Passion and Preferences: William Jennings Bryan and the 1896 Democratic Convention

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Passion and Preferences William Jennings Bryan and the 1896 Democratic National Convention The 1896 Democratic National Convention simultaneously proposed a radically new trajectory for American industrial expansion, harshly repudiated its own incumbent president, and rudely overturned the party’s traditional regional and social hierarchy. The passion that attended these decisions was deeply embedded in the traditional alliances and understandings of the past, in the careers and futures of the party’s most prominent leaders and most insignificant ward heelers, and in the personal relations of men who had long served together in the halls of Congress. This passion was continuously on display in the Chicago Coliseum, shaped by the rhythm of parliamentary ritual and the physical architecture of the convention hall. William Jennings Bryan anticipated the moment when pathos would be at its height and chose that moment to give his “Cross of Gold” address, thus harnessing passion to his personal ambition and winning the presidential nomination. Professor Richard Franklin Bensel has taught in the Department of Government at Cornell University since 1993. Before that, he served on the Graduate Faculty of Political and Social Science in the New School for Social Research. He is the author of four previous books: Sectionalism and American Political Development, 1880–1980 (1984), awarded the Mark H. Ingraham Prize in 1984; Yankee Leviathan: The Origins of Central State Authority in America, 1859–1877 (1990); The Political Economy of American Industrialization, 1877–1900 (2000), selected by Choice as one of the “Outstanding Academic Titles of 2001” in economics and awarded the 2002 J. David Greenstone Prize by the Politics and History section of the American Political Science Association; and The American Ballot Box in the Mid-Nineteenth Century (2004).

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Passion and Preferences William Jennings Bryan and the 1896 Democratic National Convention

RICHARD FRANKLIN BENSEL Cornell University

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CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521888882 © Richard Franklin Bensel 2008 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2008

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To Eliza and Seth

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Contents

List of Tables and Illustrations Preface

page viii xi

1 2

Introduction The Road to Chicago

3 4 5 6

Silver Sentiment in the Convention Prospects for a Gold Bolt Rules and Rituals Display of Passion

46 88 123 159

7 8

Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” Speech The Nomination Contest

203 248

9

Conclusion

305

Index

1 24

313

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List of Tables and Illustrations

Tables 1.1 Chronological Outline of the 1896 Democratic National Convention page 22 2.1 State Democratic Conventions Held before July 1896 29 3.1 Announced Preferences of the Delegates on the Monetary Standard 50 3.2 Meetings of the Silver Men outside Sessions of the Convention 60 5.1 Structure of National Party Conventions 127 5.2 Contestation and Structure in the 1896 Democratic National Convention 129 6.1 The Ten Most Notable Demonstrations during the 1896 Convention 180 6.2 Hotel Accommodations for State Delegations and Campaign Headquarters 184 6.3 Medium, Context, and Form of the Display of Preferences 201 7.1 The Platform Debate in the Democratic National Convention, July 9, 1896 223 8.1 Presidential Booms 251 8.2 Formal Endorsements of Candidates by State Delegations 265 8.3 Estimates of Bland Strength on the First Ballot 268 8.4 Projections of Candidate Strength on the First Ballot 269 8.5 Roll Calls on the Presidential Nomination 290 8.6 Bryan’s Vote on Nomination Roll Calls 292 8.7 Bland’s Vote on Nomination Roll Calls 295

Illustrations 1.1 “Cornered by the Newspaper Artists” 1.2 “Democratic Politics This Year Surely Makes Strange Bedfellows” 1.3 “Difference between Denver and New York Point of View” viii

11 20 21

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List of Tables and Illustrations 4.1 4.2 5.1 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7 8.1 8.2

“Will the Sea Recede?” “The Eastern View of the Chicago Situation” “Gov. Altgeld’s Way of Removing an Obstacle” “The Chicago Coliseum, as Arranged for the Democratic Convention” “Seating Arrangement of Delegations” “Interior of the Coliseum” “A View of the Convention in Session” “A Comparative Lull in the Palmer House Lobby” “The Bland Headquarters in the Auditorium Annex” “Say but a Word, O Mighty Sultan!” “The Cincinnatuses of the Democratic Party” “Ready for the Word ‘Go’”

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93 112 133 170 171 174 175 186 188 194 258 272

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Preface

Formal political settings can profoundly influence how individuals collectively make decisions. Such settings are the product of (1) the emotional and political commitments of the participants (including their interpersonal relationships and authority hierarchies), (2) the formal rituals that determine how decisions are to be made and what is to be decided (these formal rituals, in fact, are the most important constitutive feature of such settings), and (3) the physical architecture within which the participants are arrayed as these rituals unfold. It is the combination and interaction of these elements that make the configuration of any formal political setting unique. However, within these unique configurations there are common elements such that there also exists the potential for the intentional manipulation of the passions of the participants. Manipulation of those passions, in turn, can reshape the preferences of the participants in such a way as to change the collective decisions that would otherwise have been made. This book suggests a framework for interpreting these settings, utilizing events in the 1896 Democratic National Convention as examples. I show that formal political settings shape, among other things, the emotions felt and displayed by the participants as they deliberate. That passion is often, in fact, an artifact of the ritual order of deliberative proceedings and of the material sites in which decisions are made. To see why this is so, we should first distinguish between passion and preferences. In many instances, passion merely reflects the intensity with which an individual holds a preference. For example, a person may strongly or weakly prefer one presidential candidate to another. In this case, passion is simply attached to the preference as a descriptive adjective (as when we say a person “passionately supports the candidate”). In many formal political decisions, passion is irrelevant. For example, when individuals record their preferences in a voting booth, the passion that they attach to their choice does not affect the way in which their preference enters into the decision calculus. To a voting machine, one vote is just one vote, no matter how much emotion the voter may feel. Votes formally recorded in legislative assemblies xi

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are similarly “flat” with no weight assigned to how personally committed a member may be to his or her position. Because formal political decisions thus ignore passion, the display of emotion by political actors has often been viewed as a largely irrelevant curiosity. This is a mistake for several reasons. For one thing, expressions of passion do more than simply describe the commitment of individuals to one of the alternatives in a formal political decision. Passion can also tell us whether a particular decision will change their future political loyalties and alignments. The loyalty of an individual to a party, for example, is an enduring bond, persisting over time and ultimately grounded in an expectation that the individual’s most intense political preferences will be best realized through affiliation with that party. For that reason, a political party instantiates the political futures of those who belong to it. From the individual’s perspective, the party might take an incorrect position on some things, but when all is weighed in the balance, the preponderance of correct positions warrants the individual’s loyalty. Put another way, party loyalty is a practice in which individuals embed their preferences within an extended time horizon after they have compared the policies favored by their party with those proffered by competitors. There is thus a “future” entrained by a decision to support a party in an election and, more generally, by any political act. A strong emotional commitment to the decision at hand can truncate that future. In extreme cases, individuals may be so passionately committed to a decision that there is no future at all if the outcome goes against them. For example, in the months preceding the election of Lincoln in 1860 southerners passionately displayed their opposition to a Republican victory, visibly demonstrating that they were, metaphorically speaking, putting all their chips on the table. If they lost the hand they were playing, they would withdraw from the game; in that case, there would be no future moves for them within the American Union. During the Cold War, the slogan “Better dead than red” reflected similar sentiments for many Americans as they considered the implications of a world dominated by the Soviet Union. Displays of passion thus demonstrate that political decisions will have consequences, consequences that will strongly affect the future. That information cannot be communicated in the simple act of voting. That is why passionate political tracts, mass demonstrations, and suicide attacks convey information that cannot be retrieved from the study of election returns and roll call votes. The struggle over the silver plank was the most climactic event of the 1896 Democratic National Convention, a crossing of the Rubicon that abandoned to their fates many of the party’s most revered national leaders. The passionate protests of the gold men thus indicated that they saw little or no future within their party if the platform were to endorse silver. During the weeks preceding the opening of the convention, the eastern gold men had forcefully described their predicament to their southern and western brethren. Asking the gold men to endorse silver and work for a silver ticket was, they said, like asking condemned men to walk the plank. How could the silver wing break what

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had been the traditional social contract between the sections? For decades, this social contract had permitted congressional Democrats to stake their positions on silver while allowing the national party to nominate gold presidential candidates on platforms that evaded positions on money. The formula for national victory in the presidential race had been New York, New Jersey, and one or two other small northern states plus the South. The formula for congressional majorities had been huge, almost solid delegations from the South and New York City with a scattering of representatives and senators from the remainder of the country. The price exacted by the eastern states for their electoral votes in the presidential race was the practical (but not open) endorsement of the gold standard (and, almost invariably, the nomination of a New Yorker as the presidential candidate). Congressional Democrats simply divided along sectional lines when the monetary issue surfaced in Congress.1 An unequivocal endorsement of silver in the national platform would utterly destroy this social contract. The eastern gold men saw nothing but disaster ahead for their state tickets, and their own political careers would go down in flames with those tickets. To them, the relative insulation of the southern branch of the party from the monetary issue, arising out of the growing popularity of “white supremacy” as a Democratic campaign theme, seemed to make southern insistence on a silver plank a rather gratuitous assault on the eastern wing. And easterners repeatedly called up the history of their unflagging support for “home rule” in the South in bringing about an end to Reconstruction and, thus, the return to power of the Democratic party in the region. How cruel, the easterners lamented, that this region should now turn on their protectors, destroying them in pursuit of the silver grail. The pathos of this struggle over money was thus deeply embedded in the history of the party, in the manifold alliances and understandings of the past, in the careers and futures of the party’s most prominent leaders and most insignificant ward heelers, and in the interpersonal relations of men who had served together in the halls of Congress. When they passed one another in the hotel corridors or in the aisles on the convention floor, there was bitterness in their glances, sadness in the words they exchanged, and poignancy in their mutual recognition that they were now destined to go separate ways. The expressions on their faces eloquently confirmed the sundering of their common fates. It was as if the future of the Democratic party could be read from a single glance on the convention floor. In the demonstrations that occurred in this convention, there was little or nothing in the way of rational debate or logical exposition. These collective displays did not persuade others to change their preferences through the analytical sophistication of their argument. But they did convince observers that the consequences of the decision at hand may be something they wish to avoid. In 1

For a description of these arrangements and how they changed after 1896, see Richard Franklin Bensel, The Political Economy of American Industrialization, 1877–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), chapter 6.

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that sense, the passionate displays of the gold men demonstrated that the bonds of party comradery would be severed if the silver plank were adopted. Some of the protests went even further than this, threatening that gold Democrats would defect to the Republican ticket. There were thus future consequences entailed by the outcome of the struggle over silver, and it was the prospect of these future consequences that was intended, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to persuade the silver wing to alter its course. Displays of passion often raise the intensity of emotional commitments for those participating in them. When these displays thus feed on themselves, they increase the solidaristic identity and cohesion of the group. And this, in turn, makes the displays all the more effective as a political tactic. As we shall see, William Jennings Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech was delivered at such a moment, a moment in which the silver men fervently wished to demonstrate that their commitment to their position was just as strong as that of the gold men to their position. In a sense, Bryan positioned himself as a cheerleader for silver and then performed so effectively that the emotional intensity of the demonstrations burst all bounds, transferring sentiment for silver to himself as presidential candidate. This transfer, of course, was not the intent of the demonstrators when they entered into their frenzied displays; only Bryan recognized that he could instrumentally serve his own personal ends by giving that speech at that time. Even so, we could note another reason why displays of passion should not be ignored: they sometimes change the preferences of the participants in ways they do not anticipate. The physical architecture of political action provides the setting within which displays of passion can be performed and observed. The material settings for such displays in the convention were hotel lobbies, campaign headquarters, and the Coliseum where the formal proceedings were held. Such settings can be permanent (e.g., the chamber in which members of the U.S. Senate deliberate), ephemeral (e.g., the streets in which a marching club and band advertise a presidential hopeful), or designed for a transient political purpose (e.g., the hall constructed for a political convention). The physical architecture of such places facilitates the performance and observation of some kinds of displays and obscures (and thus discourages) others. Because, as we shall see, much of the energy unleashed in a demonstration depends on whether and how the demonstrators can view one another and their opponents, the material setting for political action significantly influences how (and whether) these displays take place. Formal collective decisions are always tightly structured by a ritual order. That ritual order, for example, determines when the moment has arrived in which voting will take place, the serial sequence in which preferences will be recorded, and how and by whom the outcome of the voting will be announced. This ritual order influences several aspects of collective decisions. First, the sequence in which decisions are taken up and decided shapes the expectations of the participants. In the 1896 convention, for example, the delegates knew that the convention officers would be selected, then the platform adopted, and,

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only after those decisions had been made, a candidate for president would be named. A convention thus proceeds in stages, successively orienting the participants with reference to a sequence of decisions that must be collectively made. The second way in which the ritual order affects collective decisions is by conferring or denying formal recognition on the participants when, for example, they wish to address the convention or propose a motion. Formal recognition both focuses the attention of the participants on a select group of individuals and, by exclusion, restricts the range of alternatives considered by the delegates. In the 1896 convention, the presiding chairmen apparently conferred recognition on anyone who observed ritual proprieties in seeking their attention but, as in all such settings, enforced limitations on the purposes to which that recognition might be put. Both the sequential order in which decisions are made and the way in which ritual focuses attention on the participants significantly influence the construction of a site of politics, but the most important effect lies outside observance of ritual proprieties. That is because demonstrative acts become most visible when they are, in fact, disruptions of a ritual order. Put another way, displays of passion are most effective when they violate the formal proprieties of a proceeding; demonstrators display the intensity of their feelings by transgressing on the otherwise collectively observed etiquette determined by ritual. In that sense, the ritual order becomes an indispensable backdrop against which passion can be displayed. In addition, because most demonstrations are more or less inarticulate concatenations of noise and movement, the ritual order also provides much of the meaning for a display. For example, a demonstration by the gold men as Senator David Hill walked to the podium to give the opening defense of the gold standard during the platform debate was both a testament to Hill’s prestige as the leader of the gold wing and a fervent expression of passion with respect to the intensity of that wing’s commitment to their cause. But we do not know this because the demonstrators actually said that was what they intended. We know this because the ritual order, announced from the podium by the chairman of the convention, provided that Hill would now speak to the convention in this role. The arrival of this ritual moment thus did three things simultaneously: it coordinated the collective response of thousands of gold delegates and spectators in the convention hall, provided the meaning of the demonstration itself, and displayed (as a disruption of proceedings otherwise highly protected by ritual) the intensity of the commitment of the gold wing to its cause. In the absence of this ritually defined moment, the demonstration would have been a meaningless puzzle to observers, so much so that it is very unlikely that the gold men could have mounted it at all. The 1896 Democratic National Convention provides a splendid setting in which to illustrate these theoretical implications. For one thing, there was a lot of passion in this conclave, unlike many modern conventions in which the participants and the proceedings seem almost entirely devoid of emotion. In addition, most of the participants were party professionals, fully prepared to evaluate the signaling and other displays of sentiment constantly produced in

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this information-rich environment. Because passionate displays came in many forms and erupted in many sites, we have a lot that we can analyse. Furthermore, we have two equally important but very different situations in the 1896 convention. One of them revolved around adoption of the silver plank in the Democratic party platform. Because the relative merits of silver and gold had been publicly debated for many years, almost all delegates were publicly committed to one or the other of the two metals well before their arrival in Chicago. In fact, by publicly aligning themselves on one side or the other of the great “Battle of the Standards,” many of the delegates had long ago wagered their political careers on either silver or gold. The other situation centered on the nomination of a presidential candidate. While the delegates had strong preferences with respect to silver and gold, they had only ambivalent feelings toward the candidates who were competing for the nomination. To be sure, the convention did have a front-runner in Richard Parks Bland of Missouri. Trailing him were almost a dozen candidates, some of them no more than the favorite son of a small state delegation. Others had more substantial reputations and followings. A few state conventions had bound their delegates to one of these candidates, but beyond these instructions (as they were called), loyalties to particular candidates were usually weak. Both the platform fight and the presidential nomination involved the same participants, and these participants in each instance felt that the stakes were very high. The decisions themselves were almost but not entirely separable; announced positions on the monetary plank of the platform were so strongly fixed and the plank was so salient that silver candidates for the nomination could not and would not have run on a gold platform and vice versa. However, all silver candidates could have run on the silver plank that was actually adopted and all gold candidates could have stood on the hard money platform that was rejected. Thus we can analyse two very different situations in the same convention, one of them known well in advance to closely resemble a structured game and the other expected to be a highly contingent process. In the structured game the preferences on the monetary question were fixed in advance and the decision rules merely processed the outcome. In the absence of deception or other tactics that would impair the transparency of the proceedings, the outcome was thus determined before the members assembled to make the decision. In the highly contingent presidential race, the proceedings themselves shaped the preferences of the members, and the outcome was thus contingent on what happened after the members assembled but before they actually voted. The participants were exactly the same in each case, but they interacted with each other and made decisions in diametrically contrasting ways. The idea for this book germinated in a series of conferences (“Preferences in Time”) at the Russell Sage Foundation. While all the participants compelled me to clarify the general thesis, the conference organizers, Ira Katznelson and Barry Weingast, were particularly (and invaluably) insistent. A subsequent conference

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at Yale (“Political Action and Political Change: Agents, Entrepreneurs, and Leaders in American Political Development”) gave me an opportunity to extend the analysis, especially with respect to the impact of the physical setting of the Coliseum and the procedural order on Bryan’s convention strategy. Among the many helpful criticisms I received in New Haven, I should single out David Mayhew’s advice as the most helpful. Stephen Skowronek, both as conference organizer and co-editor of the volume that came out of that conference, also helped me to improve the theoretical frame. In my home department at Cornell, Banu Bargu generously read and commented on several drafts. Hong-an Tran spent many hours reworking the illustrations so that they would clearly depict what the uneven quality of the newspaper originals sometimes only implied. The Cambridge reviewers, Dan Kryder and David Mayhew, gave me pages and pages of criticism for which I am eternally grateful. They were able to see what I was trying to do even when my text was rather stubbornly opaque. Although I have attempted to heed all their recommendations and suggestions, I remain thoroughly convinced that I have not done them justice. As always, my editor Lew Bateman was everything that an author could hope for. Books, like films, need producers, and he is one of the best. And Stephanie Sakson has again superbly edited my prose for the third time in as many books. Last but not least, I would also like to thank Marie Chong, the proprietor, chef, and matriarch of Little Tokyo where I learned that cham pong could be much more than a meal. I would like to thank the Russell Sage Foundation and University of Pennsylvania Press for permission to reprint passages from their respective collections. Portions of this book previously appeared in Richard Bensel, “A Cross of Gold, a Crown of Thorns: Preferences and Decisions in the 1896 Democratic National Convention,” in Ira Katznelson and Barry Weingast, eds., Preferences and Situations: Points of Intersection between Historical and Rational Choice Institutionalism (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2005), pp. 27–61. Russell Sage Foundation, 112 East 64th Street, New York, N.Y. 10021. Reprinted with permission. And portions of Richard Bensel, “A Calculated Enchantment of Passion: Bryan and the ‘Cross of Gold’ in the 1896 Democratic National Convention,” in Stephen Skowronek and Matthew Glassman, eds., Formative Acts: American Politics in the Making (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), pp. 77–104, are reprinted by permission of the University of Pennsylvania Press.

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1 Introduction

On the third day of the 1896 Democratic National Convention, William Jennings Bryan of Nebraska delivered a speech favoring adoption of the majority report of the Committee on Resolutions. When he finished speaking, [e]verybody stood up, even the eastern men, who at first were disposed to remain in their seats. Westerners shouted, waved handkerchiefs, hats, flags, canes, umbrellas and anything else conspicuous and portable. Deafening cheers rent the air and articles of every description were thrown high above the surging sea of humanity. The staffs bearing the names of the states were held aloft with flags and other things on top and waved to and fro. When that pastime became too tame . . . nearly all the silver states and some of the gold states joined in the procession and marched in triumph around the floor. . . . This furore continued for a quarter of an hour and no effort was made by the chairman or sergeant-at-arms to check its tempestuous progress. Away to the west and north and south of the platform in the multitude of spectators the demonstration of the delegates was repeated. Hundreds of umbrellas were opened by the apparently crazed people. Harmless missiles of paper and other things were hurled through the air on the delegates’ heads. The remarkable feature of this wild outburst was that its spontaneity was apparent and it was so much a personal tribute to Mr. Bryan that eastern delegates who differed with him caught the infection and joined in moderately.1

Bryan’s oratorical performance became known as the “Cross of Gold” speech and is widely considered one of the most stirring political addresses in American history. While his speech was ostensibly intended to defend the silver plank that had been proposed for the national party platform, his oratory had almost no effect on its adoption. But his performance did propel him into serious

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Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896.

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Passion and Preferences

contention in the presidential race and, in an astounding upset, Bryan won the nomination on the following day.2 When delegates began to assemble in Chicago during the first week of July, almost everyone anticipated that the party would endorse the free coinage of silver. Adoption of this plank would bring to a conclusion a national campaign that had persuaded many state conventions to commit their delegates formally to free coinage. For many delegates, this formal commitment was probably unnecessary; “silverites,” as those favoring free coinage were commonly known, fervently believed that the then prevailing gold standard had a malevolent impact on the American economy. “Goldbugs” just as fervently believed that abandonment of the yellow metal would produce a cataclysmic collapse of the nation’s economy. The struggle between silver and gold was so over-determined that the delegates might as well have mailed in their votes on the party platform and stayed home. However, the apparent inevitability of a silver victory only intensified the frenzied demonstrations inside the convention hall as the delegates demonstrated their preferences for one or the other of the two metals. These demonstrations created one of the great figures in American political development when Bryan harnessed the emotional energy generated by the passionate displays of the silver men and thus linked their long-standing preferences for silver to newly created preferences for his presidential nomination. The Democratic National Convention as a “Public Sphere” To understand how Bryan was able to use his speech for the silver plank to create support for his presidential ambitions, we might first conceptualize the 2

Although the 1896 Democratic National Convention was one of the most fateful turning points in American political development, scholars have consistently passed over the convention in their writing. Only the 1860 Democratic Convention in Charleston, South Carolina, rivals the 1896 conclave in historical importance, both meetings splitting the party into southern and northern wings. The first became the opening prelude to Lincoln’s election and, thus, the Civil War; the second auctioned off the fate of American industrial expansion in the subsequent presidential election. Both conventions thus presented the party (and the nation) with a choice between very different developmental paths. Although the 1896 Democratic National Convention has never been the focus of much study, brief descriptions have appeared in Bryan memoirs and biographies. These accounts naturally stress the evolution of Bryan’s prospects as a narrative backbone. The most complete are William Jennings Bryan and Mary Baird Bryan, The Memoirs of William Jennings Bryan (Philadelphia: John C. Winston, 1925), pp. 103–15; Louis W. Koenig, Bryan: A Political Biography of William Jennings Bryan (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1971), pp. 178–208; Paolo E. Coletta, William Jennings Bryan, vol. 1: Political Evangelist, 1860–1908 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1964), pp. 121–48; and Robert W. Cherny, A Righteous Cause: The Life of William Jennings Bryan (Boston: Little, Brown, 1985), pp. 54–61. The most recent account of Bryan’s campaign for the nomination is Michael Kazin’s very fine A Godly Hero: The Life of William Jennings Bryan (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006), pp. 45–63. The most extended account of the 1896 convention appears in Stanley L. Jones, The Presidential Election of 1896 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1964), pp. 212–43.

