater. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “I'm not going to waste both our time by asking you a lot of questions that you've thought out the answers to. I'm sure they're the right answers and good ones. You know you want the nomination, you have your reasons, going back, I suppose, to your grandfather. You're pretty well convinced that your contacts will support you?”

“Yes and no. I've spoken to no one about what I want but I modestly believe that I could count on a great deal of support from my contacts, which by the way are in every county in the state. I've used my Bar Association connections to make a great many after-dinner speeches. It usually worked out that I'd go to some Bar Association function, then get invited back for something like the League of Women Voters, and various Republican organizations, and Boy Scout dinners—all sorts of things. I've never talked politics, or at any rate not the kind of politics we mean when we say we talked politics. I wasn't actually running for anything, but I was, and I admit it, running in a sort of popularity contest, personal variety.”

Mike took another sip of ice water. “I haven't heard much talk about lieutenant governor so far. To that extent you have nobody to compete with. However, there may be several fellows have their eye on the job and are waiting to see which way the blanket turns. You know how these things work. If we nominate a governor from this part of the state, you haven't a chance. But if he's from west of the Nesquehela, that'll be in your favor. Speaking personally, and going only that far, I'd like to see you get the nomination, and not only as a friend. Joe, I'll tell you this much. I've known for some time about your building up contacts, and I know you made an excellent impression. That doesn't surprise me in the least. But you also know how it is in practical politics. Personal considerations, and attractive personality—they often mean less than nothing. And I'm a practical politician. I'm not a statesman. I'm a successful, fairly respectable ward-heeler. And if the rest of our fellows want somebody else, I'll see it their way. If on the other hand, they have nobody ticketed, I'll fight for you.”

“That's what I hoped you would say.”

“Now. Practical politics. Are you going to ask friends to help with the finances? Henry Laubach? Arthur? People like that?”

“Not for the nomination. I'm willing to do that myself.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Joe? Sometimes, in fact, usually, it's a better idea to have a lot of people putting up moderate sums than one or two people putting up the whole war chest.”

“I'll take all the help I can get after I get the nomination, but whatever I have to spend before the nomination I'll do myself.”

“It may be a considerable sum.”

“I know.”

“You may spend a considerable sum and not get the nomination.”

“That's why I don't want my friends to give me financial support till I know they're going to get a run for their money.”

“Now by a considerable sum, Joe, I mean a considerable sum. You may find yourself spending money, your own money, where another fellow that wants the nomination won't be spending anything because he's an organization regular. Remember, you're new at this, and it can be an expensive education.”