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3

1896 Democratic National Convention as a “public sphere”: a network of selfenclosed arenas in which the delegates displayed passion and preferences while, at the same time, monitoring the displays of their colleagues. The public spaces in which the delegates deliberated influenced decisions in several ways. Most obviously, the physical environment in which the delegates interacted with one another determined what kinds of actions and verbal expressions could be seen or heard, thus shaping the way in which the preferences of delegates, including changes in their intensity, could be monitored. The arrangement of these public spaces also affected the passion with which the preferences of the delegates were displayed. Some of these spaces, particularly the Coliseum in which the convention sessions were held, permitted and even encouraged the eruption of collective emotion in the form of fervid outbursts of sentiment. Other venues were relatively affect-free, often because such displays would have been considered inappropriate or even meaningless. Finally, the physical spaces in which the delegates moved and deliberated provided the settings in which reporters and correspondents would seek out and then frame the stories they wrote for newspapers. Many of the events and actions that shaped the expectations of delegates were not witnessed first-hand because, aside from the convention hall, most delegates were simply somewhere else when an event or action took place. Delegates could, of course, share their personal experiences with their colleagues (and state delegations sometimes coordinated their members in such a way that they could individually monitor several venues at the same time). Newspapermen also distributed information as they haunted hotel corridors and lobbies, committee rooms and campaign headquarters, and, of course, the convention hall itself. It was their search for newsworthy stories that produced the pointed questions posed in interviews, fed the rumor mill of speculation and gossip, and swiftly circulated reports of events and actions that would later appear in the newspapers. Often, the stories subsequently printed in the newspapers simply confirmed what many of the delegates already knew from the perambulating investigations of reporters and correspondents. The public spaces of the convention were the physical grounding of its “public sphere.” Like eighteenth-century coffeehouses and elite salons, the hotel rooms and parlors in Chicago were meeting places for the exchange of information and opinion.3 The instantiation of those exchanges, as publicly shared experience, was their reduction to a printed account that, again like eighteenthcentury experience, was publicly distributed. Much of the practice of politics at the convention involved the sharing of information and opinion by way of these newspaper accounts, including the related activities of newspaper men as they gathered material for their stories. In fact, once they arrived in Chicago, the event horizon of most of the delegates contracted so that all they wanted 3

The following discussion relies heavily on Jurgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgois Society, trans. Thomas Burger (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2000), esp. pp. 1–88.

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to know was what was happening in those few public spaces in which they deliberated.4 Newspapermen and newspaper stories bound these public spaces together, creating a collective experience “of the convention” with an imagined single focus. The public sphere of the convention centered, in the first instance, on those public spaces in which the delegates gathered. Once the delegates began to gather in these spaces, correspondents and reporters came to haunt them as well. Because the delegates wanted to know what was happening as much as the newspaper men, the public nature of these spaces was reinforced by the presence of correspondents and reporters. News was thus both produced and exchanged in these spaces. At this point, we should step back and examine the similarities and differences between eighteenth-century coffeehouses and the venues that comprised the 1896 convention. While they were both suffused with politics, the primary and original function of the coffeehouse was economic; politics arose out of the coming together of bourgeois merchants in their pursuit of trade. The 1896 Democratic National Convention, in contrast, was thoroughly political, in both conception and practice. To be sure, many of the issues that the convention had to decide were economic in nature, first and foremost the metallic basis of the monetary standard. But the politics produced in convention venues was in no way an epiphenomenonal byproduct of economic activity. While both coffeehouses and convention venues were physical sites from which emanated the information that subsequently became “public opinion,” the coffeehouse was a very durable setting with ephemeral consequences, while the convention was an ephemeral setting with enduring consequences. Put another way, the coffeehouse was a permanent forum in which political opinions were exchanged and altered but lacked an institutional apparatus through which a final decision might be reached. Nothing political was ever decided (unlike economic exchanges and contracts, which were the durable arrangements produced through coffeehouse negotiations). The convention, on the other hand, lasted only five days (or a week or so if pre-convention activities are included) but the decisions that were reached were very durable (most importantly, a platform was adopted and a national ticket was nominated). The reason political decisions were made at the convention was that, unlike the denizens of the eighteenth-century coffeehouse, the Democrats in Chicago were politically empowered. The larger audience for merchant debates in the coffeehouse was the royal government from which merchants were formally 4

In astronomy, an “event horizon” is the boundary at the edge of a black hole beyond which light cannot escape because gravitational forces are too strong. An observer outside a black hole cannot see anything within this boundary because light, which would otherwise carry this information, cannot reach him. The metaphor stresses the intense preoccupation of the delegates with events and actions within the convention that precluded attention to the larger world outside Chicago. That larger world had simply dropped into a black hole.

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excluded, even while the bourgeois public opinion they helped to create influenced the affairs of state. It was thus the power of ideas, in and of themselves, that generated the influence that merchants might have. In contrast, the larger audience for the Democratic National Convention was the American voting public from which the delegates themselves were drawn. There were certainly ideas embedded in the deliberations of the delegates, but influence rested on the ability to attract votes from the common man, not the persuasive force of logical argument. And political power, if won through a superior ability to attract votes from the common man, would be wielded directly, not by proxy. The Democrats in Chicago did not have to influence power holders who would then wield political authority; they were (or would be if elected) the power holders themselves. In that sense, the Democratic delegates who assembled in Chicago were already a self-consciously constituted and recognized “public.” They had official credentials, formal roles, assigned constituencies, and well-defined interests that constituted them as a self-aware and thoroughly political collective. In contrast, the merchants in the eighteenth-century coffeehouse were still “becoming” a public, creating an identity for the first time in the space between the governing institutions of the nobility and the privacy of the home. One important aspect of this difference was that ideas prevailed in the coffeehouse while votes dominated the convention. The competition in ideas was naturally elitist in that persuasion rested on the ability to craft logical arguments. The persuasiveness of those arguments, in turn, were vetted by others who also possessed the talent to make them. Those who merely listened had little or no role in winnowing out the competitors. In contrast, the competition in votes was naturally popular in that participation was open to anyone, whether or not they were particularly skilled. Every delegate had one vote, and no delegate, in the formal sense of the rules, had more than one vote. There was thus something profoundly popular in the way convention decisions were made; formal political resources were not weighted for skill or talent. As we shall see, the notion of votes and the concept of a formal decision requires the “institutional recognition of preferences” within a setting that can be created only once a public has become self-consciously constituted and formally organized. The 1896 Democratic National Convention was thus a mature public sphere in which bourgeois democratic norms and practices infused almost every aspect of the deliberations of the delegates. But this convention did not unfold in the ways we have come to expect in the early years of the twenty-first century. The proceedings, for example, were not stage-managed for a national audience. Instead, the audience for much of what the delegates did in Chicago was themselves, not the larger voting public distributed throughout the nation. In addition, most of what transpired in and out of the convention hall was the product of internal party negotiations, either within one of the party factions or between those factions. Those negotiations were largely driven by perceptions of advantage within the convention, not the public image of the national party within the country at large. The primary reason for this

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abnormal preoccupation with the other delegates as audience and the convention as political arena is that the collective (i.e., the national Democratic party) was itself at risk. In fact, the national party was being torn apart by the rise to dominance of the free silver faction. As is the case with all such gatherings, the event horizon of the individual delegates steadily constricted in the days leading up to the convention until it enclosed just the physical grounding of the public sphere in which they deliberated: the hotels, the Coliseum containing the convention hall, the streets abutting the hotels and the Coliseum, and the transportation lines connecting them. Then, as the convention drew to a close, the public sphere expanded outward again, finally dissipating altogether, as the delegates began to return to their homes, scattering across the nation as they worked out the consequences of what they had done. Because the decisions that they made were both highly contentious and fraught with uncertain consequences, this event horizon was even more constricted than usual. As we shall see, the convention proceedings structured the attention of the delegates, informing the interpretation they placed on events and actions in ways that eighteenth-century merchants would have only dimly understood. One of these was the dominating role of formal decisions that were made in highly ritualized settings. The procedural rules and ritual protocol of these settings created a “parliamentary backbone” within which the delegates anticipated an order of events and interpreted the displays of their colleagues. Once a decision was made within these settings, it moved out of the range of public deliberation, becoming a fact rather than an issue. One of these decisions involved the adoption of the free silver plank in the national party platform, an issue on which almost all the delegates had rock-hard preferences one way or the other long before they took the trains to Chicago. On the monetary plank, there was no “formative” dialogue within the party, no deliberative exchange of views between the delegates, and no consensus manifested in party opinion. With a minimum of debate and deliberation, the silver wing of the party simply imposed its position on the gold faction. The other important decision was the selection of a presidential nominee. Here preferences were wildly varied, distributed over a large number of candidates, and almost always weak. With respect to the nomination contest, debate and deliberation was quite extensive, although most of it occurred outside the convention hall. Up until the “Cross of Gold” speech, the candidate preferences of the individual delegates continually formed and reformed in a process that approximated a rational exploration of the possibilities. But the nomination was in fact won by a candidate (Bryan) who rode a tidal wave of passion to victory, and it was emotional sentiment, not cold calculation, that settled the outcome. While passion is alien to most conventional political analysis, it is often an integral feature of the way in which participants in a formal institution come to make a decision, particularly when the stakes are high and the outcome is

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uncertain.5 Almost by definition, such decisions have personal consequences for those who must vote, and these consequences encourage them to try to influence the outcome. If they present logical arguments why others should support the outcome they desire, their actions are, of course, perfectly compatible with most conventional political analysis. But the demonstrative display of sentiment, by means other than logical exposition or the formal act of voting, is primarily driven by emotion and thus lies well outside most conventional analysis. The 1896 Democratic National Convention combined (1) an eminently rational and logically ordered parliamentary backbone within which decisions were ritually made with (2) the relentless eruption of passionate displays in which delegates and spectators demonstrated the intensity with which they held the preferences so dutifully recorded in those rituals. The parliamentary rituals were articulated and legitimated within proper convention protocol. The passionate demonstrations were noisy but inarticulate and, by their very nature, violations of that proper order. In fact, these demonstrations were parasitic on parliamentary ritual because they would have been meaningless without the formally defined context against which they rebelled. When spectators and delegates threw umbrellas and hats into the air while yelling at the top of their lungs, the only way to attach meaning to their acts was to recognize the context in which the demonstration occurred. Thus, while much of the proceedings can be viewed as contemplative rational discourse within a highly ritualized setting, the convention hall was also an arena for emotional, spontaneous displays that necessarily rebelled against these parliamentary formalities. Most of these displays began with (1) preferences (e.g., for the free coinage of silver) that then (2) gave rise to an emotional commitment to that preference that, in turn, (3) produced the passion that animated the display. When Bryan delivered his “Cross of Gold” speech, he depended on this set of causal relations as he skillfully elicited one eruption after another from his audience. But during and after his speech he just as skillfully reversed these relations so that they ran from (1) the animated display of sentiment (i.e., for the free coinage of silver) to (2) an emotional commitment to the orator who had enchanted this display (i.e., William Jennings Bryan) to (3) a preference for that orator as a candidate for the presidential nomination. As we shall see, this reversal was both what Bryan had intended all along and something that was almost wholly unanticipated by the managers of the other presidential contenders (or, indeed, by any of the other delegates). And the reversal occurred within a demonstration that was such a concatenation of sound and physical sensation that few in the convention 5

Although couched in a different theoretical frame, Antonio Gramsci similarly describes “political passion” as “an immediate impulse to action which is born on the ‘permanent and organic’ terrain of economic life but which transcends it, bringing into play emotions and aspirations in whose incandescent atmosphere even calculations involving the individual human life itself obey different laws from those of individual profit.” Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, ed. and trans. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith (New York: International Publishers, 1983), p. 140.

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hall could speak to one another. Thus the creation of preferences for Bryan as a presidential candidate was not and could not have been the product of a deliberative exchange between the delegates. A Brief Note on Sources Well over a century has passed since the 1896 Democratic National Convention, and we must thus rely on written records in order to recover what the participants saw and felt. We would like these records to describe what was seen and done as soon after the fact as possible (so that we are confident that subsequent events did not color those accounts) and to be well grounded in interviews of delegates and other political actors attending the convention.6 Only one source meets these criteria: newspaper stories. The convention attracted hundreds of professional correspondents. The Secretary of the Democratic National Committee, Simon Sheerin, reported that he had received 1,300 applications for press seats, far more than could be accommodated in the space set aside for reporters. He accepted 400 requests from correspondents representing daily papers and banished the rest to the galleries.7 These reporters were, in turn, served by legions of messengers working for the Postal Telegraph and Western Union companies.8 More than a hundred telegraph lines connected the Coliseum to the outside world. The most complete coverage of the convention appeared in the daily editions of the nation’s leading newspapers. Each of them published a lightly annotated verbatim transcript of the proceedings, a second, detailed interpretation of the deliberations that paralleled that transcript, and dozens of articles reporting and interpreting events off the convention floor (e.g., caucuses of the various state delegations, meetings of party committees, and interviews with individual delegates). In the days just before the opening of the convention, the papers published lists of the positions that the state delegations were expected to assume on silver, early polls of the delegates with respect to the various candidates for the nomination, and analyses of the strategies that the various factions and candidates might adopt when the convention finally got under way. Five of these newspapers provided most of the material for this study. They each differed somewhat in their orientation toward the convention and the activities in which they took a special interest. The most important source was the Chicago Tribune, a hard-money, Republican newspaper that probably fielded the largest number of reporters at the convention. Despite its monetary and party loyalties, the Tribune served as one of the primary sources of 6

7 8

Accounts written after the convention had ended often contain misstatements of fact and view the proceedings through a lens tinted by later events. For a particularly egregious example written by one of the New York delegates, see George B. McClellan, Jr., The Gentleman and the Tiger (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1956). Many of the numerous errors and lapses of memory in this autobiography are identified in the annotations by the editor, Harold C. Syrett. New York Times, June 28, 1896. Also see Chicago Tribune, July 2, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896.

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convention information for the Democratic delegates because it was published in the city and thus readily available only hours after publication. In terms of coverage, one of the priorities for the Tribune was the activity of those silver Republicans who attended the convention in the hopes of swinging the nomination to Senator Henry M. Teller. Although the impact of Teller’s nomination on the outcome of the November general election was unclear, the Tribune was particularly concerned with preserving Republican unity and promoting Democratic defections to the Republican ticket. Teller was a threat to Republican unity but would have encouraged Democratic defections. On the soft-money, Democratic side of the political spectrum was the Atlanta Constitution, whose editor was one of the leaders of the Georgia delegation and thus intimately involved in the proceedings he was reporting. In terms of coverage, the Constitution was a particularly rich source for the changing attitudes of the southern delegates toward candidates for the presidential nomination. The Detroit Free Press was also a Democratic paper but was much more interested in party unity than in the outcome of the presidential race. While nominally pledged to gold, the Free Press assumed an unusually neutral stance in its reports while catering to home-state readers by providing extensive coverage of the contest over the seating of the Michigan delegation. The Boston Globe was also a gold Democratic paper. Because the adoption of a silver platform promised to decimate the party in Massachusetts, the Globe was very critical of the silver faction and closely followed the activities of gold Democrats, including their individual decisions whether or not to bolt the platform and ticket. Because the Globe was both committed to gold and also loyal to the Democratic party, the incompatibility of these positions gave rise to editorial cross-currents that were sometimes difficult to sort out.9 The New York Times, the last of the five papers, was nominally Democratic but, in reality, firmly devoted to defense of the gold standard. Its coverage focused on the fate of the huge Democratic organization in the Empire State that it all but openly encouraged to defect to the Republicans. Taken together, these five papers probably published over two million words on the Democratic convention between William McKinley’s nomination by the Republicans in the middle of June and July 11, the day after William Jennings Bryan was crowned by the Democrats.10 The Tribune and the Globe each had at least four and probably more reporters covering the convention. The Constitution had at least three and also drew on reporters working for the Southern Press Association. The Free Press and the Times probably had three each as well. All of the papers printed or 9 10

The Boston Globe listed its affiliation as “independent–Democratic.” American Newspaper Directory (New York: George P. Rowell, 1896), p. 438. This is only a rough estimate and includes the verbatim transcripts of convention proceedings, the parallel interpretive accounts, biographies of the candidates and their activities, and reports of committee meetings, state caucuses, and the attitudes and expectations of individual delegates.

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paraphrased stories carried by the others where their own men had not uncovered the story first. While none of the Tribune men had a byline (meaning, for one thing, that authorship of the articles cannot be identified), there were clearly distinct styles and orientations. The Tribune thus presented more than one perceptual frame within which events in and around the convention were interpreted. The Times and Globe carried similarly varied accounts. Although several of the Constitution men wrote under their own bylines, their stories were much more consistent than these three papers. Perhaps the most internally consistent coverage was published in the Free Press. Much of the variation in the accounts appearing in these papers arose out of the fact that the reporters were writing in “real time,” almost simultaneously with the events they witnessed as they rushed to deliver copy to their editor. Consensual interpretations of swiftly evolving strategies and rapidly unfolding events would have required a much more leisurely and contemplative pace. And there was just was not time for that before deadlines expired. The delegates, of course, were in a similar position, attempting to interpret events on the run and often interacting directly with reporters as they did so. In their often desperate search for information, they talked to correspondents regardless of the editorial perspective of their papers. Because newspaper accounts and reporters were as much a part of the public sphere as the delegates themselves, they constitute primary evidence of convention deliberations (see Fig. 1.1). When we sort through conflicting accounts of particular events, we must therefore place ourselves within the perspective of the correspondents, trying to discern what it was that different reporters saw when they witnessed the same event or heard the same words. In doing this, we are, in the conventional sense, interested in crafting an accurate account of how delegates actually made up their minds at the convention. But we are equally interested in competing but plausible reports of how delegates made up their minds. And, because displays of preferences and signals of intentions were an essential part of that process, the varying reports of how individual delegates acted cannot but help us to imagine how they appeared to their colleagues. For that reason, the differences between these papers in perspective and editorial orientation are extremely valuable. Some displays at the convention were sincere, while others were false; some displays were instrumentally intentional, while others went out by default (because even inaction or silence could be interpreted as a signal); some were guileless yelps of enthusiasm, while others were cool subterfuges of intrigue and deception; and some men publicly pinned their preferences to their chests, while others took their choices – their real choices – to their graves. The delegates themselves often interpreted the same event in different ways depending on how they viewed the motivations of the individuals they monitored. It is no surprise that reporters and correspondents would reach varying conclusions as well. The 1896 Democratic National Convention was one of the most information-rich, signal-driven political venues ever to be erected in American

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figure 1.1. Many of the state delegations rented parlors or other public rooms from the major hotels and made them their headquaters. When the convention was not in session, reporters roamed these headquarters in search of politicians who would give them information and share speculation on the course events might take. In many interviews, however, it was the politicians who interviewed the reporters because the newspaper men were better informed and, as depicted in the illustration above, sometimes outnumbered the delegates. Source: Boston Globe (Extra), July 9, 1986.

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political development. No one could have witnessed first-hand more than a small fraction of what the participants thought, felt, and attempted. What the newspaper accounts give us is the closest substitute for a complete account: the experiences and understandings, often in almost stream-of-consciousness reports, of experienced political observers stationed at what they considered to be the most tactically important sites. The Political Cultures of Silver and Gold The 1896 convention brought together delegates from all parts of the United States. Because they often had little more in common than their membership in the party, how they understood each other’s actions was strongly colored by their varying political cultures. From the beginning of the Civil War up until 1896, the dominant political culture at Democratic conventions had been associated with the eastern wing that contained most of those Democrats who could claim to belong to the social elite of the nation. The urge to power for these men was polished by years in which authority had come to them naturally and without challenge. Largely because their understanding of the world was more sophisticated and urbane, they tended to patronize their party (and often country) cousins from the nation’s southern and western periphery. Their attitudes were disproportionately influenced by the prominence of finance capitalists among party leaders in the East and, through the East, the nation. New York stood at the center of this eastern political culture. Even though New York boasted the largest population in the nation and thus would take the largest delegation to Chicago, the Empire State was even more influential than sheer size would indicate. With but one exception (Winfield Hancock in 1880), every Democratic presidential candidate from 1864 onward had come from New York. In part, this was because the South alone, even after the consolidation of Democratic control in that region, could not elect a president. In fact, because the South remained a pariah in national politics, southern leaders were, as a practical matter, ineligible for the presidential consideration simply because northerners would not vote for them. But the isolation of the South in national politics was not the primary reason for New York’s salience. In the heavily sectional organization of national party competition there were only a few states that held the balance of power in most presidential elections. These most commonly included Indiana, Connecticut, New Jersey, and New York. New York had as many electoral votes as the other three put together and, again as a practical matter, had been absolutely essential to Democratic prospects in past elections. The state was more or less evenly balanced between the two great political parties because, alone of all the major northern commercial centers, New York City was opposed to a high tariff on foreign imports. Because approximately half of all U.S. imports and exports passed over the wharves in New York, a vast mercantile community had grown up in the city

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whose interests were tied to American participation in international trade.11 For these interests, a protective tariff, with its dampening impact on the flow of goods between the United States and other nations, was anathema. Because tariff protection was one of the major policy issues dividing the Republican and Democratic parties in the nineteenth century, the mercantile interests of New York City overwhelmingly sided with the Democrats, who favored lower tariffs. In most of the United States, political support for lower tariffs was strongly associated with opposition to the gold standard. The sole major exception to that association had been New York City where the great mercantile community had spawned, as a symbiotic twin, a vast financial sector that drew its livelihood from market transactions in stocks, bonds, currency, commodities, shipping, insurance, and many other kinds of commercial paper. Above all else, this financial sector required stable economic conditions as a foundation for the regular operation of these markets. And the most important of those conditions involved the stability of the value of the American dollar. As a policy device, that stability arose out of American adherence to the international gold standard in which the dollar was pegged to gold. And because the British also pegged the pound to gold, one byproduct of the gold standard was a fixed exchange rate between London, the global center of the international political economy, and New York City. In fact, once the trans-Atlantic cables were laid, financial markets between the two cities became thoroughly integrated with price changes in one reflected within minutes in price changes in the other. In sum, New York City was economically dependent on both trade and finance and, thus, politically devoted to both low tariffs and the gold standard. Up to the 1896 election, the only party that offered that combination of policies in national politics was the Democrats and that party subsequently enjoyed both huge electoral majorities and easy access to great wealth in the city. With those electoral majorities and large amounts of money often came Democratic victory in New York State and, with the Empire State’s electoral votes, the election of a Democratic president.12 There was of course great wealth in the other eastern states. Pennsylvania and Massachusetts Democrats, for example, boasted of 11

12

In the year ending June 30, 1896, 64 percent of the value all imports and 40 percent of all exports passed through New York City. Computed from data in the Statistical Abstract of the United States: 1896 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1897), pp. 78, 120. On New York City’s anomalous position in American politics as a hard-money/free trade constituency, see Richard Franklin Bensel, The Political Economy of American Industrialization, 1877–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 77–81, 242–43. On the operation of financial markets, also see Richard Franklin Bensel, Yankee Leviathan: The Origins of Central State Authority in America, 1859–1877 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990), chapter 4. For a splendid analysis of the emergence of mercantile, industrial, and finance capital as a self-conscious political class in New York City, see Sven Beckert, Monied Metropolis: New York City and the Consolidation of the American Bourgeoisie, 1850–1896 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

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the commercial and financial interests of Philadelphia and Boston in ways that often mimicked New York’s claims on pride of place. But Democratic victory in a presidential election was simply out of reach in those Republican strongholds, and, as a result, they followed New York’s lead. Eastern Democrats were strongly devoted to sound money, were comparatively familiar with the folkways of great wealth, and displayed a personal dignity often associated with high social standing. While southern and western Democrats were seen as “yelling” and “ranting” for their favorites at the convention, eastern Democrats would “applaud” for theirs. Easterners were, for the most part, smooth-shaven, allowing at most a mustache and sideburns to adorn their face. Southerners and westerners fully embraced what the easterners referred to as “whiskers,” long, unkempt, and thoroughly “common” from the latter’s point of view. Political etiquette required that these men from the periphery be recognized at a national convention. Easterners, after all, had to converse with southerners and westerners in order to exercise the influence they believed that they so richly deserved. But this ever so slight social recognition bestowed on men from other regions was still a kind of noblesse oblige in which tolerance within the party coalition depended on the observance of proper social norms. One of those norms was the avoidance of sectional references in polite political conversation. “Sectionalism,” as the easterners termed these references, was faulted for a number of reasons. Foremost among these reasons was the demonization of the now-redeemed Democratic South by the opposition Republican party. Republican platforms routinely condemned political practices in the former states of the Confederacy and then hung the South, like an albatross, around the necks of northern Democrats in local campaigns. The Democratic response to these attacks was to condemn sectionally divisive rhetoric and policies while claiming that their own party was the only truly national organization. But an equally important reason for hostility to “sectionalism,” the reason that applied to discussions within the party as opposed to rhetorical exchanges between the parties, was that references to region threatened to uncloak eastern dominance in national party conventions. While the South regularly provided the vast majority of the party’s electoral votes in presidential races and supplied most of the party’s seats in Congress, the pivotal position of the East gave that section practical control of the national Democratic agenda. Open competition over that agenda, as occurred in Chicago in 1896, would result in southern victories within the party but, so the easterners argued, portended defeat in national elections. Over the years, this deference to the East, combined with a refusal to even discuss the arrangement in regional terms, caused great resentment among an increasing number of southern Democrats.13 13

Rather indifferent to this resentment, the Boston Globe publicly lamented the passing of an era in which Democratic conventions “acted upon the sole idea that the battle would be fought below 14th [Street in Manhattan], and that little point of a very small island was mightier than a continent in the consideration of the convention politicians.” July 5, 1896.

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A closely related reason for taking sectionalism off the table in internal party politics was the eastern bloc’s assertion that their southern brethren had been able to return to power only because the northern wing of the party had strongly opposed federal intervention in southern political affairs. If the Democratic party lost the presidential election because it sacrificed the interests of eastern states on a silver altar, the Republicans might again send troops into the South and take back control of the region.14 The New York state convention even went so far as to adopt a resolution calling on “the Democrats of the South, in the name of their political liberty and their properties, to avert the possibility of a force bill . . . [by] framing a platform on which all Democrats can stand.”15 Southern silver men never really responded to this argument, although many of them probably felt that the indigenous Populist insurgency was more threatening to Democratic rule than an external, Republican-sponsored federal occupation.16 The commonly acknowledged leader of the gold money forces at the convention was William C. Whitney of New York. Described by the Atlanta Constitution as “towering in stature and influence,” Whitney came from impeccable old New England stock. One of his ancestors “eight generations back was John Whitney, one of the pillars of the Puritan settlement of Watertown, Mass., in 1635.” Another was Brigadier General Josiah Whitney “who helped Washington . . . cross the Delaware” during the Revolutionary War. His father had served the Pierce administration as Superintendent of the Springfield Arsenal and the Buchanan administration as Collector of the Port of Boston. Whitney himself had been appointed Secretary of the Navy by Cleveland in 1885. Whitney returned the favor by successfully managing Cleveland’s campaign for the presidential nomination during the 1892 Democratic National Convention and had earned a wide reputation for political skill and influence as a consequence. He had married the daughter of Senator Henry Payne of Ohio, one of the men who had made millions with the Standard Oil Company. When his wife died, Whitney had inherited her fortune and was by this time a very rich man.17 Among the silver leaders of the South and West, wealth was less evident and certainly less confident. Their influence rested on the votes of their constituents, many of them poor and socially unmannered. Many of the silver delegates were new to professional politics, having been drawn into party caucuses and 14 15 16

17

New York Times, June 29, 1896. Public Opinion 21, no. 1 (July 2, 1896): 7. The eastern gold men made almost no appeals to the brotherly affection of their colleagues in the plains and western sections. There the Populists had often either swallowed the Democrats whole in lopsided fusion arrangements or decimated the party if the Democrats tried to run alone. No one, easterners included, anticipated anything but disaster for that wing of the party if the national platform did not unequivocally endorse free silver. For that reason, the gold wing focused on the South, a region that, although the Populists were strong there as well, appeared to have some room to maneuver. Atlanta Constitution, July 3, 1896; Chicago Tribune, June 29, 1896.

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conventions as part of a grassroots agrarian insurgency. As neophytes, the trip to Chicago was for many of them the first time they had ever been to a large city. Just days before convention opened in Chicago, Governor John Altgeld of Illinois was asked why these silver men were so hostile to the eastern wing of the party. The governor replied, In 1884 the Standard Oil and Wall street people went to Chicago and nominated their idol [Cleveland], who was a New Yorker. In 1888 the same people went to St. Louis and renominated the same idol. In 1892 the Standard Oil and Wall street people went to Chicago and again nominated the same Standard Oil and Wall street idol. In 1896 the same people are advertising to the world that they are going to Chicago to control the Democratic convention. For over thirty years the tail has been wagging the dog. Common decency and common fairness would suggest that the tail should for once allow the dog to have his way.18

Although intended to overawe the silver opposition, the elite trappings and attitudes of the hard-money men merely confirmed the unbridgeable gap between the gold and silver political cultures. For example, when Thomas O’Donnell, a delegate from Colorado, arrived in Chicago for the convention, he found a letter waiting for him from N. W. Harris & Co. Specializing in the sale of bonds, particularly those bonds that underwrote much of western development, this firm deductively derived the case for gold from an objective analysis of business conditions. It has been our specialty for many years to secure capital from the east and from abroad to develop the resources of the west and south. We have thus invested over $110,000,000, of which $777,000 have been invested in your state of Colorado. Our experience in this line has given us exceptional opportunities to know the attitude of the eastern and foreign investors concerning the furnishing of additional capital for development purposes in the sections named, and including your state. The information coming to us from individual investors as well as from large financial institutions confirms the position that any considerable amounts of eastern and foreign capital cannot again, under any circumstances, be brought into the west or the south until there are no longer any fears or apprehensions regarding the country being on a silver basis. In our opinion, any other line of policy than one in favor of the maintenance of the present gold standard, and against the free coinage of silver, whether in the ratio of 16 to 1 or in any ratio whatever, until fixed by international agreement, will indefinitely delay the return of prosperity, and especially to the west and south, where new capital, only to be obtained from the east and from abroad, is so much needed for the development of the country’s natural resources. The adoption of a gold plank by the democratic national convention would have the effect of immediately restoring business confidence and reviving commercial activity.

As “one of the prominent lawyers” in Colorado who often represented the interests of “extensive eastern and European investors,” O’Donnell was certainly aware of the perspective from which the national and international community viewed the monetary question. In private, he may even have believed 18

Chicago Tribune, June 27, 1896.

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that their opinions were sincerely held and that this letter was not intended to do anything more than remind him of their position. However, O’Donnell chose to disclose its contents publicly, acting as if it were intended to intimidate him. Your draft upon the principle, patriotism and integrity of the democracy must be refused. . . . The government of this country has been left too long in the hands of bankers and bond dealers.19

O’Donnell’s indignant rejection inadvertently acknowledged the underlying asymmetry of the struggle over money in the convention and in the nation at large: the silver men had votes and the gold men had wealth. Former Governor Roswell Flower of New York had said as much in a letter to the Chicago Tribune, published on July 4: free silver would “ruin” both farmers and “the better class,” but, with respect to the latter, “Capital will always take care of itself. There should be no mistake about that.” In purely policy terms, compromise of the money issue was impossible because the gold standard was subject to an implacable “performance test” at any and all of the federal treasury offices in which gold and other forms of federal money were exchanged.20 Whenever paper currency or silver dollars were presented at the treasury counter and gold was demanded in return, the U.S. Treasury had to meet that demand. The party’s great factions could not “split the difference” because the nation could be either on a gold standard or on a silver standard but not on both at the same time. Thus, a compromise that might accommodate, however unhappily, the cultural differences of the nation’s great sections was impossible as long as the newly dominant silver forces demanded free coinage.21 When southern and western Democrats chose to embrace silver, that choice also implied, as eastern Democrats realized, a rejection of party comity as it had been practiced in the past; there would be no more submission to the norms and wishes of the eastern wing. The personal sting of this rejection was compounded by the immediate political consequences for the eastern faction. Many of them 19

20 21

Atlanta Constitution, July 4, 1896. The reader could idly speculate that O’Donnell himself was making a choice after dispassionately and objectively weighing his alternatives. Forced to choose between clients who depended on silver mining within his home state and investment firms that resided thousands of miles away, O’Donnell chose local silver interests over distant investors. In making this choice, one very likely factor was that endorsing the gold standard was a sure way of committing political suicide in Colorado in 1896. Another factor may have been a belief that the investment firm was accurately predicting the consequences of a silver victory, in which case O’Donnell would have had no clients at all had he endorsed gold and silver won the election. For more on this “performance test,” see Bensel, Political Economy of American Industrialization, p. 374. In the past, national Democratic platforms had offered symbolic respect for the equality of silver in the nation’s monetary system, waffled on endorsement of the gold standard, and then nominated hard-money men as presidential candidates. In practice, these symbolic concessions in the platform had only thinly veiled the dominance of the eastern wing of the party and did not in any way threaten the policy requirements of the gold standard itself.

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expected, correctly as it proved, to be turned out of office when the national party committed to silver. Many of the gold and silver men who met in hotel lobbies or passed each other as they moved about on the convention floor had shared long careers in politics, often as warm political allies. These personal friendships were torn asunder in Chicago when the party met in 1896. On the policy level, the dispute was over the form which American money would take. On the party level, their conflict concerned the disastrous electoral consequences for the eastern wing of the party. On the cultural level, the tables were turning between the insurgent and eastern factions. On the personal level, many eastern Democrats felt that southern and western men whom they had called friends were now knowingly sending them into political oblivion. From a political perspective, the silver men saw submission to the silver plank in the national platform as a precondition for continued brotherhood within the party. From a social perspective, submission would have demoted Eastern Democrats from their former perch as first among equals and abolished the ground on which their pretensions had rested. Grover Cleveland occupied a quite ambiguous position in all this. As the president who had almost single-handedly saved the gold standard, many of the silver delegates hissed his name in state party conventions before embarking for Chicago. And for the same reason easterners protested that criticism of a Democratic administration was a serious breach of party fealty. The president himself literally went fishing during the convention, maintaining an “official silence” toward the proceedings. This silence could be read several ways, but the most obvious interpretation is that the administration recognized its inability to influence what would transpire in Chicago. On a practical level, the administration was so detached that there was apparently little or no communication between the gold faction on the convention floor and Cleveland’s summer home in Gray Gables. Some of that detachment, in turn, can be traced back to strained personal relations between the president and some of the leaders of the gold faction, particularly Senator David Hill of New York, who had challenged Cleveland for the nomination in 1892. It was, in fact, one of the oddest turns in American politics that made Senator Hill the president’s strongest public defender on the convention floor in 1896. In sum, the most important assets held by the gold faction were the high standing of their leaders within the cosmopolitan social elite of the nation, their long experience in directing the affairs of the national party, including service in the several Cleveland administrations, and their wealth, both personal and what they could draw on as they represented the hard-money cause. The silver leaders had assets, too, but they were comparatively parochial in terms of social status, limited to congressional politics in terms of experience, and narrowly based because their funds primarily came from the owners of silver mines. What the silver movement had was votes, and when the convention opened on July 7, there were simply too many silver men on the floor of the Coliseum to be flattered, persuaded, or purchased by the gold faction. Otherwise, the hard-money men would probably have won.

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In all these ways, personal relations and political culture overlay political reality (see Figs. 1.2 and 1.3). There did exist, in fact, a reality in which it was pure political suicide for eastern Democrats to embrace silver. The consequences for southern and western Democrats, if they straddled in favor of gold, were only marginally less disastrous. In part but only in part, this was a reality that they jointly constructed for one another, pinioned as they were against the backdrop of the performance test on the gold standard. However, the framework imposed by this political and policy reality was supremely reinforced and sometimes altogether clouded by their mutual, rhetorical rejection of the pretensions and representations of each other’s political culture. Overview of the Book This book is organized both chronologically and thematically (see Table 1.1). The next chapter, for example, sets the stage by sketching the pre-convention campaign for silver and the activities of those who arrived in Chicago before the convention formally opened. Chapter 3 describes the organization and deliberations of the silver faction, including the selection of a temporary chairman to preside over the organization of the convention. This decision, while suffused with passion and emotional display, was ultimately a fairly straightforward translation of rock-hard preferences into a formal decision and thus permits an orderly presentation of the principal actors and pivotal players. Chapter 4 discusses the changing prospects for an open bolt by the gold delegates. In many ways, the 1896 Democratic convention was composed of two distinct venues. One of these centered on the adoption of the silver platform and the naming of a silver candidate for president. The silver delegates dominated these decisions and permitted little or no participation by gold delegates as they imposed their will on the national party. However, the silver delegates differed among themselves on just how the platform should be constructed and who should be named as the nominee. The strategies and tactics of the silver delegates as they made these decisions were thus largely internal to that, albeit large, faction and are discussed in chapters 3 and 8. The other venue centered on the how the individual gold delegates were going to respond to the victory of the silver wing of the party. While there were serious attempts by the gold delegates to break the silver faction’s monopoly on the platform and nomination, the gold delegates became increasingly resigned to the fact they were to be shut out of the proceedings in everything but name. Once the gold men realized their position was hopeless, the focus shifted to how they were to display their disaffection in the convention and that, in turn, depended on whether or not they intended to bolt the party. For a number of reasons that are discussed in chapter 4, many of the individual decisions to bolt the party depended on what other gold delegates were going to do. And, for that reason, signaling within the gold faction, including emotional meetings of the eastern state delegations and passionate expressions of dismay, constituted a second strategic venue within the convention.

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20 The “Heeler” is a professional, machine politician (as in “ward heeler”). Many of the delegates and supporters attending the convention literally slept together in the hotels in order to save money. Source: Chicago Tribune, June 25, 1986.

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figure 1.2. The “Gold Democrat” in this picture looks a lot like President Cleveland, but he did not go to Chicago.

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21 in the rest of the nation. Here a plump New York City goldbug, attired in proper British aristocratic finery, myopically observes a manly free silver spokesman dressed in authentically American clothing. The goldbug has his binoculars turned the wrong way around and has thus reduced the free silver spokesman to a fraction of his actual size. Source: Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896. Originally published in the Rocky Mountain News.

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figure 1.3. Easterners only reluctantly acknowledged how popular the free coinage movement had become

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table 1.1. Chronological Outline of the 1896 Democratic National Convention

Date

Most Significant Event

June 17 (Wednesday)

Meeting of gold leaders in Whitney’s home in Manhattan National Democratic Bimetallic League opens headquarters in Chicago Creation of the silver steering committee Arrival of Whitney’s contingent of gold men in Chicago Mass gold rally in the Auditorium Impending endorsement of Richard Bland by the Illinois delegation Meeting of the Democratic National Committee and naming of gold and silver candidates for temporary chairman Opening of the convention and election of the silver candidate as temporary chairman Seating of the silver contestants challenging gold men in the Michigan delegation Debate on the party platform (including Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech and approval of the silver plank) Balloting on the presidential nomination Balloting on the vice-presidential nomination

June 29 (Monday) June 30 (Tuesday) July 3 (Friday) July 4 (Saturday) July 5 (Sunday) July 6 (Monday)

July 7 (Tuesday)

July 8 (Wednesday)

July 9 (Thursday)

July 10 (Friday) July 11 (Saturday)

Chapter in Which Analyzed 4 2 3 4 4 8 3

3

5

7

8 8

Chapter 5 sets out the parliamentary ground rules for the convention. These rules defined the order in which decisions would be made, the majorities necessary to make those decisions, the ways in which votes would be counted, and the discretionary authority available to presiding officers and their allies. The preferences of the delegates, including how they came to form their preferences, cannot be understood in the absence of these rules because the procedural framework shaped their expression as well as what the delegates were to decide. Chapter 6 considers the various ways in which delegates and their leaders signaled their preferences. The convention hall provided the material site of politics, physically shaping how delegates and spectators could display their own preferences and how they could view the displays offered by others. Because most demonstrations took on meaning through their relationship to events taking place on the podium, the procedural backbone determined when and where these displays would occur. The political culture of the delegates provided the

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fundament within which the delegates shared an understanding of what those displays meant. Chapter 7 takes up the debate on the silver plank of the platform. It is here that (1) the material site of the convention hall, (2) Bryan’s formal role as the ritually recognized speaker for silver, and (3) his elicitation of highly emotional demonstrations are brought together. In terms of parliamentary procedure, the demonstrations that he unleashed seriously violated conventional protocol. However, much of the energy driving these demonstrations and the meaning that the demonstrators intended to convey arose out of their eruption against these very same ritual formalities. The last and most profound of these demonstrations followed the conclusion of Bryan’s speech and was the period in which many delegates came to favor him for the presidential nomination. Chapter 8 examines the contest for the presidential nomination, including the strategies and tactics of the various candidates and the actual balloting. The concluding chapter summarizes the book while adding a few thoughts on the implications for political and historical analysis.

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2 The Road to Chicago

Writing on the eve of the convention, Senator David Hill of New York compared the conflict between gold and silver to the struggle over slavery just before the Civil War. “Extreme counsel” and the blunders of Democratic leaders in 1860 had produced “disaster, secession, and a bloody war,” and, as a result, the party had been kept “out of power for twenty-four years. Wise action could have prevented [that] disaster . . . coolness, courage, and diplomacy can now avert” catastrophe in Chicago. The senator then said that only compromise could now save the party. The “compromise” he described, however, was one in which the gold men would carry everything before them, including an endorsement of the gold standard in the national party platform. Like most easterners who believed there was a chance – admittedly slim, but a chance nonetheless – that a rupture could be avoided, the senator placed his hopes in confidential negotiations with the more experienced and mature leaders of the silver forces. With respect to the rank and file silver men, the gold advocates had more or less given up. As Hill put it, there is “much wild talk about the corridors of the hotels that Eastern votes are not desired” for the Democratic ticket in November, but “discreet” silver leaders were discouraging “such unwise and silly utterances.”1 Although the gold faction and their leaders fought on, the hard-money cause was, in fact, already hopeless. One of the most important reasons the struggle was doomed was the sheer breadth and depth of silver sentiment in much of the nation. Filing his story from Lebanon, Missouri, one reporter described a thriving town of some 3,000 people, essentially Southern, and rather sleepy in July. The “crime of ’73” is discussed in front of every grocery, especially where there are nice pine boxes for seats and whittling material, but nobody gets excited about it. Any

1

Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896.

24

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number of men can be found who can explain all the machinations of the Wall street “money sharks.” . . . 2

The folk culture of a country store was still one of the most resilient and impenetrable redoubts of popular American politics. While the gold men dominated the national press and exercised almost hegemonic control over elite universities, they had lost the struggle around the cracker barrel even before they were aware that it had begun. Background to the Convention The 1896 Democratic National Convention met just a few years after one of the most severe recessions in American history. This downturn had a number of causes, but the most important was the crisis over the gold standard that, in turn, had been precipitated by the decline in Treasury reserves between 1890 and 1893. At first, gold reserves declined because the U.S. government was running a fairly large budget deficit. This deficit originated in the elimination of a tariff on sugar in the McKinley tariff, generous increases in Union military pensions, and payments under the Sherman Silver Purchase Act. All of these had been enacted in 1890. The resulting shortfall in revenue steadily increased apprehension over the ability of the United States to maintain gold payments. This apprehension, in turn, encouraged a steady run on Treasury reserves of gold. At this time, the United States was purchasing vast quantities of silver on the open market, coining the metal into silver dollars, and attempting to put those dollars into circulation, either as the coins themselves or in the form of paper dollars backed by these coins. But the market value of the metal in these silver dollars was worth only about half the value of the metal coined in a gold dollar. To maintain the gold standard under these conditions, the U.S. Treasury in effect pledged that all silver dollars would be redeemed in gold on demand. As it appeared increasingly unlikely that the government would be able to make good on that promise, silver dollars and paper currency rapidly returned to the Treasury after the government had spent them. Redemption of this money drew down the gold reserve above and beyond the general impact of deficit spending. To replenish the nation’s gold reserves, President Grover Cleveland negotiated several major bond issues that both sopped up currency that might otherwise have been redeemed for gold and, through gold payments for bonds, directly replenished Treasury reserves. One of these bond issues was handled by J. P. Morgan and August Belmont, the latter acting as the American agent for N. M. Rothschild & Sons of London. These bond transactions made very handsome profits for both banking houses and drew immense popular criticism. In addition to these bonds, the administration also supported repeal of the Sherman Silver Purchase Act, which, once passed, ended mandatory purchases of 2

Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896. The “Crime of ’73” referred to a federal law demonetizing silver.

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the metal and thus eliminated much of the deficit. By this time, however, the recession was so pronounced that federal revenue was almost falling in tandem with decreasing government spending. In the 1894 mid-term congressional elections, the Republican party harvested much of the popular dissatisfaction with the Cleveland administration’s monetary policy. Because most Republicans privately praised Cleveland’s stubborn defense of the gold standard, the landslide Republican gains were more than a little ironic; in effect, the party both publicly distanced itself from Cleveland’s monetary policy (while privately supporting it) and attributed the recession to the administration’s new tariff law (the Wilson tariff). These moves allowed the party to pose as an alternative to the administration on monetary policy while deflecting at least some public attention to the tariff, where the Republican position was both strongly distinguished from that of the Democrats and probably more popular in the nation at large. Going into the 1896 campaign season, the Democrats were in far worse shape than the Republicans. For twenty years or so, a large majority of the party in Congress had favored the mandatory purchase and coinage of silver in quantities that threatened the nation’s gold reserves. Although most Democrats did not openly acknowledge that they did this in order to force the government to convert to a silver standard, that was the practical implication of their policy. Democratic national conventions, however, consistently nominated hardmoney candidates for the presidency. This was largely because the party was compelled to carry New York State in order to win the general election, and, in turn, New York State was a bastion of gold sentiment. This inconsistency between the legislative and presidential wings of the party was relatively unimportant as long as these hard-money nominees lost to Republicans. But when Grover Cleveland won the presidency in both 1884 and 1892, differences between the White House and congressional Democrats over monetary policy threatened to rupture the party. In Cleveland’s first term, silver sentiment was not strong enough to overcome party loyalty and the issue was for the most part dormant. This had been, after all, the first Democratic administration since 1860, and most congressional Democrats were hungry for the rewards that a friendly administration could dispense. But, as noted above, the second Cleveland administration presided over a deepening recession largely caused by declining tariff revenue, rising expenditures for silver coinage, and increasing anxiety over the ability of the U.S. Treasury to maintain gold payments. For the Cleveland administration, aggressive measures in defense of the gold standard were obviously necessary; these measures were just as clearly anathema to most congressional Democrats. During the first two years, Cleveland won the collision between the two wings of his own party. However, the price was high in terms of patronage commitments and personal prestige. After the Republican landslide in 1894, silver Democrats stridently opposed administration monetary policy, and monetary policy dominated all other issues facing the nation. During the spring of 1896 congressional Democrats conducted a loosely organized campaign in the states and territories for the selection

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of silver delegates to the national party convention. This campaign was successful – more successful, in fact, than its supporters had anticipated.3 The Republican National Convention The most important event in the month preceding the Democratic convention was the nomination of William McKinley by the Republican convention in St. Louis. That conclave opened on June 16 and ran for four days. Acting as McKinley’s campaign manager (and some said puppeteer), Mark Hanna smoothly negotiated the nomination. But things did not go so easily for Hanna when the platform was constructed. Recognizing widespread public hostility to the gold standard and thus the danger that might accompany an explicit endorsement of gold, Hanna had hoped to straddle the money issue while deflecting attention to tariff protection, the traditional Republican trademark policy. This strategy was made all the more attractive in that McKinley had made tariff protection the keystone of his congressional career. Hard-money Republicans, however, insisted on a clear endorsement of gold and, in the end, Hanna had to give way to that demand. As a concession, he was allowed to give tariff protection top billing on the platform, but the setback stung nonetheless.4 Rubbing salt into the wound, gold Republicans so unrelentingly prodded McKinley to make a public declaration of fealty to the platform that the presidential nominee felt compelled to reaffirm publicly his personal commitment to hard money.5 While Hanna could swallow the gold plank, western silver Republicans could not. Throughout most of the mountain West, silver insurgencies had more or less absorbed the Democrats into new party organizations. Usually mounted by the Populist party but sometimes, as in Nevada, by Silver parties with a capital “S,” these new organizations had forced Republican candidates to endorse silver in state and local races. In the past, the national Republican platform had contained just enough ambiguity to allow western members of the party to straddle the issue by simultaneously endorsing free coinage and maintaining that they stood behind the national platform. In 1896, however, the thin veil shrouding the national party’s commitment to gold was lifted and western Republicans were forced to choose between repudiation of the national platform and defeat at the polls. Senator Henry Teller of Colorado spoke for these Republicans when the Committee on Resolutions reported the gold plank to the convention. Backing

3

4 5

For a broad, colorful description of the campaign for free silver within the Democratic party, see the Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. Also see Stanley L. Jones, The Presidential Election of 1896 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1964), pp. 191–203. For an overview of the policies and politics of years leading up to the convention, see Richard Franklin Bensel, The Political Economy of American Industrialization, 1877–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), chapter 6. On preparation of the Republican platform, see New York Times, June 19, 20, 22, 23, 1896. New York Times, June 29, July 1, 4, 1896.

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free silver in a speech to the convention, Teller described what all understood would be the political repercussions of an explicit gold endorsement. I say to you now that, with the solemn conviction upon me that this plank means disaster to my fellow-men, I cannot subscribe to it, and I must, as an honest man, sever my connection with a political organization which makes that one of the main articles of the faith. . . . I realize what it will cost me.

With tears streaming down his face, Teller announced that he would leave the party. Some of the spectators in the galleries hissed as he left the podium. But there was also “much honest applause” as well. The actual bolt came after the convention had rejected the silver plank that had been offered in place of gold. Then Senator Teller led twenty-one delegates, including four senators and two representatives, out of the hall. The gold Republicans in St. Louis may have been unmoved by the silver protest, but the bolt nonetheless played very well all over the mountain West. Out in Colorado, the governor ordered twenty-one-gun salutes to be fired simultaneously in Leadville, Saluda, and Pueblo in honor of the silver bolters. When Senator Teller returned to Denver, “an enormous crowd” welcomed him, and the procession escorting the senator into the city was said to have been five miles long.6 Now an apostate outside major party ranks, the senator had become the most visible and popular silver leader in the United States. Many Democrats, Populists, and Silver party loyalists openly favored his nomination by a grand national coalition of all those who opposed the gold standard. While the Republicans had already made their presidential ticket, most political observers were unwilling to predict what the Democrats would do in Chicago. The most certain features of the presidential race seemed to be that the silver delegates would demand that the nominee have a long-standing and unwavering public commitment to the free coinage of silver. That ruled out candidates who were recent converts to the movement. In addition, many silver men would probably insist that the nominee be a regular Democrat and considered Teller little more than an attractive ally. The most remarkable aspect of these discussions was that the silver men did not seem to require that the nominee be capable of running the strongest possible race against William McKinley. Many silver Democrats were supremely confident that an unqualified endorsement of silver in the platform would guarantee victory in the national election, regardless of who the Democratic nominee might be. The Last Remaining State Conventions As the silver movement captured one state convention after another, Democratic leaders became increasingly aware that the party was poised at the Rubicon (see Table 2.1). Because most states bound their delegations, there would be no turning back once they arrived at the national convention. And because most 6

New York Times, July 2, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 2, 1896.

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table 2.1. State Democratic Conventions Held before July 1896

State

Date Held

Declaration on Gold and Silver

Number of Delegates

Oregon Washington Colorado Missouri Alabama Massachusetts Rhode Island Nebraska Michigan Mississippi Pennsylvania New Jersey Tennessee Iowa New Hampshire South Carolina South Dakota Oklahoma Vermont Wyoming Kansas Kentucky North Dakota Virginia Utah Alaska Connecticut Maryland Minnesota Louisiana Nevada New Mexico California Delaware Florida Idaho Maine Arkansas Montana Illinois Texas Wisconsin Ohio

April 9 April 14 April 15 April 15 April 21 April 21 April 21 April 22 April 29 April 29 April 29 May 7 May 7 May 20 May 20 May 20 May 20 May 26 May 27 May 28 June 2 June 3 June 4 June 4 June 6 June 9 June 10 June 10 June 11 June 15 June 15 June 15 June 16 June 16 June 16 June 16 June 17 June 19 June 20 June 23 June 23 June 23 June 23–24

Silver Silver Silver Silver Silver Gold Gold Silver Gold Silver Gold Gold Silver Silver Gold Silver Gold Silver Gold Silver Silver Silver Silver Silver Silver Gold Gold Gold Gold Silver Silver Silver Silver Gold Straddle Silver Gold Silver Silver Silver Silver Gold Silver

8 8 8 34 22 30 8 16 28 18 64 20 24 26 8 18 8 6 8 6 20 26 6 24 6 6 12 16 18 16 6 6 18 6 8 6 12 16 6 48 30 24 46 (continued)

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30 table 2.1 (Continued)

State

Date Held

Declaration on Gold and Silver

Number of Delegates

Indiana New York Georgia North Carolina

June 24 June 24 June 25 June 25

Silver Gold Silver Silver

30 72 26 22

Silver Silver Silver Silver

6 6 6 12

Arizona District of Columbia Indian Territory West Virginia

Sources: Most of the information in this table came from Appleton’s 1896 Cyclopaedia (New York: Appleton, 1897). Where necessary, this information was supplemented by newspaper accounts of the various conventions. The Florida state convention pledged support for either gold or silver, depending on the action taken by the national party convention. The Nebraska silver convention is listed in the table. The gold Democrats in Nebraska met on April 29 and, of course, declared for gold.

states imposed a unit rule on their delegations, requiring all votes in a delegation to be cast for whatever position a majority of the delegates supported, individual defections from the orders imposed by the state conventions would be snuffed out in the counting. The only remaining question, as the last states hammered out their platforms and named their delegates, was whether the silver forces would command a two-thirds’ majority and, thus, be in a position to nominate a silver candidate for president without the cooperation of at least some of the gold men.7 The last states to select delegates to the national convention met over three days, beginning on June 23.8 The most of important of these was Illinois, which held the “largest and most enthusiastic convention” in the history of that state’s Democratic party. The party gathered together in a building called the Tabernacle, a “whitewashed” one-story structure resembling a “circus tent” with a dirt floor carpeted with sawdust. The only prominent feature was a raised section at one end where guests, reporters, and convention officers sat.9 Into this hall crowded some six and a half thousand people with several thousand more standing outside. Their enthusiasm was not dampened by the fact that the convention was very tightly controlled by Governor John Altgeld, who, according to one report, had so much power that whatever he commands “will be accepted without murmurings.” As the state convention opened, A. H. Bell, the temporary chairman, rhetorically asked the delegates, “Who should lead the people out of bondage”? A few 7

8 9

While adoption of the platform at the national convention required only a simple majority of the delegates, the nomination of a presidential candidate required a two-thirds’ majority. See chapter 5 for a discussion of these rules. For general background on these conventions, see New York Times, June 23, 1896. New York Times, June 24, 1896.

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of the delegates shouted Teller’s name. But when Bell asked God’s forgiveness for “their share” in Grover Cleveland’s 1892 election, a “hurricane of cheers came from every part of the great hall and it was three times renewed. When it subsided there were yells of: ‘Say it over again.’ ‘Hit him again.’ ‘Tell the reporters to put that down,’ followed by another round of applause.” After waiting a moment or two as the convention regained its composure, Bell continued: The great agricultural states of the west and the south are to be arrayed against the bondholding, manufacturing east. It is the people against the plutocracy. The common people against the unfeeling avarice of organized wealth. It is the golden fields of Illinois against the golden fetters with which the eastern bondholders would enslave us.

Later, when Governor John Altgeld entered the hall, the delegates “rose up as one man and shouted like a thousand devils, spectators joining in the ovation, and used their hats and coats and canes to make the demonstration more operatic.” Addressing the convention, Altgeld said, “Too long have we listened to the counsel of men who have not a drop of Democratic blood in their bodies.” After warning his party against backsliding on their commitment to silver, he then described the Republican national convention as having been composed of “3,000 plutocrats in Pullman cars” who were “corporation Presidents” and “managers of trusts.” They had gathered in St. Louis “not to select a ruler, but a servant.” The delegates duly ratified a platform almost as colorfully spiced as the speeches, the real political work having been completed before the convention began. That morning, just after breakfast, Governor Altgeld had met with Missouri ambassadors representing Richard Bland of Missouri, the leading candidate for the Democratic nomination. Altgeld warmly greeted the Missourians and spoke of Bland in favorable terms but said that no candidate would be endorsed in Peoria that day.10 In other signs of campaign activity, Iowans supporting Governor Horace Boies, Bland’s closest rival, circulated in the hotels and convention hall. Although lithographs of Bland were publicly displayed, “a strong undercurrent of sentiment” favoring Senator Teller was reported among the delegates.11 Georgia, along with North Carolina, brought to an end the long string of state conventions on June 25. While the monetary struggle was settled well before the Georgians gathered in Macon, some of the delegates reported that “the gold standard pullers of New York city” were still trying to persuade the delegates to abandon silver. “Finding it no longer possible to gull the people by false promises or specious declarations,” northern gold men were now “cajoling delegates.” As a result, [m]en who have never been outside of their home counties in their lives find themselves honored with telegrams and autograph letters from bank presidents, life and fire insurance presidents, and other gentlemen who spend the hot summer months in the Adirondacks . . . More than one elected Georgia delegate has been invited to “call 10 11

New York Times, June 23, 24, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 23, 24, 1896.

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around” when in New York upon people who have a suddenly awakened zeal in his behalf. . . .

While there was probably some truth to such stories, the reality was that the Georgia delegates were so overwhelmingly committed to silver, that, even if they could have been bought, the cost would have been prohibitive. A list published just before the convention opened revealed that 294 delegates supported silver, and 54 gold. Facing such odds, the gold delegates were inclined to concede without a fight, one of them concluding, “What’s the use? [W]e’ll all have to be for silver in a few days – just as well take our medicine gracefully.” The convention met for less than four hours, and generally conducted its business “with a unanimity seldom equaled.” Although Boies, Bland, and Teller were acknowledged by Georgians as the front-runners for the nomination, the presidential contest was clearly secondary to the monetary issue in discussions on and off the convention floor. And aside from the opening prayer offered by the chaplain, the delegates never mentioned either Cleveland or his administration during their deliberations.12 As the country began to turn its attention to the approaching Democratic convention, the national economy marked time with most sectors reporting weaker demand, and some, like the iron and steel foundries and New England cotton mills, stepping back production in response.13 Leaving no doubt as to what they “expected in the way of a financial plank” from the Chicago convention, a mass meeting of New York commercial and financial interests, including members of the New York Stock Exchange, Produce Exchange, Cotton Exchange, and Coffee Exchange, passed resolutions announcing that while the businessmen of New York are not adverse to the use of silver as a circulating medium, yet under present conditions they oppose the unlimited coinage of silver and the compulsory purchase of silver bullion by the government until the relation between the two metals is fixed by agreement between the great commercial nations of the world.14

Trading on the exchanges was unsettled as gold shipments to Europe depleted the Treasury reserve and McKinley made elliptic comments on the Republican platform. Speculation as to what the Democratic National Convention might do dominated the thoughts of brokers, and as the Democrats began to gather in Chicago, the bears came out in force on Wall Street. Remarking on the day’s trading on July 3, one “prominent New York bear” told the Boston Globe that Mr. Whitney’s confession of the weakness of the gold wing of the democratic party provoked sales of important blocks of long stocks. . . . It is not a question of the relative merits of properties, for the selling is on the dread of what might happen should the silver party succeed.15 12 13 14 15

Atlanta Constitution, June 24–27, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 27, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. (Extra), July 3, 1896.

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In fact, interest in politics was so pronounced that stock traders began to offer “futures” on the upcoming presidential election. On the Boston exchange, for example, one trader advertised odds of 3 to 10 against the election of a silver president in November. A broker on the New York exchange was willing to bet that Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Michigan would go Republican. Even some of the most respected houses were involved in these wagers, with J. S. Bache & Co. offering 10 to 4 odds that McKinley would be elected.16 However, no one was willing to bet on whether or not silver would triumph in Chicago because that issue was already decided. Writing from Chicago, a correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution reported that the nation stands amazed . . . at the gigantic sweep of the silver sentiment from the Pacific coast to Pennsylvania, and from the gulf of Mexico to the Potomac. It is called a revolution, and it may with equal truth be called revelation. Even the leaders on the silver side were unconscious of their strength until mid-winter, and it was actually May [before] the national administration, realized the strength . . . of the rapidly rising tide.

As the correspondent observed, an “opponent taken by surprise is half defeated.” And the gold wing of the party, for decades the dominant elite in national party councils, had apparently been unaware of what was happening in the provinces: “New York, usually lynx eyed, slept and the entire east nodded with her.” Once aroused to the danger, the Cleveland administration conducted a last-ditch campaign for gold, primarily relying on friendly congressmen and those who held federal patronage appointments in the various states. However, the only clear success for the administration came in Michigan where gold men controlled the proceedings and out-maneuvered a silver majority among the delegates.17 Making Their Way to Chicago One of the many reasons Chicago was a favorite site for conventions was its location near the middle of the nation. That location had made it the paramount railroad center in the country, with dozens of lines radiating to and from the city in almost all directions. Because long-distance passenger travel within the United States was almost always made by rail, every state delegation used trains to get to Chicago, often hiring entire passenger cars to carry them and other party members. Towns, villages, and small cities hugged the perimeter of railroad lines throughout the country, so these cars could be made into moving billboards advertising the identity and politics of their passengers. The South Carolina delegation, for example, decorated each side of their car with pitchforks, palmetto trees, and banners declaring “South Carolina, 16 to 1 or ‘bust.’”18 16 17 18

Boston Globe (Extra), July 1, 3, 1896. Also see New York Times, July 3, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. Ibid. The pitchforks, of course, were the trademark of the delegation chairman, Senator Benjamin Tillman.

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Much more subdued, the Massachusetts delegation set out from Boston in two cars on which appeared “Massachusetts Delegation/National Democratic Convention/ Chicago.”19 Wealthy men rode to Chicago in private rail cars. John McLean and his wife, for example, left Washington, D.C., on July 1 in his own car. The vice president of the Baltimore & Ohio provided his private car, the Delaware, for the use of the Maryland delegation.20 One of the most striking displays of opulence rode out of the West, where General William Clark “chartered a train for the Montana delegation . . . provided it with a brass band, and all the other necessary equipments for a hilarious journey.” The train brought several hundred “free silver rooters” to Chicago in cars covered with “silver mottoes.” Part-owner of the Anaconda copper mine, which produced silver as a byproduct, Clark was a millionaire many times over and had very material reasons for backing silver.21 The “Great Nebraska Silver Train” left Lincoln at 8 a.m. on July 5, and carried William Jennings Bryan along with the rest of the state delegation. The signs decorating the first coach said, “Keep Your Eye on Nebraska,” on the second, “The W. J. Bryan Club” on the third, “Nebraska Democracy, 16 to 1,” on the fourth, “To the Chicago Convention, Without the Aid or Consent of Any Other Nation,” and on the fifth and last, “Nebraska, the First to Declare for 16 to 1.” This train transported to Chicago some two hundred people, including the Bryan Club of Lincoln.22 The Georgia delegation left Atlanta at 8:05 in the morning of July 5 and arrived in Chicago at 9:55 a.m. on July 6, just about twenty-seven hours later including the change in time zones. The round-trip fare was $21.40, with an additional charge of $4.50 for a “double berth” in one of the Pullman Palace Buffet sleeping cars. As the delegates wended their way to the Windy City, a “set of cool-looking barrels . . . appreciably affected the temperature of the crowd.”23 When the Georgians arrived, the political preparations for the convention were already in full swing.

Chicago before the Convention Opened The national press began to arrive in Chicago just before the end of June. From that point on, political stories emanating from the city began to supplant reports from other parts of the country as correspondents interrogated arriving Democratic leaders, delegates, silver Republicans, Populists, bankers, merchants, and just about anyone else who appeared on the scene. Among the 19 20 21 22 23

Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. Chicago Tribune, June 29, July 6, 7, 1896. The reporter did not say what was in the barrels, but we can safely assume that it was intoxicating. Atlanta Constitution, July 1, 4–6, 1896.

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earliest to arrive were Simon Sheerin, Secretary of the National Committee, and Colonel John Martin, Sergeant-at-Arms, who played primary roles in arranging the mechanics of the gathering. Both were in town on June 27, ten days before the convention was to open.24 By then, the Boies campaign had already hung lithographs of the Iowa governor along the corridors of the Palmer House. The governor’s likeness could also be seen “in shop windows along with advertisements for theatres and lake excursions.” Senator Lee Mantle of Montana, who had all but bolted the Republican convention in St. Louis, was in town lobbying for Senator Teller.25 Senators Fred Dubois of Idaho and Richard Pettigrew of South Dakota strengthened the Teller forces when they arrived the next day. Governor Claude Matthews’s private secretary was also in Chicago and assured reporters that the Indiana delegation had “no second choice . . . for we expect to name Matthews” as the presidential nominee. Richard Bland’s supporters were not far behind. On June 29, with the convention still eight days away, the National Democratic Bimetallic League opened its headquarters in a parlor at the Sherman House, and the hotel soon “resounded with the shouts and yells” of silver advocates “resplendent in 16 to 1 badges, buttons and other insignia.”26 The league was the umbrella organization for the silver movement and would coordinate much of the early strategy and tactics for the soft-money faction. The chairman, Senator Isham Harris of Tennessee, was on the ground, along with Secretary T. O. Towles, Senator James K. Jones of Arkansas, and Senator Francis Cockrell of Missouri. Business was already brisk for these men; Towles and Jones had “a stack of cards from members of the local and State silver contingents [lying] alongside their plates” even before they finished breakfast.27 The size and opulence of the silver presence in Chicago amazed correspondents. Writing for the Boston Globe, James Morgan reported that nothing “more lavishly lubricated ever ground out the sordid purposes and conspiracies of the gold bugs. . . . Money seems to be as easy and plentiful with them as among the slaves of Wall st, and the inevitable supposition is that it must come from the mine owners.” While the silver leaders who appeared to control the preliminary arrangements for the convention were “confessedly poor men, the engagement of parlors and headquarters, bunting and bands, is marked by no evidences of poverty.”28 Although promising daily briefings throughout the looming struggle with the eastern gold men, the National Democratic Bimetallic League never did explain where their money came from. On the same day that the League opened for business, the Bland campaign opened a headquarters at the Sherman House. As the Times correspondent 24 25

26 27 28

New York Times, June 28, 1896. Ibid. According to one report, Senator Mantle now regretted his decision not to bolt the convention and was now doing penance by working for Teller in Chicago. Boston Globe, July 4, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 27, July 1, 1896. New York Times, June 30, 1896. July 2, 1896.

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reported, most observers thought that Bland “will lead in the race, and probably will be nominated if the silver men have their way.” Kibbitzing from the sidelines, Senator Shelby Cullom of Illinois, a hard-money Republican, was slightly more circumspect: “It will be Bland, or some other crank.” Arkansas had instructed its delegation to support Bland, and, for that reason, Senator Jones was pledged to Silver Dick. However, the senator would go no further than a simple acknowledgment of this fact. When asked about Senator Teller, Jones was much more animated. “I have the highest admiration for him . . . and if he should happen to be the nominee of the convention he will receive my loyal support.” Chiming in, Secretary Towles added, “And that of every true Democrat.” Such comments spurred speculation in the hotel lobbies and corridors that some kind of deal would be brokered between the Teller men and the silver leaders. From this point until the nomination contest was finally decided, the press speculated that the silver leaders at the convention, particularly the senators among them, actually preferred Teller as the nominee but could not bring themselves to endorse him publicly.29 Whether or not they wished to nominate the Colorado Republican will probably never be known. There is little evidence either way. Although they enjoyed unchallenged leadership of the silver forces at the convention, these senators believed that their leadership would be seriously, perhaps fatally, weakened if they tried to extend their influence to the presidential nomination. Perhaps more than any other silver man at the convention, Senator Jones labored under this constraint, walking a thin line between keeping Teller in the running by acknowledging him as a plausible candidate and openly endorsing him as his favorite.30 And so the “senatorial regency,” as one correspondent called them, attempted “to skim the cream off the free silver pail.” In “a most mysterious way, they are moving, their wonders to perform . . . [while] in murmuring conferences in their Sherman house bedrooms they are attempting to determine the destiny of nations.”31 In the lobby of the Palmer House Bland’s men were now handing out cards inviting those who desired “a cornfield handshake” to visit their headquarters in Parlor 52.32 In the rotunda, the Bland men hung a picture of their candidate with an inscription claiming that “A Cornfield Shake for Everyone” awaited those who visited the headquarters.33 Just who was going to accept this invitation 29 30 31 32

33

For a list of silver senators who were delegates to the convention, see Boston Globe, July 2, 1896. New York Times, June 30, 1896; Boston Globe, July 1, 6, 1896. The Atlanta Constitution reported that Jones had opposed Bland in the Arkansas state convention. June 28, 1896. Boston Globe, July 4, 1896. New York Times, July 1, 1896. Several days later a Times correspondent reported that the “acting manager” of the Palmer headquarters had welcomed him by saying, “Always glad to see you . . . come right in any time; we have some fourteen-year-old stuff here that will make your hair curl.” July 3, 1896. The Boston Globe described the “cornfield handshake” as one in which the right hand was shook while a shot of alcohol was surreptitiously placed in the left. Boston Globe, July 3, 1896. Boston Globe, July 2, 1896.

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was a little unclear. As yet, there were few delegates on the ground. Aside from those who held official positions with the national party organization and the silver movement, along with the personal spokesmen for some of the leading candidates, there were few politicians in Chicago.34 Among those who had arrived, the gold men in Chicago were far outnumbered by the silver faction, more outnumbered than they would be when the convention finally opened.35 One of the early arrivals was the irrepressible ex-Congressman William Bynum, who promptly claimed, “We are not licked yet.”36 Rumor held that William F. Harrity, the chairman of the Democratic National Committee and a gold man, was bringing with him “the plan” of the hard-money campaign for the convention.37 However, when Harrity was interviewed as he made his way to Chicago, he did not seem to be carrying much of a plan: There is every indication that the party will declare for free silver. With such a platform and a free silver candidate I believe our changes of success are very poor. It looks to me now as if the fight for gold has been lost.38

Some gold men were so discouraged that they refused to attend the convention and stayed home.39 On July 1, the advance guard of the Kansas delegation arrived in Chicago and one of the at-large delegates, John Martin, reported that “every Democrat” in his state “feels warm toward Teller.” Martin then added, as it turns out prophetically, “We are willing to let events shape the hour, and the hour will bring the man.”40 The next day, Sergeant John McDowell of the Populist Party and National Chairman J. J. Mott of the American Silver Party insisted that the Populist and Silver party conventions would nominate Teller regardless of what the Democrats decided to do. However, they then materially demonstrated a commitment to continued discussion and cooperation by engaging rooms at the Briggs House for the seventy-five national committeemen of their respective parties.41 Altgeld tried to smooth over disagreement between the various silver factions while still insisting that his party’s nomination would have to go to a Democrat. Although the convention must “do what it can for the bulk of the People’s Party,” the Illinois governor noted that there was a “rock-ribbed element” in the Democratic party that will insist that the presidential nomination 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Ibid. Atlanta Constitution, July 1, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 1, 1896. New York Times, July 1, 1896. Boston Globe, July 1, 1896. New York Times, July 4, 5, 1896; Boston Globe, July 1, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 4, 1896. New York Times, July 2, 1896. The physical separation of the Populist and Silver party men from the Sherman House underscored the distinct identity and potentially independent strategy of these factions while, at the same time, demonstrating their appeal by drawing the curious and the faithful to a site that held no other attraction.

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be given to one of their own.42 The prospect of a division in the silver forces, along with the anticipated bolt of gold men from the Democratic platform and nominee, complicated the calculations of the Democratic candidates and their supporters throughout the pre-convention period and well into the convention itself. As the opening of the convention approached, activity escalated. As the Boston Globe reported, the “hotel corridors are already humming, and the various headquarters are beginning to wear a business-like air.” Among those already in Chicago, Senator “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman was a “star attraction” and “one of the most sought after men in the town.” On July 3, Tillman was spotted in the lobby of the Sherman House wearing a miniature silver pitchfork on his coat. On each of the three prongs of the pitchfork, he had impaled a small gold bug. One of the bugs on the outer tines represented President Cleveland, the one in the middle stood for Senator John Sherman of Ohio, and on the other end was skewered Secretary of the Treasury John Carlisle. “Pitchfork” Ben held court in his room at the top of the Sherman House, handing out pitchfork badges to visitors and regaling them with attacks on the gold men. Referring to President Cleveland, for example, he told his callers that he would “punch that old bag of beef in the ribs with my pitchfork, and make him show up something about these Wall st. deals.” In his own way, Tillman was also preaching revolution: The farmers are daily growing poorer. . . . Unless some relief is offered they will become desperate. They will be compelled to join the revolutionary element of the cities, and within 25 years we will have rapine and devastation in comparison to which the French revolution was a child’s game. I can feel it; I can see it.

Tillman’s clothes were “full of wrinkles. His white vest has been ironed and ironed until the margins are jagged. His hat is old.” Despite or perhaps precisely because of his attire, the silver men “take him to their bosom as the simplest and most approachable of all the farmer candidates.”43 The contrast with the demeanor and cultivated self-image of the gold leaders could not have been more stark. Tillman was renowned for his flamboyance and lack of caution. For that reason alone, he had always stood out from ordinary politicians who usually hedged their positions on controversial issues and refrained from criticizing colleagues. But in Chicago in 1896 Tillman was not alone. The Boston Globe, for example, reported that the silver men felt they were “epoch makers . . . dazzled with the belief that they are writing history . . . at typewriter speed.” None of them “ever betrays the slightest fear that he may some time wish it had not been written quite so rapidly and indelibly. Men are burning their bridges behind them recklessly, without ever turning to look at the flames.” One of the winds 42 43

New York Times, July 3, 1896. Also see Boston Globe (Extra), July 2, 1896; (Extra), July 3, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1896.

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driving this conflagration blew in with the aftershocks of the Republican convention. On July 3, a report from Minnesota carried news that the lieutenant governor, a congressman, and eight state senators had left the Republican party in protest over the endorsement of the gold standard in St. Louis. On the same day, another report arrived from Michigan stating that the Detroit Tribune, the leading Republican organ in the state, had bolted the Republican ticket and come out in favor of silver, along with the mayor of Lansing, the state capital, and Congressman Alfred Milnes. In addition, the Republican mayor of Detroit was thought to be considering abandoning his party in order to accept a Democratic nomination for governor on a silver platform.44 Intoxicated with the belief that the monetary axis of the world had shifted and that traditional partisan alignments were now but curious relics of the past, the silver men turned the “lobby of the Palmer House . . . into a big debating school on the currency question – a sort of free-silver lyceum in which beardless boys and grown-up [men] . . . eddy about in groups from early morning until midnight wrangling and shouting and perspiring.” Some of these groups of new arrivals were best left alone. At the Auditorium, “Buck” Hinrichsen, Governor Altgeld’s right-hand man, noticed Texas delegates watering themselves at the bar and predicted, “If ever those Texan rooters get mixed up with the Tammany [men], there is liable to be a gun fight.”45 This animosity carried over into the presidential race as well. For example, Governor William Stone of Missouri, spokesman for the Bland campaign, stated that he had heard “that the eastern gold standard delegates were tending toward Gov. Boies, but I know nothing as to its truth,” adding that the “gold power” would oppose Bland “to the utmost . . . by every means possible.” In somewhat exaggerated form, this allegation that Boies was dallying with the eastern gold men was quickly carried to the Iowa headquarters where Charles Walsh, spokesman for the campaign, said that the story must be false because “Gov[ernor] Stone is too much of a friend of Mr. Boies to attack him.’”46 Even though they commanded a third of the delegates at the convention, the support of the gold men had in fact become “the kiss of death” to any presidential aspirant. Even so, rumors of covert bargains, secret understandings, and tacit agreements between silver candidates and the hard-money faction ran rampant through the city. Most were planted by other campaigns in order to destroy competitors.47 The Boies campaign, for example, charged that the Bland men were responsible for starting a rumor that New York had pledged its seventytwo votes to Horace Boies. As tensions rose between the two campaigns, verbal

44 45 46 47

Boston Globe, July 4, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 3, 1896. New York Times, July 3, 4, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1896. The Boston Globe published a possibly apocryphal report that some of the gold men, realizing that their pariah role would damage silver candidacies, went to the Bland headquarters and said they supported Bland and then went to the Boies headquarters and said they supported Boies. July 5, 1896.

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altercations between their supporters in the Palmer House almost became physical on several occasions.48 While the rank and file of the party debated the mysteries of monetary policy, veteran reporters and senior Democrats speculated on just how the convention might unfold. On Saturday, July 4, Colonel Bill Sterritt of Texas, one of “the oldest and quaintest of Washington correspondents,” exchanged thoughts with Senator Samuel Pasco of Florida, Representative John Bankhead of Alabama, and other men in the lobby of the Palmer House. The convention was now just three days away, and Sterritt, like many other observers at this time, thought that the presidential nomination was up for grabs with the prospect of “lots of balloting” in which “the delegates are going to find themselves hopelessly divided.” With the convention deadlocked, the delegates would then “turn to the leaders for advice and you fellows . . . will suggest Teller and the convention will take him.” While Sterritt was not quite accusing the party elite of a conspiracy, he was implying that many of the senior silver Democrats would not be unhappy to see the front-runners for the nomination stalemate each other. In his view (a view shared by many other correspondents), a deadlocked convention would greatly enhance the influence of veteran Democratic leaders. And he was certain that influence would be used to promote the prospects of Senator Teller. As he ended his analysis, Sterritt said, “If I am not correct the drinks are on me.” And with that he reached for his wallet. As he drew his hand back out from his coat, he could only whistle a “long mournful note.” His pocket had been picked.49 One of the surest signs that the tribes were arriving was the appearance of camp followers who preyed on the masses of people crowding the lobbies. As remedy, the Democratic National Committee hired a hundred plain-clothes detectives to supplement the 250 uniformed officers who were already dedicated to pickpocket patrol.50 Independence Day was blessed with beautiful weather and Chicago was alive with firecrackers. By now thousands of delegates, club members, and correspondents crowded hotel parlors and lobbies. At the Palmer House, a correspondent noted the “many women” who occupied the armchairs and sofas, remarking that “their pretty gowns added to the brightness of the picture just as the flags and festoons” outside the hotel. On this day, too, a few lithographs of exGovernor Robert Pattison of Pennsylvania, a gold candidate for the nomination, and ex-Governor Sylvester Pennoyer of Oregon, a silver man, appeared for the first time on the lobby walls. But the front-runner was not to be outdone: “Silver Dick” was now “emblazoned in electric lights, with silver backgrounds . . . in all of the big hotels.” This was also the day that Utah joined the union, and the Beehive State headquarters on the mezzanine floor of the Palmer House was particularly festive. 48 49 50

Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. New York Times, July 4, 1896.

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The delegation occupied room 16 and someone had pasted an addendum, “To One,” just under the number. At the Sherman House, Senator John Daniel of Virginia was riding the elevator when Ben Tillman stepped in at the second floor. As the elevator began to rise, it stalled between floors and the South Carolina senator was immediately blamed, one man saying, “I had heard that you would stop a clock, but I didn’t think you would stop an elevator.” Daniel then chimed in, “Senator, I am afraid you have stopped the upward progress of the silver movement.” Tillman answered, “I guess that’s so . . . but I didn’t know before that I was such a heavy-weight.” On the main floor of the same hotel, a Missouri man was waving his check book and challenging the Boies men to bet against Richard Bland. He was offering 3 to 1 odds but could not attract bettors.51 Although Richard Bland was indeed the front-runner, 3 to 1 odds were very generous and should have attracted a lot of action. Bland’s support was broad but shallow and fell far short of the two-thirds’ majority needed for the nomination. At this point, most observers would probably have put Horace Boies of Iowa in second place, followed by Claude Matthews of Indiana, John McLean of Ohio, Joseph Blackburn of Kentucky, Ben Tillman of South Carolina, and Sylvester Pennoyer of Oregon. The two wild cards were Vice-President Adlai Stevenson, whose availability was impaired by the opposition of his home delegation of Illinois, and Senator Teller. All of these were silver men. The leading gold candidate was Robert Pattison of Pennsylvania, who was also the only hard-money man to enter the contest formally. David Hill of New York, William Russell of Massachusetts, and William Whitney of New York were also mentioned as gold possibilities but had no intention of accepting a nomination on a silver platform even in the (outrageously unlikely) event it were tendered. In truth, the nomination contest was wide open and apt to stay that way because the front runner, Bland, was hobbled by too many liabilities to win the prize but still occupied too much ground to allow anyone else to become a serious threat. Even more important, the delegates were much too preoccupied with the monetary question and, now that a silver plank looked like an inevitability, the response of the eastern wing of the party to a soft-money declaration. Thus it was that on the Sunday before the convention was to open, William Jennings Bryan received just a whiff of recognition. If a dark horse only could be discovered [a] fortune would instantly be made. Some people keep in mind William J. Bryan, the boy orator of the Platte, when they are looking for the sable critter. Mr. Bryan has repeatedly in his perorations offered his life for 16 to 1, but there were no takers. It is not impossible, therefore, that he may have been spared to fight another day. . . .

This reporter went on to say that Bryan had courted Altgeld but the governor had told him that “he was too young . . . while assuring him that he [Altgeld] had no doubt that he would keep.” Although no other correspondent 51

New York Times, July 5, 1896.

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even mentioned Bryan as possibility, this reporter thought the delegates might become enamored with Bryan’s “pleasing presence and forcible speech.”52 This has to have been one of the most prescient newspaper stories in American political history. However, most observers either focused on public intimations of support or opposition among the delegates already in Chicago or followed the rumors circulating through the hotel corridors, lobbies, and parlors. And these, with the rare exception of a truly unknown favorite son, were confined to those men who were commonly recognized as serious possibilities. Bryan was not one of them. And as long as the silver men were focused on the platform, there was not much he could do to gain their attention. The “silver men plead that they cannot take any chances,” with Colonel Bounding of Texas summing up the situation something like this: Mistah Whitney and these fine gentlemen from the east, suh, misunderstand our position. We do not like to be rude toward them; not at all, suh. But I tell you, suh, we have to be powerful careful. Leastwise I do, for I come, suh, from the lynching district, and if anything goes wrong to the silver cause here, I’d never dare to show my face in Texas again.53

Exaggerating the degree to which the monetary issue transfixed these men is almost impossible. It was now July 5, a Sunday that unfolded under a sky of faultless blue, cooled by the breeze that swept in over the bosom of Lake Michigan, stiffening out the flags and setting a million yards of bunting to flapping. . . . Down Michigan Boulevard today in constant procession sped thousands and thousands of wheels. Girls in bloomers scorched along from daylight to dark, and long after. There are more bloomer girls in Chicago than there are women cyclists in all New York, and they were all out today . . . as fine a picture of life and color and activity as one would care to look upon.

The high temperature that day was a thoroughly pleasant and abnormally cool sixty-nine degrees. Many of those who would attend the convention went to church. For those who did not (and a few of those who did), the saloons were open.54 And people continued to pour into the city from all corners of the country. Almost a thousand men from Indiana paraded through the streets shouting for Governor Matthews as they left the railroad depot. That night, Chicago theaters put on performances, including “the most immoral show” that had played in St. Louis during the Republican convention. Monday, the day before the convention would formally open, the weather was “bright, agreeable, and moderately cool,” perfect for the thousands now in Chicago for the convention. The streets were “alive with marching clubs and bands” that crowded the great avenues with “long lines of tired men, many 52 53 54

Boston Globe, July 6, 1896. Ibid. Boston Globe, July 10, 1896.

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of them curiously garbed, all of them profusely decorated . . . [they] marched and countermarched, seeking to produce an impression in favor of this, that or the other candidate.” Richard Bland’s “boomers” were particularly noisy, “parading about the streets shouting themselves hoarse” and breaking up into small groups so as to visit “all the leading cafes and barrooms.” One of their chants went like this: Ho, ha, he, Who are we? We are the Bland club from K. C. We’re hot stuff. That’s no bluff. Vote for silver and you’ll all have stuff.55

Not to be outdone, the Indiana men composed a rhyme for their governor and put it out on the streets: Matthews, Matthews, he’s the man, We’re going to name him if we can. He’s for silver, that’s the stuff, We’re for Matthews, and that’s no bluff.

While most boosters were far more noisy than talented, there were also melodious quartets who sang the praises of their candidate. One of the best was “a glee club from Kentucky” that described Senator Blackburn’s merits in a song set to a traditional black spiritual with a refrain that went “An’ God delivered the people from Pharaoh’s hand.”56 The Bland campaign alone may have put three thousand men in the streets that night, carrying torches and yelling for their favorite. When that procession passed the Palmer House, the crowd on State street reminded one of a football rush of thousands of people. Those going south fought against those going north, sometimes one crowd and then another having the advantage. Many gave up the struggle for headway and took to the roadway, preferring to take their chances with the teams and cable cars.57

The climax of the Bland demonstration was a mass meeting down by Lake Michigan. The gold men were now arriving in very large numbers. On Monday, the National Business Men’s League opened its headquarters in the Richelieu, described as an “exclusive and extremely luxurious hotel, famous for its magnificence in every department.” Secretary L. L. Hamilton claimed that somewhere between three and four thousand league members would be in Chicago by the end of the day, about half of them coming in from Missouri and other points 55 56 57

Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896; New York Times, July 6, 7, 1896; Boston Globe, July 6, 7, 1896; (Extra), July 7, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896. Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896.

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in the Southwest and many more arriving from New York and Boston, the traditional strongholds of hard-money sentiment. Although the opulent Richelieu was probably not the best site from which to influence silver delegates, Secretary Hamilton still thought the large numbers of businessmen would have a positive effect once they went to work.58 Inside the hotels, this was a day of meetings – meetings of state delegations, meetings of Democratic party leaders and officials, and meetings of the gold and silver factions. South Carolina, for example, met at the Sherman House and named Senator Tillman chairman of the delegation, the state’s representative on the Committee on Resolutions (the panel that would write the party platform), and the state’s member on the Democratic National Committee. Many other state delegations similarly caucused, polling their members with respect to the presidential nomination, discussing the advisability of a mass silver caucus before the convention opened, turning out gold national committeemen and replacing them with silver men, electing delegation officers who would lead them on the floor of the convention, and conducting other organizational and policy business. In the afternoon, a “brilliant reception” was held at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Potter Palmer on Lake Shore Drive, just a couple of blocks south of Lincoln Park. Both gold and silver men were invited, including Governor John Altgeld (and his wife), former Governor Roswell Flower of New York, former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts, and former Governor James Hogg of Texas.59 All day and well into the night, immense numbers of people thronged the corridors of all the big hotels. At the Palmer House, the crowd was so dense on the stairs that “a gold dollar could scarcely be squeezed between any two persons.” Heedless of the crush, nicely dressed women may be seen pushing their way up and down, from early in the morning until midnight and later. Some come with escorts; others without. They stand in the gallery overlooking the great struggling, yelling mass of men in the lobby, which reminds one of nothing more forcibly than a hot day on a stock exchange, when men shout at each other like fiends.60

In the vast expanse of State Street outside the hotel, surging crowds made the avenue all but impassable. Bands gave free concerts on the street and in the hotel lobbies, while the Bland clubs continued their “marching and countermarching.”61 Amid this hoopla, a Boston Globe correspondent nonetheless concluded, “Never was a convention preceded by so many signs of dark 58 59

60 61

Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896. For the description of the Richielieu, see George E. Moran, Moran’s Dictionary of Chicago (Chicago: George E. Moran, 1897), p. 110. Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896. Palmer owned the Palmer House and his occupation was listed as “capitalist” in the Lakeside Annual Directory of the City of Chicago (Chicago: Chicago Directory Company, 1897), p. 1600. Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896. New York Times, July 7, 1896; Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896; (Extra), July 7, 1896.

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conspiracies.”62 A much more upbeat forecast came from Senator Teller, who predicted that “attempts will be made to buy and bulldoze [the silver men] but I cannot believe a single man who goes there for silver will be corrupted. It is going to be one of the greatest and liveliest conventions ever held. . . . It will be, perhaps, the equal in interest and enthusiasm of the gathering which in 1860 nominated Lincoln.”63 And so it was. 62 63

July 3, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 1, 1896.

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3 Silver Sentiment in the Convention

Because the soft-money delegates comprised an overwhelming majority of the delegates, it appeared that all they had to do was adopt a free silver plank when the platform was brought before the convention. In that sense, the strategic situation was deceptively simple. Among the several things complicating the calculations of the silver leaders, the most important was whether preferences with respect to the monetary issue would change during the course of the convention. Because both gold and silver preferences seemed to be strongly held and, in many cases, bound by pledges imposed by the state conventions, they appeared to be stable as long as the monetary issue was isolated from other decisions. The problem was that other issues threatened to intrude. The primary reason for this intrusion was that many men wanted to link their own interests to the silver issue. For this reason, measures that might safeguard the silver majority also created situations that might confer an advantage to one side or another in other decisions that would come before the convention. These advantages created links between preferences on the monetary issue and these other decisions. While some of these links would (rather pointlessly) strengthen preferences favoring silver, most would probably weaken silver sentiment in some way. Thus, the problem facing the managers of the silver movement was to find ways of safeguarding their majority without destabilizing the all-important silver preferences on which the majority rested. There were at least four situations in which silver preferences could become linked to other issues. One involved the possible holding of a preliminary caucus of silver delegates before the convention opened. A preliminary caucus that excluded the gold delegates was attractive because it would have prevented the gold men from attempting to divide the silver faction. There was good reason to believe that the parliamentary skills, political prestige, and financial resources of the silver leaders were over-matched by those available to the gold men. The exclusion of gold delegates from a preliminary caucus would have eliminated much of the danger that this imbalance entailed by allowing the silverites to agree on a common agenda, an agenda that could have subsequently been 46

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rammed through the convention without delay or distraction from the gold faction.1 The problem with this proposal was that the Bland campaign that led the race for the presidential nomination by a substantial margin also saw this preliminary caucus as an opportunity to pledge the silver delegates to their candidate. Because the other candidates could not have hoped for an endorsement from the caucus, the struggle over whether the caucus should endorse a candidate might have seriously splintered the silver faction.2 For this reason and because consensus was easily achieved on the platform and on candidates for temporary and permanent chairmen, silver leaders ultimately blocked a preliminary caucus of the soft-money delegates.3 The second situation that might have destabilized the silver majority involved a proposal to abrogate the two-thirds rule on presidential nominations. By imposing a requirement that the nominee be supported by two-thirds of the delegates, this rule meant that the gold men, holding about one-third of the convention, might be able to play a pivotal role in the nomination even after the silver plank and platform had been adopted. Abolition of the two-thirds rule thus appeared to significantly reduce the influence of the hard-money wing over the nomination. The problem was that abrogation would also enhance the tactical position of the leading candidates for the nomination by reducing the number of votes they would need to win. As they neared that number, a bandwagon was expected to form and produce the majority they needed. By making the necessary majority smaller, that bandwagon would form sooner rather than later, making the emergence of a dark horse or compromise candidate more unlikely. For that reason, supporters of those candidates who trailed the front-runner opposed abrogation, while those representing the leader (Richard Bland) supported the change. While originally intended to reduce the influence of the gold wing over the presidential nomination, abrogation thus threatened to divide the silver movement into squabbling factions. The third situation would have arisen if the silver leaders had intervened in the presidential contest in order to guide their faction toward a candidate who would have been acceptable to silver Republicans and Populists. Serious negotiations over the construction of a grand electoral coalition required confidential exchanges and commitments between elite representatives representing the relevant groups and parties. Because they were much more experienced and professionally well connected than the rank and file they led, the silver leaders were clearly in a better position to conduct these negotiations. As an important byproduct, intervention by the leaders would have avoided a prolonged 1 2

3

For expressions of support and opposition to a silver caucus, see Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896; Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 2, 3, 5–7, 1896. For the Bland campaign’s support for a preliminary caucus, see Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 7, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 3, 1896. For the opposition of the other campaigns, see Boston Globe, July 3, 6, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 4, 5, 7, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 4, 7, 1896; New York Times, July 7, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 1896.

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contest over the nomination that might have otherwise embittered friends of the various candidates. In addition, the silver leaders had their own personal preferences with respect to the nomination, and influence over the outcome might have seemed an appropriate reward for their services on the platform. The disadvantages, however, were even more weighty. To participate openly in the nomination race would have raised the suspicion that their leadership on the silver plank was colored or biased in such a way as to enhance the prospects of their favorite. And, like abrogation of the two-thirds’ rule, the supporters of candidates who were not favored by the silver leaders would be alienated by their intervention. Finally, although many correspondents felt that the silver leaders had settled on a common perspective toward the nomination contest, if not the precise identity of the man they would favor, it is not clear that this was, in fact, the case. The silver leaders may have been as divided among the field as the rank and file they led. For all these reasons, the silver leaders did not intervene in the presidential race. The fourth and final situation would have arisen if inclusion of controversial positions other than silver in the party platform had divided the silver men. In this respect, one of the most important issues was whether or not to include a declaration favoring lower tariffs on imported goods. While this stance had been a traditional staple in Democratic platforms, the tariff would clearly be less important in the upcoming presidential election than at any time in the past. In addition, the plank could complicate the construction of a broad electoral coalition in that many silver Republicans and Populists favored tariff protection. These considerations, among other things, led some silver leaders to favor a very short platform in which a declaration for free silver was the only plank. The disadvantage was that all those who might be attracted to the Democratic party by other issues would be disappointed by such a narrowly focused campaign. Their efforts to add planks to the platform would thus internally divide the majority in ways similar to the other measures and arrangements. In sum, either internal divisions over the nomination of a presidential candidate or the inclusion of other issues in the national platform might have endangered the silver majority. As a result, the silver leaders adapted their tactics so as to (1) abandon the idea of a preliminary caucus of their faction, (2) oppose abrogation of the two-thirds’ rule for the nomination, (3) suppress the expression of their own preferences in the presidential race, and (4) construct a party platform containing many issues other than silver but nonetheless stressing the primacy of the monetary declaration in the looming contest with the Republicans. Even with these tactical adjustments, the task of leading the silver majority was extremely complicated. For one thing, the gold men, many of whom had already decided they would never back a silver platform or nominee, could not be denied a role in the convention proceedings, and that role made them a tempting ally for those fractions of the silver majority who would otherwise lose in the race for the presidential nomination. Somewhat paradoxically, the silver Republicans and Populists were not formal delegates to the convention

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and were thus denied voting privileges even though many of them had already decided to back a silver Democratic nominee and platform. The inclusion of the gold men and exclusion of the silver Republicans and Populists thus turned the calculus facing the silver Democratic majority on its head. Usually, when a political party met in national convention, it was to work out their differences in such a way as to present a united and enthusiastic front to a common enemy. In sharp contrast to that norm, the Democratic National Convention in 1896 included enemies and excluded friends, making the construction of an united and enthusiastic silver alliance doubly difficult.

The Count: Silver and Gold Preferences One of the most detailed descriptions of the strength of the silver and gold factions was published in the Chicago Tribune on June 27, ten days before the convention actually met.4 Because the last of the state conventions had just adjourned, this was the earliest date at which the identities of all 930 delegates was known and, thus, the earliest date at which preferences on the monetary standard could be assigned to them.5 The Tribune printed the names of each delegate together with the “instructions” with which their states had bound them or, if no instructions had been given, their individual preferences with respect to the monetary standard (see Table 3.1). Of the fifty-one states and territories represented at the convention, thirty-three had adopted resolutions favoring silver, sixteen had done the same for gold, and only two (Florida and the District of Columbia) had not adopted resolutions one way or the other.6 Most of the silver states had passed very similar resolutions, each of which was intended to be an iron-clad commitment to the “free coinage of silver at a ratio of 16 to 1 without waiting for concurrence by other nations.” This 4

5

6

Three days earlier on June 24, the Atlanta Constitution had published a summary of expected gold and silver strength within state delegations that was almost identical to the Tribune report. The exception was Maine, where a solid gold (instead of split) delegation was reported. This discrepancy may have been caused by differing expectations over whether or not the unit rule would be enforced in that delegation; the Tribune did not think it would be. For other estimates of silver strength published before the convention opened, see New York Times, June 26, 1896; Boston Globe, July 7, 1896. At this point, the official size of the convention was set at 906 delegates, but the Democratic National Committee had recommended in January 1896 that the size of the territorial delegations be increased from two to six delegates each, and it was expected that the convention would accept this recommendation. The territorial conventions had accordingly selected six delegates to send to Chicago and the Tribune duly reported their names, along with their monetary preferences. As a result of these anticipated expansions, the total number of voting delegates was expected to be 930. Edward B. Dickinson, Official Proceedings of the 1896 Democratic National Convention (Logansport, Ind.: Wilson, Humphreys, 1896), pp. 20–21. The Florida state convention was very closely divided and, in an attempt to avoid splitting the party, adopted a resolution that simply passed the decision on to the national convention. Chicago Tribune, June 27, 1896. Also see Atlanta Constitution, June 27.

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table 3.1. Announced Preferences of the Delegates on the Monetary Standard and Adoption of the Silver Plank in the National Democratic Platform Chicago Tribune State Alabama Arkansas California Colorado Connecticut Delaware Florida Georgia Idaho Illinois Indiana Iowa Kansas Kentucky Louisiana Maine Maryland Massachusetts Michigan Minnesota Mississippi Missouri Montana Nebraska Nevada New Hampshire New Jersey New York North Carolina North Dakota Ohio Oregon Pennsylvania Rhode Island South Carolina South Dakota Tennessee Texas Utah Vermont Virginia

(June 27) Silver

Gold

22 16 18 8

4 26 6 48 30 26 20 26 16 5

28 6 18 34 6 16 6

Platform Roll Call (July 9) Silver

Discrepancy (if any)

12 5 3

1 1

10 12 27

3 4 3

11

(1 absent)

22 16 18 8 12 6 4

7 16 30 12

1 5 26 6 48 30 26 20 26 16 2 4 3 28 6 18 34 6 16 6

8 20 72 22 6 46 8

8 20 72 22 6 46 8

64 8 18

64 8 18

8 24 30 6

8 24 30 6

8 24

Gold

8 24

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Chicago Tribune State Washington West Virginia Wisconsin Wyoming Alaska Arizona Dist. of Columbia Indian Territory New Mexico Oklahoma Total

(June 27) Silver 5 12

Gold 3

Platform Roll Call (July 9) Silver 5 12

24 6 6 6 5 6 6 6 621

Gold

Discrepancy (if any)

3 24

6

1

309

6 4 6 4 6 624

6

6

2

1

2

2

305

21

Notes and Sources: Delegate preferences were reported in the Chicago Tribune, June 27, 1896. The roll call on the minority report from the resolutions committee (supporting the gold standard) appeared in Edward B. Dickinson, Official Proceedings of the 1896 Democratic National Convention (Logansport, Ind.: Wilson, Humphreys, 1896), p. 241. Delegate preferences, as originally reported in the Tribune, have been adjusted to take into account the expansion of the delegations from the territories (from two to six delegates in each case) and the seating of one or the other of competing delegations after contests were decided. Because the monetary preferences of the individuals involved in these expansions and contests were already known, the consequences of these actions were well anticipated before the fact. The Tribune also adjusted individual preferences where a unit rule was expected to suppress a minority of a state delegation. For example, the Wisconsin delegation was split, with nineteen delegates favoring gold and five supporting silver. Because the state convention had bound all the delegates to gold, the Tribune reported the five silverites as favoring the yellow metal. In one instance, the state of Washington, the Tribune expected the unit rule to be enforced and, thus, that all eight votes would be cast for silver even though three delegates supported gold. When the rule was not enforced, the delegates split 5 to 3 for silver on the roll call, just as the Tribune had reported their individual preferences. Because the purpose of this table is to demonstrate the extent to which preferences had been accurately identified prior to the convention (and not to predict whether or not the unit rule would be enforced within a state delegation), the distribution of preferences have been entered in this table as the Tribune assigned them to individual delegates.

reference to “other nations” eliminated any suggestion that free coinage should be postponed while the United States attempted to persuade Great Britain and other European powers to agree to the institution of an international bimetallic monetary standard. For years, such a postponement had been a favorite ploy of gold standard advocates because Britain, the most important commercial nation in the world and the leading trading partner for the United States, was seen as unalterably opposed to abandonment of the “single” gold standard. Thus, any postponement of free silver while attempting to persuade Britain to adopt bimetallism was equivalent to an endorsement of the gold standard.7 7

For a discussion of the issues and politics involved in bimetallist proposals, see Richard Franklin Bensel, Political Economy of American Industrialization, 1877–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 393–95.

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Although the gold states had endorsed the yellow metal in resolutions that varied a little bit more in language, their commitment to “sound money” (a common euphemism for the gold standard) was equally strong.8 Pre-convention Skirmishing over the Selection of a Temporary Chairman As the major umbrella organization for the silver Democrats, the National Democratic Bimetallic League had loosely coordinated the silver campaign in the various state conventions the previous spring. The League now took over responsibility for organizing the silver forces at the convention, calling for a large meeting to be held on June 30.9 Over sixty of the leading men in the silver movement were in attendance, including Governor Altgeld and former Congressman William Jennings Bryan.10 While this brief meeting confirmed that the silver bloc could easily place an unequivocal 16-to-1 plank in the platform if it remained united, the silver men decided to stiffen their tactics in response to growing apprehension that the gold men who were soon to arrive from the East might, in fact, threaten silver domination of the convention. Senator Jones, for example, said, We thoroughly understand Mr. Whitney. We appreciate his experience in the management of national conventions. I say again that we have become apprehensive over his recent utterances. They are too conciliatory to please us, and, after accepting sound advice today, we propose to push the advantage which belongs to the majority.11

The first order of business at the convention was to be the nomination of a temporary chairman. The gold men had a majority of the outgoing national committee and were now expected to nominate one of their faction for the post.12 While the position was, as the title indicates, temporary and largely ceremonial, whoever occupied the chair would make the first formal speech of the convention. Because the silver men did not want the convention to open with a hard-money address, they decided to challenge the nomination with a candidate of their own. 8 9

10

11 12

For the text of these resolutions, see the Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 27, 1896. The League’s chairman was Senator Isham Harris of Tennessee, who presided over an executive committee that included Senator Jones, Senator David Turpie of Indiana, Governor Stone, Secretary of State “Buck” Hinrichsen of Illinois, former Congressman Casey Young of Memphis, and League Secretary Towles. The New York Times reported that Jones had invited each state delegation to select a silver representative who would then work with the League in managing the movement’s campaign. However, because many of the delegations were not yet in Chicago and because the number attending this meeting was far larger than the number of delegations that had silver men, the criteria for entry into this conference must have been more encompassing than as described in the letter. June 27, 1896. Another League member added, “Mr. Whitney has been purring too much of late, and when Mr. Whitney purrs you want to look out for him.” Boston Globe, July 1, 1896. While a majority of the states had elected silver delegations to the convention, most of the members of the outgoing national committee were still gold men. During the course of the convention, some of these gold members would be replaced with silver men and control of the national committee would change over to silver. But that had not happened yet.

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To impress on the gold men their determination to elect a silver temporary chairman, the silver men appointed a steering committee of five to confer with the Democratic National Committee for the purpose of discussing “all questions and matters affecting temporary organization and proceedings.”13 The five most prominent silver leaders in the convention comprised this steering committee: Senators Jones, John Daniel of Virginia, and David Turpie of Indiana, along with Governors Altgeld and William Stone of Missouri. Although they collectively guided the silver faction through the proceedings quite competently and with little dissension, these men were not particularly influential in national politics. In fact, each carried liabilities that limited his prominence. Jones and Daniel, for example, had served in the Confederate army, Altgeld had pardoned anarchists convicted in connection with the Haymarket Riot, and Stone governed what many northerners considered a “southern” state. Of the five leaders, only Turpie was relatively presentable as a national representative of the party.14 Led by Senator Jones, the silver men met with Democratic National Committee Chairman William Harrity at 2 o’clock in the afternoon on July 1.15 Harrity and the rest of the subcommittee on convention arrangements “listened courteously” to the silver men and invited them to make their case again before the full committee when it met the following Monday, July 7. That evening the silver leaders reported back to the League. Thirty-five silver men attended this meeting at the Sherman House and, after hearing the report, completed their preliminary preparations by (1) giving the steering committee the authority to meet with the full Democratic National Committee, (2) making the steering committee permanent, with Senator Jones as its chairman, and (3) creating a permanent silver conference that would admit representatives of all the silver delegations into its deliberations, with Senator Harris as its chairman. The newly created silver conference then adjourned to Friday night (July 3).16 These steps completed the transformation of the League, which had originally been created for the purpose of campaigning for silver in the various state conventions, into an encompassing organization for the silver forces at the convention. As a campaign organization, the League had never included all the leading figures in the silver movement (Governor Altgeld, for example, was not a member). The partial inclusion of silver leaders was tolerable because much of the League’s mission before the convention was restricted to propaganda work and facilitating communication between the various state and local campaigns. But now, in order to unite the silver majority at the convention, the League had to jettison any appearance of exclusivity. As jockeying for position between the silver and gold wings steadily intensified, most correspondents thought that either the silver men would allow 13 14 15 16

Atlanta Constitution, July 1, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 2, 1896. Turpie’s drawback as a prominent national party leader was his advanced age; he was to turn sixty-eight during the convention and was in poor health. Chicago Tribune, July 2, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 2, 1896.

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the Democratic National Committee to nominate and elect a gold temporary chairman or that the Democratic National Committee would accede to the silver majority by selecting a soft-money man for the position. As time passed, however, both of these possible compromises appeared increasingly unlikely and the two wings began to prepare for a floor struggle on the opening day of the convention. On June 30, the Atlanta Constitution reported that the gold faction was considering four gold men for the post of temporary chairman: Senator David Hill of New York, Senator William Vilas of Wisconsin, Senator George Gray of Delaware, and Hugh Wallace, a delegate from the state of Washington. Senator Vilas of Wisconsin was favored by those who wanted a candidate who was “not as likely to be charged with being the paid agent of the money lenders as [would be] Mr. Hill, or some other prominent eastern democrat.”17 However, Hill was the clear choice of William Whitney and the other gold leaders. When asked about the New York senator, Senator Jones did not reject him out of hand, saying, “I believe Senator Hill is a fair man. I would have absolute confidence in his ability, justice and impartiality as a presiding officer.”18 Two days later, however, Jones rejected Hill, stating that no gold man could preside, even temporarily, over a convention that overwhelmingly supported silver. Speculation now turned to whom the silver wing might propose for the post, with, according to an Atlanta Constitution correspondent, early sentiment revolving around Governor Stone of Missouri and Bryan of Nebraska.19 On July 3, the following day, the Detroit Free Press reported that “in all probability” Bryan would be temporary chairman. Bryan was said to meet the requirements for the post, in that the temporary chairman must be a man who can present the issues of the campaign from the free silver standpoint in a way that will command the attention of the country and to sound the keynote of the campaign. He is a finished orator, with a resonant voice and commanding presence.

Equally significant was the fact that, although Bryan “has been spoken of as a presidential candidate,” he was reported to have “withdrawn from the race” and it was “felt that on this account, and especially on account of his persistent devotion to the coinage of silver,” that he deserved the recognition.20 On the evening of Friday, July 3, with the opening of the convention now four days away, Senator Harris called the silver conference to order at the Sherman House. Seventy-five silver delegates responded to the roll, representing almost every state that had sent soft-money men to the convention. As he had done in the previous meeting, Senator Jones then reported on the steering 17 18 19

20

Boston Globe [Extra], July 3, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 1, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 3, 1896. For more speculation on who the silver forces would nominate, see New York Times, July 3, 4, 1896; Boston Globe and Detroit Free Press, July 4, 1896. The Globe described Bryan as the “editor . . . of the Omaha World-Herald” and reported that he was “dodging in and out of the hotel corridors in a very dilapidated campaign coat.” Detroit Free Press, July 4, 1896.

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committee’s discussions with the Democratic National Committee. After Jones finished, Thomas O’Donnell, a Colorado delegate, suggested one of his fellow delegates from Colorado, Charles Thomas, as a candidate for temporary chairman. O’Donnell also wanted the silver men to agree on a candidate before the convention opened and then elect him by a solid silver vote. Congressman Claude Swanson of Virginia then suggested that a general caucus of all silver delegates be called for the purpose of selecting the silver nominee for temporary chairman.21 Because the small room in which the present meeting was held was “crowded to suffocation,” Swanson noted that a larger space would have to be engaged for this purpose. One of the other delegates reported that such a hall had already been found and hired. After more discussion, the silver men finally decided to meet again at the Sherman House at 2 o’clock Monday afternoon. If they could not reach agreement on a nominee or a process for selecting a nominee, then Senator Jones, as chairman of the Steering Committee, would either call a general caucus of all the silver delegates or meet with representatives of each of the silver state delegations to select a candidate.22 As in previous gatherings of the silver men, it is not clear how the men who attended were admitted. The attendance far exceeded the number of state delegations that contained a silver man, and no other criteria for admission was ever suggested in the newspaper accounts. All the decisions were reached more or less by consensus, a process that conferred great influence on the recognized silver leaders, particularly Senator Jones. That same process made the apparently informal methods of admission to the conference relatively unimportant, because it was the standing of the silver men within the movement, as opposed to their individual votes, that influenced the deliberations. The motives impelling the silver men to deny the temporary chairmanship to the gold men were fairly clear. Only control of the presiding officer would give the gold minority a chance to turn the convention around, frustrating the large silver majority. And the silver men were in a position to guarantee that they would control the presiding officer if it came to a showdown on the floor. What is not entirely clear, however, is why the gold men invited a showdown that they could not win. Thus, when an Atlanta Constitution correspondent reported on July 4 that the gold majority on the Democratic National Committee had definitely decided to nominate Senator Hill of New York, that decision puzzled some observers.23 That same afternoon, the steering committee and a few other silver delegates met informally in one of the Sherman House parlors and again considered who should be nominated as the soft-money candidate for temporary chairman. 21 22 23

New York Times, July 6, 1896; Boston Globe and Detroit Free Press, July 6, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 4, 1896. Also see Boston Globe, New York Times, and Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. Hill himself was so reluctant to discuss his own intentions that there was a rumor afloat to the effect that he would turn down a nomination for the temporary chairmanship. Boston Globe, July 6, 1896.

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They discussed the issue for over an hour but could only decide on the qualities they wanted, “a man in good voice, skilled in oratory and possessed of an abiding faith in the doctrine of the free and unlimited coinage of silver.” The steering committee and representatives of the silver delegations met again on Monday morning in the Sherman House. Senator White had been asked to accept the nomination as temporary chairman the previous evening but had declined the honor. While there was widespread sentiment favoring Senator Joseph Blackburn of Kentucky, Blackburn himself had expressed a preference for Senator Daniel of Virginia. Daniel was also said to be favored by the silver members of the national committee. At this meeting, the steering committee also announced a slight change in tactics in that the steering committee would now allow the silver members of the national committee to nominate the silver candidate.24 To promote silver solidarity, the steering committee consistently strove to separate the struggle over the platform from the presidential contest and, for that reason, only men who were not serious presidential candidates were considered for either temporary or permanent chairman. Although the evidence is inconclusive, it is probable that both Blackburn and White would have been asked to bow out of the presidential race if they accepted the temporary chairmanship.25 In fact, White later withdrew from the presidential race before accepting the permanent chairmanship.26 While White was only a long shot, Blackburn was a more substantial contender with substantial support outside his Kentucky delegation. Had he not been Richard Bland’s campaign manager, Governor Stone would also have been an attractive candidate for temporary chairman. However, Stone declined to be considered because, he claimed, “I am too closely identified with the candidacy of Mr. Bland.” In a rather surprising statement, the Chicago Tribune reported that the “same objection is made to Bryan of Nebraska, who is also a Bland man, and it is not understood that Mr. Bryan is really a candidate for the place.”27 In fact, Bryan was often seen as either a Bland ally or a stalking horse for the Bland campaign. For instance, when Senator Daniel of Virginia 24

25

26

27

Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896. The silver members of the Democratic National Committee contended that the only way to get a silver candidate before the convention was in the form of a minority report emanating from the committee. They therefore needed to propose a silver candidate within the committee as a prerequisite for filing the minority report. Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. For example, the Cleveland Leader reported that “Senator Blackburn could be the Temporary Chairman if his name were scratched from the Presidential lists.” Reprinted in Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896. At this time, Senator White of California was having trouble disentangling himself from his state delegation’s efforts to promote him as a possible presidential contender. Most evidence suggests that he did not personally consider himself a serious candidate for the nomination. July 3, 1896. More significant than the inaccuracy of this report is the fact that Bryan was so lightly regarded as a presidential possibility in his own right that the report seemed plausible. On the other hand, his lack of standing in the presidential race sometimes enhanced his attractiveness in the selection of a temporary chairman. See, for example, an article in the Cleveland Leader, reprinted in the Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896.

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was finally designated as the silver candidate for the post, the Chicago Tribune reported that “a number of delegates who are in favor of Congressman Bryan threatened to bolt the nomination. They were largely, however, Bland men, who were dissatisfied with the abandonment of the general caucus idea, and showed their dissatisfaction that way.”28 As he had been for some time, Senator Harris was still the popular choice for permanent chairman and had already made arrangements for occupying that post once the convention was organized. One of the senator’s strengths was his acknowledged skill as a parliamentarian, a skill that would be required to control the impending struggle between the gold and silver wings of the party.29 In this speculation, the skill requirements for the posts of temporary and permanent chairman were viewed quite differently. Because the main responsibility of the temporary chairman was to deliver the opening speech of the convention, oratorical prowess was considered an asset for that position. With respect to the permanent chairman who would primarily preside over convention deliberations, parliamentary knowledge and an imposing presence were favored when choosing between candidates. Some men, such as Senator Hill of New York, combined these skills, but most of the possibilities were gifted in one way but not the other. Bryan, for example, was widely acknowledged to be a gifted orator but his skill as a parliamentarian was never mentioned. When the Democratic National Committee convened on Monday, Senator Jones told the committee members that the silver men were willing to accept anyone that the committee might name as temporary chairman as long as the wishes of the majority of the convention were respected. In practice, this meant that the gold men on the national committee were free to choose anyone they wanted as long as that man supported silver. Jones then withdrew from the room and the committee began its deliberations. The first order of business was the making up of the temporary roll of the convention, a task that required the committee to decide who would represent a state when rival delegations presented their credentials. Although each of these decisions took up some time, only two were really significant. In the case of Michigan, the gold men prevailed over silver contestants who were contesting three of the delegation’s seats. Only one vote was cast for the contestants. In the Nebraska case, the gold delegation was seated over Bryan’s silver men by a vote of 27 to 23. When this vote was announced, Bryan was apparently waiting on the result outside the committee room and seemed “somewhat surprised” at the outcome.30 The committee turned next to the selection of a temporary chairman and decided to recommend a nominee to the convention. This was the signal for 28 29

30

July 7, 1896. Harris had been ill for several weeks and only now said that he would be well enough to occupy the position if and when it was offered to him. Atlanta Constitution, July 1, 3, 6, 1896. On his reputation as a parliamentarian, see Detroit Free Press, July 4, 1896. Boston Globe, July 7, 1896.

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the silver men to make their move, and Henry Clayton of Alabama nominated Senator John Daniel of Virginia for the post.31 After he finished, the silver men on the committee vigorously applauded.32 Former Lieutenant Governor William Sheehan of New York then nominated Senator Hill, who was subsequently given the committee’s nod by a vote of 27 to 23. Charles Thomas of Colorado served notice that the silver men would file a minority report nominating Daniel; that report would then bring Daniel’s candidacy before the full convention.33 The moment the vote nominating Hill had been tallied, Don Dickinson of Michigan ran out of the committee room and dashed down the corridor to the senator’s room.34 Senator Hill received the news quietly. Some of the other leading New York Democrats, including William Whitney and former Governor Flower, congratulated him on his selection, which, of course, had been a foregone conclusion.35 Asked whether he thought he would lose the election, Hill replied, “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what the enemy will do under some circumstances; I am prepared for anything that can possibly happen.” That evening the steering committee called a conference of the silver men, asking that every state with at least one silver delegate send a representative to the Sherman House at 9 o’clock. When they assembled, however, a call of the roll disclosed that the men present could only pledge 470 delegates, a bare majority of the convention. Apparently, some of the silver men were boycotting the meeting because they suspected that this conference might attempt to select a silver presidential nominee. Hoping to bring in the missing representatives, the conference sent scouts to find them. Carrying the message that the sole topic of the conference would be how “to outwit the national committee” on the selection of a temporary chairman, these men “started out in carriages to scour the town.” In the meantime, the conference recessed until 11 o’clock. In less than an hour, the scouts had returned, toting pledges that would bring the silver forces represented at the conference up to 532. They also had informal guaranties of support from at least 58 additional delegates who could not be 31

32

33

34

35

Because Daniel had only emerged as a possible silver candidate in the silver conference that morning, there were “many expressions of surprise” in the crowd outside the committee room when they learned that he had been put forward by the silver men. Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896. Although it is not clear whether the reporter was actually listening through the door, in other instances where the press was not admitted to a committee’s deliberations, correspondents tried to get information by eavesdropping just outside the room. Some of the silver men charged that William Whitney, in a conversation with the committee member from the District of Columbia, had “threatened to ruin [him] in his business” if he voted for a silver man in this vote. Although possible, this rumor sounds a little too crude to be accepted as fact. Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896. Dickinson wasn’t the only man running with the news. The Chicago Tribune reported that a “crowd of enthusiasts on both sides had been waiting around the doors of the committee room all day, and no sooner was the result known than scores of messengers went flying in every direction.” July 7, 1896. Later that day, a caucus of the New York delegation adopted a formal resolution thanking the national committee. Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896.

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found but were reported by colleagues to be firmly committed to the silver cause.36 When these additional votes were included, the silver men concluded that Senator Daniel would draw almost two-thirds of the convention.37 At midnight, the conference adjourned (see Table 3.2).38 The gold men were active as well. Immediately after Hill was chosen, “the Eastern men did their first bit of real fine political work.” Representatives were sent to all the state delegations and “Tammany and the New York State methods were applied to perfection.” In addition, the gold men were reported to have offered the silver candidates for the presidential nomination the support of the gold bloc, some 300 delegates strong, if they joined with the hard-money wing in voting for Hill. On the other hand, those candidates who did not support Hill “could not hope for much friendliness when the balloting time began.” At about the same time, a buoyant Whitney said, “I believe we have made great progress in our cause and that the silver leaders fear us.”39 In retrospect, there does not appear to have been much, if any, movement toward the New York senator from the silver camp, but at the time the activity of the gold men was quite “unsettling” to the silver faction.40 One correspondent thought Daniel was a curious choice for temporary chairman in that he had been Hill’s champion at the last national convention in 1892, facing “for over an hour a hostile, howling audience” during an all-night session that led up to Grover Cleveland’s nomination. He had then warmly supported the New York senator’s presidential ambitions, and now, “by the irony of politics,” he was his opponent in the bitter struggle between the gold and silver factions.41 Daniel’s selection was also remarkable in that the silver leaders were attempting to veil the disproportionate influence of the southern wing by carefully distributing prominent convention roles among the regions. This task was made difficult in that the silver men were simultaneously rebelling against the northeastern branch of the party that had provided most of the national leaders for the last thirty-five years. Because many of these party leaders supported gold, they were simply not eligible for posts in a silver-dominated convention. By nominating Daniel, who was not only a southerner but also a Confederate veteran, the silver leaders would now have to find someone from outside the South to fill the post of permanent chairman. Among the assets that made Daniel’s selection attractive, the most important was probably his prominence as a silver leader, recognized by his membership on the steering committee. Another was his lack of presidential ambitions, which 36 37

38 39 40

41

Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896. As it turned out, this estimate was 34 votes too high; 556 votes were actually cast for Daniel the next day. The Atlanta Constitution, with a prediction of 580 votes for Daniel, was a little closer. July 7, 1896. Atlanta Constitution and Boston Globe, July 7, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896. Ibid. The silver men also sent a committee composed of Senator Tillman, former Senator Patrick Walsh of Georgia, and Senator-elect Hernando Money of Mississippi to call on all the silver delegations that night. Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 1896. Boston Globe, July 7, 1896.

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table 3.2. Meetings of the Silver Men outside Sessions of the Convention Date and Time

Place

Organizational Auspices and Deliberations

June 30

Sherman House

National Democratic Bimetallic League: general discussion of the situation facing the silver men and appointment of a committee of five to confer with the National Democratic Committee.

July 1

Sherman House

National Democratic Bimetallic League: heard the report of the committee of five on the meeting with the National Democratic Committee and made arrangements to transform the League into an open caucus of all silver delegates.

July 3

Sherman House

Silver Caucus: Representatives of the silver state delegations were called together to discuss ways in which a silver candidate for temporary chairman might be chosen.

July 5

Sherman House

Steering Committee: The steering committee, as the committee of five was now called, met informally with a few other silver delegates to discuss who should be nominated as by the silver men as temporary chairman.

July 6 (10 a.m.)

Sherman House

Steering Committee: This was a continuation of the inconclusive meeting on the previous day. Silver strategy for the Democratic National Committee meeting, which was to be held at noon, was decided, including Senator Daniel’s selection as the silver nominee for temporary chairman.

July 6 (9 p.m.)

Sherman House

Steering Committee: This was a conference to which each of the states with at least one silver delegate were invited to send a representative. The purpose was to set strategy for the following day’s selection of a temporary chairman, in which Senator Daniel was to be the silver candidate.

meant that elevation to the post would not disadvantage other candidates for the nomination. As we have seen, many of the other possibilities considered for the temporary or permanent chairmanships ran afoul of this separation of the presidential contest and convention offices.

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So it was to be the silver Daniel versus the gold Hill; men who in the last convention had been allies were now to be foes.42 The only remaining question was whether or not Chairman Harrity would, in fact, recognize a silver man for the purpose of offering the minority report from the floor. Several days earlier, Congressman James Richardson of Tennessee had warned the gold men not to try to impose their own candidate on the convention: If [the committee] decides by a majority vote to recommend to the convention a gold man, the minority of the committee will offer a substitute naming a silver man. When the committee makes its report to the convention this substitute will be offered and a substitute is always voted on first. The substitute will be adopted and if there is to be a brush about this question, it will be short and quick and result in a sweeping victory for the silver men. The majority will not listen to the sounding of a gold note in the opening of the convention. Such a blunder could not be entertained for a moment, and it is hardly to be expected that such an attempt will even be made.43

In one sense, Richardson was saying that, under parliamentary law, the silver men would have the right to offer a substitute candidate for temporary chairman if the gold-controlled Democratic National Committee proposed someone unacceptable to the silver wing. In practice, this meant that Chairman Harrity, who would be presiding when the election of a temporary chairman took place, would be obligated to recognize nominations from the floor, one of which would be the favorite of the silver majority. In another sense, however, Richardson was also saying that gold men would not be allowed to violate parliamentary rules if and when they nominated one of their own for the post. If Harrity refused to recognize delegates for the purpose of making nominations from the floor, the silver men would simply take control of the convention through sheer force.44 In either interpretation of what Richardson was saying to the press (and he was probably saying both things at once), he was not intimating that he knew very much or, for that matter, anything at all concerning the gold men’s strategy. When delegates talked with the press, as Richardson did here, they had at least three and sometimes four audiences in mind, and each one of these audiences was addressed in a different way. When leaders gave an interview, 42 43 44

The flip side was that Senator Hill was now the champion of men who, in the 1892 convention, had been his political enemies. Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 8, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 4, 1896. On July 2, in an interview with the Boston Globe, “Buck” Hinrichsen said that if the silver majority were not recognized, the contest between the silver and gold factions would become physical and that, in that event, “I will pin my faith on the boys in soft hats, from the south and west.” Boston Globe (Extra), July 2, 1896. Senator-elect Money implied something similar when someone suggested to him that Harrity might make a gold man temporary chairman without calling the roll. “Then it will be the duty of [a silver] delegate to declare some other man elected also, and we will see which side will seat its man.” Chicago Tribune, July 2, 1896. Even courtly Senator Daniel of Virginia responded bluntly when questioned as to what the silver men might do if Harrity tried to impose a gold man on the convention, “Well, if a man hit you on the head with a club and you had a club in your hand, what would you do?” New York Times, July 4, 1896.

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they were often using the press as a means of communicating with friends and colleagues aligned with them. The press thus served as a medium for transmitting information and coordinating action. But the opposition also read these interviews, and when they did, the speaker’s intent was often to warn them not to take actions that would not only fail, but, in addition, would inflame the other wing. The third audience was composed of the people “back home” where the speaker’s political career would either flourish or wither. With respect to these constituents, the speaker was often trying to demonstrate his standing as a national leader and, particularly in 1896, as an effective fighter for their interests in national party councils. Finally, the interviewee desired to give an accurate account of the mood and prospective action of the delegates. Accurate accounts were obviously helpful to the reporters covering the convention because they were continually called on to evaluate the information they provided to their readers and to predict what would, in fact, transpire. However, we should also remember that the press was interested in what men were saying to the other three audiences as well. Almost anything was newsworthy in this political context. Now that the gold and silver forces had named their candidates, there was intense speculation on whether Harrity would refuse to entertain the minority nomination and simply hand the gavel over to Senator Hill.45 The possibility made “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman a little giddy. I know very little about the parliamentary status of this matter but I do claim to be possessed of a little common sense. I know that Senator Daniel will be the temporary chairman of this convention, and that he will make the speech. If the gold men think that their 300 votes form the majority of this convention, just let them try it. The silver men are running this affair, and they propose to run it after their own fashion. If the gold men do not like it, let them bolt. I hope they will.

Reporting that “the feeling between the two factions of the party now seems to be more bitter than before, if such a condition be possible,” the correspondent stated that “the only part of the preliminary proceedings which is likely to pass unchallenged” appeared to be the prayer.46 Ritual, Protest, and the Demonstration of Passion The first skirmish between the gold and silver wings thus occurred at the very beginning of the convention when the gold majority of the national committee 45

46

See, for example, Boston Globe, July 6, 7, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 2, 3, 5, 1896. However, a correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution reported that Harrity had told a silver man from Georgia, “We shall not endeavor to foist any man whom you don’t want upon you for temporary chairman,” adding, “Indeed, we couldn’t if we would.” July 3, 1896. And Senator Hill said he wouldn’t accept the post in such a circumstance even if it were offered. Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 1896. Despite the huge silver majority in the convention, some reporters thought Hill had a serious chance of being elected. Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896.

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nominated Senator David B. Hill of New York for temporary chairman. In nominating Hill, the committee majority chose the most prominent and personally popular of all the gold Democrats in the nation. In making the case for Hill’s election, they stressed that a nomination for temporary chair made by the committee had never been overturned in a Democratic convention and noted the certainty (conceded by most silver men) that Hill would be a fair and efficient presiding officer. Nominating Senator John Daniel of Virginia as their candidate, the silver minority on the committee responded that the majority of the convention should control the organization of the proceedings. Equally important, they contended that the opening speech of the temporary chairman, perhaps the most important function of that officer, should reflect the sympathies of the convention majority. The silver wing knew there would be gold speeches at the convention but they wanted them to be minority protests, not the formal pronouncements of an elected presiding officer. Even though the convention was not scheduled to start until noon, a large crowd of delegates, newspaper men, and spectators had already gathered outside the front doors to the Coliseum by 11 o’clock. For some reason, Sergeantat-Arms Martin had ordered that the doors remain closed and all these people had to stand “in the broiling sunshine” until 11:30.47 When the guards finally relented, “human waves” swept through the vestibule. As spectators filled the hall, a band appeared in the south gallery and struck up a tune. The musicians were not three notes into “Dixie” before “there was a cheer which started down among the delegates and circled back until everybody in the audience was waving a hat or a handkerchief and shouting.”48 For some reason, the ushers were not very efficient and people drifting into the galleries had trouble finding their seats. However, they rapidly realized that this represented an opportunity and began to take up seats close to the podium regardless of whether they were entitled to them. The floor itself was “crowded with a lot of messenger boys, extra doorkeepers, and other superfluous employees” who had been hired for some purpose or another. Many of the state delegations came onto the floor as recognizable contingents. Some of them even carried banners and were accompanied by marching bands. The Iowa delegation, for example, entered the hall bearing a long silk flag upon which appeared the face of its favorite son, Horace Boies.49 The Pennsylvania men were a little more subdued, each delegate carrying a small 47

48 49

One of those who had been refused admission was Governor Altgeld, who “had paraded around and around the building like the ancient Israelites walked around the walls of Jericho, until he found some one who knew him well enough to let him in.” Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1896. Unless otherwise noted, the sources for material in the rest of this chapter are the July 8, 1896, editions of the Chicago Tribune, Atlanta Constitution, Detroit Free Press, New York Times, and Boston Globe (including the “Extra” edition of July 7 in the case of the Globe). A correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution reported that “Dixie” was “by all odds” the favorite and most frequently heard tune played by bands in the convention hall. July 10, 1896. Several correspondents noted that there was not “the slightest demonstration as Boies’ picture passed up the aisle.” This passive response to a visual cue, along with subdued demonstrations in similar situations, led them to speculate that the Iowa governor’s support was shallow.

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flag and wearing “a wide red ribbon, bearing the name of ‘Pattison.’” John McLean, Ohio’s favorite son in the presidential race, came onto the convention floor but was not recognized by anyone outside his state delegation. Sometimes called the only candidate “whose clothes do not bag at the knees” because of his great wealth and tailored outfits, McLean was “dressed with great neatness, but a red and blue string tie gave a sporty suggestion to his otherwise quiet garb.” The Detroit Free Press correspondent paid close attention to the Michigan reservation, noting, “The entrance of the Michigan delegation was indicative of their sadly split condition. They came in by ones, twos and threes. Unlike other delegations they had no state badges.” One of the Michigan gold men “came near being mixed up with the Texas delegation on account of the similarity of the length of hair and their slouch hats.” It was almost noon when the Georgia delegation entered the hall. As the delegates and spectators recognized the leaders of the delegation, they rose from their seats cheering, and the bands that were scattered about the hall again struck up “Dixie.” William C. Whitney of New York, leader of the gold wing, entered just after the Georgia men, and it became the gold delegates’ turn to applaud. After bowing an acknowledgment, Whitney made his way to the Arkansas reservation and shook hands with Senator Jones. The senator rose and smiled as they struck a pose reminding one correspondent of “two fighters crossing hands before going into the ring.” Whitney then returned to the New York delegation on the other side of the hall.50 Leading party figures could choose to sit with their delegation on the floor, as did Whitney, or in a section reserved for dignitaries just to the back of the podium. Senators George Vest of Missouri and William Lindsay of Kentucky chose to sit in this section, as did Senator William Stewart of Nevada, the silver Republican, and “Sockless” Jerry Simpson, the Kansas Populist. General John Gordon of Georgia, who had presided over the recent Confederate reunion in Richmond, was seated there as well, along with General James Weaver, the Union officer who had run for president on the Populist ticket in 1892.51 At about 12:30, Senator Hill and former Governor Roswell Flower appeared and “were greeted with cheers – many delegates rising to do them honor.” As cries of “Hill! Hill!” rang throughout the hall, the New York senator “returned the compliment by a bow.” He and Flower took their seats with Whitney in the New York reservation, Hill sinking “modestly into his chair” and looking “as though he wished to be out of sight.” Even so, many spectators and delegates wandered over to the New York reservation in order to get a closer look at him. 50

51

At about this time, one of the Ohio delegates, Lewis Bernard, was seen “sailing over into the New York delegation,” which was just next door to the Ohio reservation, “giving out a little hint” by his movement “that McLean was far from being dead politically and might eventually get out ahead of the ticket” by entering into a deal with the gold men. At another point, Daniel McConville, McLean’s campaign manager, was spotted talking to Elliott Stevenson, the leader of the gold men on the Michigan delegation. As they had been during the Civil War, Gordon and Weaver were once more on opposite sides. Gordon supported gold and Weaver favored silver.

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When Senator Blackburn of Kentucky came in, he was also cheered, one of the bands again playing the now obligatory “Dixie” as a greeting for prominent southerners and their delegations. Blackburn was soon spotted having “a quiet little talk” with one of the Indiana delegates. John Reagan, former Postmaster General of the Confederacy and now Texas Railway Commissioner, appeared and joined his colleagues in the Texas delegation. He promptly “took out of his pocket a big Barlow knife, and dissected an apple which he produced from another pocket.” A correspondent for the Chicago Tribune commented that Reagan had “invariably” spent “his time eating apples or cutting strings into little bits” when he was in the Senate chamber in Washington. William Whitney was in motion again, shaking hands with members of the Maryland delegation and briefly speaking to a “tall young delegate who wore a cowboy hat.” Senator Tillman “held a levee” as he sat with his South Carolina delegation, which he was reported to have said “belongs to and follows me.” Next to Tillman “sat his principal personal chattel, Gov. John Gary Evans . . . a man of 27, prematurely bald.” Men from every part of the hall came to shake Tillman’s hand. The newspaper men also “flocked about him and several artists made attempts upon him.” A man in a gray suit came onto the floor with a mail bag from the Chicago post office and began to distribute letters to the delegates. Just forward of the Maryland delegation, something in the behavior of former Governor William Russell suggested that he would be leading the Massachusetts delegation, even though he had been a very late addition to the Bay State contingent. But these were the things experienced politicians and veteran reporters would have noticed. To most spectators and at least some of the delegates, the most notable aspect of this “brilliant” scene was that “the vast space [was] filled, almost to the outermost walls, with a forest of people, an unusually large number of whom were ladies, and the brave flags of enthusiasts [were] whirling in the air and breaking like white caps over a storm-swept sea.”52 Chairman Harrity called the convention to order at 12:30. By way of preliminary courtesies, he was presented with a large vase of roses and a gavel made from hickory taken from Andrew Jackson’s home.53 Once these were out of the way, he prepared the hall for more serious business by suppressing all activity that did not conform to the ritual proprieties of the proceedings. The Convention will be in order. The Sergeant-at-Arms will see that the aisles are cleared and that everyone shall take his seat. The aisles must be cleared. The delegates will kindly take their seats as promptly as possible. There must be order, especially in the neighborhood of the platform.

The practical effect of these commands was to focus attention on the podium and, more particularly, the presiding officer who legitimated action by recognizing delegates for the purpose of offering motions and delivering speeches. 52

53

The New York Times estimated that at least a thousand women were in the Coliseum when Harrity brought down the gavel. This would have been about 6 or 7 percent of the spectators in the hall. New York Times, July 12, 1896.

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One of the most interesting aspects of the formal observance of ritual proprieties is the way in which disruptions on the floor become displays of sentiment. Disruptions can take many forms. For example, an individual delegate can protest a decision by the presiding officer if that decision seems incorrect. Formal protests can be ritually recognized as “appeals to the ruling of the chair” and, when made in proper form, are alternative interpretations of the rules that would permit the delegate legitimately to perform an action that the chair had ruled to be improper. Such formal protests are not disruptive because they are made within the rituals of the proceedings. However, when individuals protest without formally appealing a presiding officer’s ruling, their actions are disruptive because they cannot be incorporated into ritual practices. In such cases, the delegate either ceases his protest or the presiding officer asks the sergeantat-arms to suppress the delegate. In some cases, several individuals might simultaneously protest an action by the presiding officer. In terms of ritual observance, each of them can ask to be heard with respect to an appeal of a ruling. If so, they are heard serially, one at a time, when properly recognized by the chair. Because these individuals observed ritual forms, their actions are not disruptive. However, if several or many delegates simultaneously and noisily protested a decision, their actions would fall outside ritual forms and thus become disruptive. When the number of protesting delegates exceeds three or four, suppression becomes difficult and, as the number increases, becomes physically incompatible with the resumption of normal ritual, and the convention has to suspend deliberations until some kind of agreement is reached on how to proceed. In such situations, group disruptions become a way of displaying the intensity of preferences on whichever issue the convention is considering at the time. In a sense, group disruption can be an extra-parliamentary tactic in the sense that the object is not to affect the “ritual order” but, instead, to demonstrate the breadth and depth of commitment favoring a particular outcome. One of the most interesting facets of such demonstrations is that they are usually uncoordinated actions; they can be called “spontaneous” in the sense that they are not ordered or directed by a ritually recognized officer. In fact, many of the spontaneous demonstrations that disrupted this convention were not even informally coordinated; the protesting delegates simply used each other as reference points when choosing whether or not to disrupt the proceedings.54 54

The terms used here are intended to describe various types of behavior in a formally ritualized setting. Thus, a “protest” is any action that intentionally transgresses on ritual proprieties (thus becoming an action not ritually recognized as part of the “regular order”). “Disruptive behavior” is the physical manifestation of protest either by individuals alone or in groups. A “mass demonstration” refers to disruptive behavior by more than three or four people who are spatially separated from one another. “Spontaneous” demonstrations are those that involve individuals who are situated in such a way that they cannot coordinate their actions through interpersonal communication, are not led by a recognized leader, and are not planned in advance. Once they are under way, however, these demonstrations may come to focus on individuals who, sometimes unintentionally, provide cues as to the course the demonstration should take.

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The parliamentary rules and ritual backbone of a deliberative assembly provide the context in which group demonstrations can erupt because there must be a “regular order” against which protest can be meaningfully made. For example, noisy behavior that took place before Chairman Harrity called the convention to order could have been meaningful but, because it occurred outside a deliberative context, would not have constituted a protest. For example, the applause given to the Georgia delegation when it came into the convention hall was certainly meaningful and, although the evidence is inconclusive, probably spontaneously given as well. But the meaning of the applause did not derive from the formal ritual of the deliberations because parliamentary rules were not yet structuring the actions of those in the hall. When those rules did come into play, protest became possible, and the meaning of a demonstration was almost always related to the issue that was ritually before the assembly. From another angle, the attention of the delegates was unfocused in the period before the convention opened, shifting from one area to another as recognizable figures entered the hall or the bands played their tunes. However, when the proceedings began, the attention of the assembly was focused on the podium, on those who properly addressed the presiding officer, or on protests. With the exception of rare, extraordinary events, delegates thus focused on those individuals whose actions were recognized as meaningful in terms of the parliamentary order that structured the proceedings.

Debate on the Selection of a Temporary Chairman After the prayer, the first and only order of business was the temporary organization of the convention, and, for this purpose, Chairman Harrity presented the report of the Democratic National Committee to the delegates.55 When he read the first officer on the list, “For Temporary Chairman – Hon. David B. Hill, of New York,” the delegates and spectators responded with applause lasting several minutes. Rising en masse, the New York delegation led the cheering. Massachusetts, Maryland, and all the other gold states immediately joined in. The gold men in the Michigan delegation unfurled and waved flags, “shouting and cheering at the top of their voices.” Standing on their chairs, the Pennsylvania delegates waved flags as well. Like the crack of a rifle, the applause began. It spread to a roar, and from a roar to a succession of roars, sweeping through the hall and bringing the first demonstration of the convention. [The silver men] were silent, but in the galleries were thousands who 55

Although the Episcopalian minister who offered the prayer tried to avoid controversy, he inadvertently stirred the assembly when he said, “Remind us that honesty is not only the best, but the only policy worthy [of] the consideration of a great people.” By its ostensible but unintended reference to the iconic “honest money” of the prevailing gold standard, some of the spectators thought the Reverend had endorsed the gold cause, and “a little flurry in the gallery” was the result.

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cheered for Hill . . . with a demonstration which is seldom seen except when a candidate is nominated.

Then came three cheers for Hill, at which point the official band began to play “Dixie” and the delegates settled down.56 Harrity then resumed his reading. When he finished, a Minnesota delegate rose to offer a motion. Because this motion would have been irregular regardless of its content, Harrity pushed a button that would have called the convention back to order by ringing a bell. However, his finger fell upon another button that sounded a signal for the convention band to play. As the band started to play a tune, the convention broke into laughter, Harrity admitting that he had rung “the wrong bell.” Harrity now asked, “What is the pleasure of the convention as to the report made from the Democratic National Committee?” Henry Clayton, the Alabama member of the committee, then presented the minority report naming Senator Daniel. When Clayton mentioned Daniel’s name, “every silver man among the delegates and alternates hopped into his seat and cheered lustily.” They . . . yelled and hurled their hats in the air. They started a novel form of applause – stamping on the board floor. It was like the rushing of wild steers over a bridge. It swept across the hall and almost shook the building.

This demonstration went on for two or three minutes. Afterward, the minority report was moved as a substitute for the majority proposal and Clayton demanded a roll call on its adoption. After this motion was seconded, scattered cries for an immediate vote were heard throughout the hall. This disruptive behavior led Harrity to announce, “It may as well be understood that as long as the present incumbent is in the chair these proceedings will be conducted in a regular, orderly manner.” This announcement was greeted by “general applause.” At this point, a series of formal speeches favoring either the minority or majority reports were delivered. The first speaker was Allan McDermott of New Jersey, who opened the gold argument. He was followed by Thomas Waller of Connecticut, another gold man. After them came three silver speakers: Charles Thomas of Colorado, Charles Waller of Alabama, and M. F. Tarpey of California. John Fellows of New York was the sixth man to address the convention. He supported gold. B. W. Marston of Louisiana, John M. Duncan of Texas, and C. K. Ladd of Illinois were next. They backed the silver position. After them came J. W. St. Claire of West Virginia, who was one of the few delegates who supported silver but backed Hill for temporary chairman. Henry Clayton of Alabama, the delegate who had originally offered the minority report, then closed the debate by speaking in support of Daniel’s selection. 56

Whenever the presiding officer felt that a demonstration had more or less run its course, he could signal the band to play a tune, which served as a rough equivalent to rapping the podium with his gavel.

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These speakers each appealed to the emotions of the delegates in different ways, thus revealing their own interpretations of which kinds of appeals might elicit a response that would strengthen their cause. However, we are not particularly interested in these addresses as oratorical performances or logical expositions of one of the positions in the monetary struggle. To do so would be to consider the speeches in isolation from both their physical and social context. We instead want to recognize that the convention hall was an arena in which passion could be displayed. In these displays, the actions of delegates and spectators could convey as much or even more meaning to the speech as did the words of the speaker. Thus, we want to focus our attention on the exchanges between speaker and audience and between individuals in the audience with one another. McDermott’s opening address elicited little response from the delegates and spectators. He was followed by former Governor Waller of Connecticut, who began by describing Senator Hill as the rightful candidate “according to the immemorial usage of your party” and Senator Daniel as a challenger brought forth “by the exercise of a power never before invoked.” His very next words were a question posed to the assembly, “What ought the Convention to do about it?” To which a silver man in the Montana delegation yelled out, “Elect Daniel.” Waller replied, I agree with the gentleman who squeaked out that honored name, you ought to elect him. Now, hear my suggestion. You ought to elect David B. Hill as your temporary chairman, and every man in this audience, 16 to 1, or 1 to 16, ought to vote for him, and then you ought to elect Senator Daniel the permanent chairman.

This appeal to fair play (as seen from the perspective of the hard-money minority) was countered by a man in the Michigan delegation who shouted, “We have got another man for that.” Waller ignored this response and then asked, “Gentlemen, what is there to prevent [this compromise]? Are there some other arrangements made?” A Colorado man promptly retorted, “You bet.” These exchanges illustrate several aspects of the physical context of the hall and the forms of participation by the audience. One of the most important of these, from the perspective of the contemporary reader, is that the voice of the speaker was not amplified. Electricity was used in the Coliseum for electric lights arrayed along the center of the ceiling and for communication with the outside world by telegraph and telephone. But talk was projected within the hall through the natural lung capacity of the speaker. While someone on the podium did occupy a privileged position from a visual perspective, aurally there was not much difference between someone yelling up from the floor and a ritually recognized speaker on the dais. In fact, because the hall held somewhere around 20,000 people and was packed to capacity during most of the sessions, the audience had to be fairly quiet to hear the speaker at all, particularly in the furthest reaches of the hall where people were tucked under the sloping roof. If the audience was that quiet, then it could also hear a disruptive delegate or spectator who intervened from the floor or the galleries. In the modern

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era a microphone and an amplified sound system confer an enormous advantage on a ritually recognized speaker, an advantage that speakers did not enjoy in the late nineteenth century.57 With respect to interaction between the speaker and the audience, Waller’s use of what was probably intended as a rhetorical question was turned on its head by the person who shouted “Elect Daniel.” Because Waller had already posed the choice before the assembly as between a legitimate alternative (Hill) and an illegitimate (or at least irregular) option (Daniel), the question was intended to elicit introspective reflection favorable to the gold position or, if particularly successful, a vocal response supporting Hill (e.g., “Elect Hill”). However, as was to happen time and again at this convention, rhetorical questions tended to boomerang upon the speaker as opponents on the floor or in the galleries used them as prompts for their own interventions. As rhetorical devices, such questions are best used with audiences who are in broad sympathy with the speaker; only then can the response elicited from the listeners conform to the speaker’s argument. The frequency of boomeranging questions suggests that many of those who spoke from the podium were not accustomed to addressing deeply divided audiences in which many people opposed the position they were advocating. From habit and experience, these speakers addressed their words to their own partisans . . . and drew unexpected responses from their opponents. The facility with which delegates responded to the opportunities that Waller opened up also illustrates the widespread knowledge among the silver men of what their strategy was going to be and a deep commitment to that strategy regardless of what the gold men might say or do. The phrase “Elect Daniel” was, from that perspective, rather trivial, because all the delegate had to do was listen to the majority and minority reports in order to understand that a man by that name was the silver candidate. But the Michigan delegate’s observation and claim that “We have got another man for that” required much more information as to the silver faction’s plans and a solidaristic sympathy that would make those plans successful. We should also note how the convention floor plan, with its signs marking the locations of the various state delegations, made identification of the home of the disrupting delegate fairly easy.58 Newspapermen, dignitaries, speakers at the podium, and spectators in the galleries could readily identify the disrupter if the delegate spoke long enough that listeners could turn their head in that direction. As almost all the delegates and newspapermen knew, the Michigan delegation was closely divided in its silver and gold sympathies, so much so that 57

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While delegates and spectators did not have an effective way of improving on their own ears when listening to a speaker on the podium, they did have opera glasses and were thus able to identify people almost wherever they might happen to be in the hall. The chairman of the state delegation also usually sat on the aisle next to this pole so that the presiding officer could readily identify who was seeking recognition. If granting recognition, the presiding officer often said “the state of [name here] is recognized,” as opposed to the delegate’s personal name.

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the silver men were seriously contemplating turning out just enough of the gold men to produce a silver majority. This possibility had embroiled the Michigan delegation in an internal struggle because the unseating of the gold men in the national convention would go a long way toward driving the hard-money men out of the home-state party organization. While a unified silver delegation such as Texas could devote much of its attention to the general strategy and plans of the silver faction (and thus be very aware that “another man” was already or would soon be selected for the post of permanent chairman), the Michigan men were probably much more preoccupied by their internecine struggle. Thus, when it was a Michigan man who yelled, “We have got another man for that,” the response doubly underlined the solidaristic understandings and commitment of the silver men on the floor. The Michigan man’s intervention emerged from within a deeply divided delegation and was, thus, a personal affront to those colleagues who bitterly resented what he shouted (as opposed to a unified delegation that would have been broadly sympathetic).59 Both the internal preoccupation with the fate of the state organization and the hostile personal environment within the state reservation should have been discouraging factors. But he yelled anyway.60 This Michigan delegate was seated just in front of the podium, probably not more than thirty feet or so from Waller, so close that he could watch the former governor’s lips move. Many of the most dramatic interventions involved the “front line” delegations that headed the respective columns on the convention floor (see Figure 6.2, p. 171). From the perspective of the podium and reading from left to right, these were Rhode Island (which was so small that South Carolina shared part of the frontage for their column), Pennsylvania, Michigan (in the center column), Massachusetts, and Alabama. The middle three of these five were both closest to the podium and fairly large delegations (and thus symbolically and substantively prominent). Each was involved, at a different point in the proceedings, in one or more significant demonstrations. Sheer distance made interaction with the speaker increasingly less feasible for those delegations that were farther from the podium. Even so, some of the most distant delegations, such as Wisconsin, also became involved in a fracas with a speaker.61 59

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Whenever demonstrations broke out, the “disagreement [within the Michigan delegation] was made apparent; for instance, when David B. Hill entered the convention hall, the sound money majority in the delegation cheered and stood up, while the silver men remained quietly seated. When the name of Daniel, of Virginia, was presented for temporary chairman, it was the silver men’s turn to shout.” The Michigan delegate almost certainly did not weigh these considerations before yelling out his response, because the opportunity for interjection was very brief and could not have been anticipated. Without advance knowledge of a text and the (constantly evolving) context of the proceedings, delegates on the floor or spectators in the galleries could not anticipate how and when they might intervene in a speaker’s address. They thus seized opportunities without much, if any, reflection. From the perspective of the newspapermen, who were seated on either side of the dais, identification of a disrupting delegate was easier when they were in the front of the hall than when they were in the back. That might be the reason the Atlanta Constitution reporter was able

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Waller went on for a bit before reaching a passage in which he announced, “Fellow Democrats, we can stand your beating us with votes; we can stand any candidate that you will nominate, for you will nominate an honest man. We are in this convention to stay.” At this point he was cheered by the audience. Drawing the attention of listeners to his next point, Waller raised his hand and then declared, “I am going to be here, and if every Eastern man bolts I will stay here with the janitor and cheer the last one out.” At this, the delegates and spectators enthusiastically cheered and laughed. This was one of the few instances in that a speaker could say something that would draw the same response from both the silver and gold wings of the party. There were certainly silver men who fervently wished the gold men would bolt the convention, and there were undoubtedly gold delegates who had already made up their minds to leave the party. Although they could have hissed and booed, it would not have been clear just what they were demonstrating because the silver and gold men who held these sentiments were, in fact, arch enemies. On the other hand, party loyalists in both factions, those who placed the importance of party regularity above a commitment to silver or gold, could demonstrate together without muddling the sentiment they were trying to display.62 Later, however, Waller became much more defiant and began to describe what the consequences would be if Senator Hill were rejected. I will tell you just what we will do. There is no threat about it. We will do this: We will fight you for your indignities and insults. In Southern phrase, we will fight you here and elsewhere, and we will fight you until you are sorry for your indiscretion of this day.63

This passage provoked “a chorus of hisses and cheers and howls, which dropped after a few minutes into comparative silence, and rose again when Mr. Waller attempted to proceed.” Waller’s “smoothly shaven face grew fiery red and he brushed his curly hair back from his broad forehead” as he replied to the hisses with “Gentlemen, I will finish what I have to say . . . if I stay here all summer.” For the remainder of his speech, Waller struggled to make himself heard as the silver delegates attempted “to cry him down.” The silver men shouted “Bolt! Bolt!” and stamped their feet on the floor so it again sounded

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to identify the Michigan delegate but not the one who had shouted “Elect Daniel.” However, when the disruption was prolonged, the correspondents appeared to have no difficulty either immediately identifying or finding out later who was responsible. Two days later, these party loyalists also jointly demonstrated against “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman’s speech on the silver plank when he condemned the gold men (see chapter 7). We should note that the divisions within each faction were very fluid throughout the convention. Many of the gold delegates in particular were trying to decide whether or not to leave the party over the monetary issue, and one of the factors in their calculations was the “treatment” the silver men gave them as a minority. When such delegates cheered loyalist sentiment, they gave voice to a hope that silver men would moderate their program in such a way that they might ultimately remain within the party. Just before this, Waller said, “We are not worms, and if we were, worms sometimes turn against you.”

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like “the clatter of hoofs” from “a horde of wild steers.” Here, we should note the tactical asymmetry between the silver delegates and the speaker and between the silver and gold factions on the floor. Waller responded to the hostile reaction to his defiant passage with more defiance, a tactic that only engendered more hostility. Because he was not about to apologize for his defiance (no one at this convention ever apologized for anything they said), his only recourse was to remain silent until the chairman intervened and attempted to restore order. In other words, neither Waller nor any other speaker could respond to a protest by protesting on his own; he would simply be drowned out. The asymmetry between the silver and gold factions arose from the fact that the silver men were in a position to keep Waller from continuing his speech but the gold men could do nothing to help their speaker finish his address. To prevent Waller from continuing, all the silver men had to do was launch and sustain a protest loud enough to drown him out. If the gold men made a counterdemonstration by, for example, applauding, Waller would still be drowned out (although, we might note, the counter-demonstration might effectively evidence sympathy for the speaker’s sentiments). If the gold men were silent, the silver men would prevail out of hand. The vulnerability of the speaker as a lone voice in the hall was thus reinforced by the tactical impotence of his faction.64 Charles Thomas of Colorado followed Waller with a silver speech that was rather unremarkable in terms of incidents and demonstrations. Thomas was followed by Charles Waller of Alabama and M. F. Tarpey, who also made silver speeches that failed to provoke significant demonstrations one way or another. It was now John Fellows’s turn, and as the “small man, heavily built, with the snow of possibly sixty winters adorning the edges of his bald head” walked to the podium, “great cheering broke forth from the New York and other eastern delegations.” Fellows was the most prominent of the speakers who had thus far debated the minority report, and his rather rotund physique made him readily recognizable to the assembly. In some ways, he was one of most complex political personalities in the party. Born in Troy, New York, he moved to Arkansas when he was eighteen. In 1860, at twenty-eight, he had served as a presidential elector for the Constitutional-Union ticket of Bell and Everett. One year later, Fellows was a delegate to the secession convention that took Arkansas out of the Union, later joining the Confederate Army. He was captured by federal forces in 1863 and imprisoned until the war ended. He returned to Arkansas and re-entered politics there until moving to New York City in 1868. From then on, he was in and out of office, serving as district 64

Over the very long run, of course, the silver men were collectively vulnerable in the sense that demonstrations by either faction delayed the proceedings, and, as the majority, the silver men wanted the convention to complete the ritual ratification of the platform and nomination of a presidential candidate. On the other hand, those gold men who intended to bolt had no interest in allowing the proceedings to continue. This asymmetry produced a rough and ready compromise between the factions in which the gold men were allowed more or less equal time to speak from the podium, and, in return, their numerous protests were sufficiently restrained that the proceedings moved along at a slow, but deliberate pace.

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attorney and congressman from the city. For the last eight years or so, he had been affiliated with Tammany Hall. Common parlance had assigned Fellows the prefix “Colonel,” but, unlike almost every other northern man in politics with a military title, he had earned his in service to the South. His long career, distinctive physique, and unusual combination of loyalties had thus made Fellows quite recognizable, with a special place in the affections of the southern delegates. So, despite their opposition to his gold predilections, they, too, received him warmly as he strode up the aisle. Although the assembly intermittently cheered as he spoke, most of his speech was mildly received. The most remarkable demonstration occurred the first time he mentioned Grover Cleveland’s name as the nominee of the last Democratic convention. Although a Chicago Tribune correspondent described the demonstration as “genuine,” most of the applause came from spectators in the galleries. On the convention floor, most of the gold men remained passive, although a few flags were waved in some of the eastern delegations. Cleveland was cheered on this occasion as a symbol of the gold faction, but in other respects, the president’s relation to the struggle over the temporary chairmanship was a little murky. Some of the men who now supported Senator Hill, including Hill himself, had been Cleveland’s opponents in 1892. Thus, to use the president’s name as a prompt to cheer for gold was to suspend political memories and historical experience. Another difficulty with Cleveland was that the president was so unpopular in the nation at large that few gold men attempted to use his name or prestige, such as it was, to strengthen their cause. For the most part, they simply avoided mentioning his name. One of the most memorable demonstrations of the convention occurred during the silver speech by B. W. Marston of Louisiana. From the very start of what turned out to be a very short address, Marston “began to get in trouble.” He opened by saying, “Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Convention: It is not that we love David B. Hill less, but we love Democracy more.” This drew cheers, as did: It is us that you would trample upon (cheers and applause) – two-thirds of this convention (renewed hisses and cheers) – we ask you in the name of two-thirds of this convention to give us the Temporary Chairmanship. (More hisses and cheers.) We state to the Democracy of the United States now that we are on top and mean to assert our rights.

At this point, “a howl mingled with voluminous hisses and moderate quantity of cheers” was raised. Harrity “stretched his hands out appealingly for order” but “was greeted with renewed confusion in which could be distinguished many cries of ‘Hill! Hill’” When order returned, Marston continued with, “If you had given us the Temporary Chairmanship we would never have protested.” The Louisiana delegate was thereupon “interrupted by cheers and applause” that were “renewed again and again as he attempted to proceed.” For several minutes Marston paced the length of the podium. Harrity finally intervened again,

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“rapping on his desk until it seemed as if his plain object was the demolishing of that useful bit of furniture”: I want to repeat, and you may depend upon it that I mean it, that no progress will be made with the proceedings of this Convention except in the usual, regular and orderly manner, and the Chair will not be hastened in his action or otherwise influenced by calls from or demonstration in the galleries.65

After the assembly had subsided enough that Marston could continue, he made another trip to the water can. He had a prodigious thirst, going to the water tank for the fifteenth time. . . . Then the convention got to guying him, but he stood like the boy on the burning deck, refusing to take water, metaphorically. At this time there were attempts from all over the hall to get the man to give his name. Whoever he was, he proceeded to wave his handkerchief like a woman trying to stop an electric car on a suburban track. Somebody said his name was Marston and that he came from the Fourth District of Louisiana. Presently his voice went up the flume again. Harrity whispered something to him and Marston made another trip to the water bucket, while the convention roared. Harrity appreciated the fun in the situation, and with a grim smile demanded order. Marston kept on talking away, but not one man in ten could hear a single word he said. He howled and yelled, waving his handkerchief and irrigating his throat at every opportunity.66

During one of the “rare periods of comparative silence” while he was at the podium, Marston said that Hill did not represent the large majority of the convention and that that was the reason he should not be elected temporary chairman. The silver men were not against Hill, no; it is not against anybody that we have proceeded in this manner, but it is in favor of the grand labor of America. We know as politicians that there is a wheel within a wheel. We knew that you intended to capture the chairmanship of this Convention, and we were to be held up to scorn and ridicule throughout the length and breadth of this land; we are forcing the issue, we are meeting the enemy in their own den; we are killing them.

The “enemies” who were being metaphorically killed were, of course, the gold men, and they did not take this well. Marston was consequently interrupted by loud hissing and cries of “Hill.” The Louisiana delegate stumbled on for a bit but “was finally obliged to desist and sit down amid renewed cheering and derisive laughter.” While he had been at the podium, an Atlanta Constitution correspondent counted “half a dozen glasses of ice water” that Marston had drunk “from the chairman’s pitcher.” There are several, perhaps many, ways to interpret what transpired while the Louisiana delegate was speaking. For example, we should note that very 65 66

Dickinson, Official Proceedings, p. 87. Harrity apparently used his “electric bell” as well. During one of these occasions, someone “sang out: ‘What! a Louisianian drinking water!’ Upon which the convention and audience saluted Mr. Marston with an outburst of laughter and cheers.”

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few people in the hall knew who Marston was, including the newspapermen who were paying particular attention to the proceedings and were usually very adept at identifying delegates and prominent spectators. This anonymity was significant because a national convention was ordinarily a venue to which one brought one’s reputation as an orator and leading party figure, not a site in which one could create renown through one’s prowess as a speaker. Because restless movement or idle chatter among the delegates and spectators made hearing a speaker almost impossible, the assembly had to want to pay attention from the very beginning of an address. Otherwise, if not able to hear what was being said, even those who might be otherwise be interested in a speech would give up the effort and themselves contribute to the background noise obfuscating the words of the man on the podium. The Coliseum was so huge that a reputation was thus generally required in order for the audience to hear a speaker. Most of the assembly thus could not tell what Marston was saying and focused instead on his physical display. His most striking movements on the podium were his repeated trips to the water pitcher and his very clear personal excitement when he waved his handkerchief in the air while walking about the stage. If we assume that no one would intentionally bring ridicule upon himself, then Marston was not faking his agitation and anxiety as he spoke to the assembly. A more forgiving audience might have just ignored him, but this was an assembly of professional politicians who routinely addressed audiences as part of their ensemble of requisite skills and abilities. However well he might have done in one of the smaller venues in his home state of Louisiana, Marston was clearly out of his league in Chicago and knew it.67 And the assembly, particularly the delegates, judged his performance in a way that he could not misinterpret: they booed, hissed, and laughed at him. Both the silver men and the gold men joined in these demonstrations. Although the gold men were probably harsher, the silver men saw little at stake with Marston and consequently did little to support or defend him. In some ways, then, Marston was hoisted by his own petard.68 67

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There is nothing in newspaper reports that explains why he was chosen as one of the silver speakers. However, none of the most prominent silver leaders, with the partial exception of Thomas, participated in the debate. Their absence suggests two things: first, that the silver leaders thought the debate would not, no matter who spoke to the assembly, change any votes on the convention floor; and, second, that the public in the nation at large would not place as much importance on this fight as they would later when the platform was taken up. For that reason, the platform debate enlisted the energies of many of the leading figures of the party on both sides of the monetary question. This explanation, however, does not explain the choice of Marston, because there were hundreds and hundreds of delegates who were comparable to the Louisiana man and, thus, could have been chosen in his stead. The most damning review came from the Detroit Free Press: “A most spectacular failure was made by B. W. Huston [sic], of Louisiana, a bald headed, red faced, heavy-paunched delegate, who is already known locally and will henceforth be known nationally as the ‘Red-headed Rover of the Red River Valley.’ He tried to make a speech at the top of his voice but he was

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John Duncan of Texas attempted to follow Marston with another silver speech, but the crowd was still unruly. From the floor, a delegate yelled, “There is some disorder in the galleries. We want the speaker’s name and we want order in the galleries.” Chairman Harrity intervened yet again: “The Sergeantat-Arms will see that perfect quiet is preserved. The delegates will kindly cooperate to that end.” Harrity then introduced Duncan once more, and the Texas delegate, with “long, bushy hair” and a “wonderful badge of red, white, and blue,” started over. His speech was short and uneventful. Charles Ladd of Illinois subsequently addressed the assembly. Ladd was probably a late addition to the silver side of the debate. Just before he ascended the podium, Governor Altgeld had been talking to him down on the floor and he appeared, at least to one of the Tribune reporters, to try to insert himself in the order just after Marston and before Duncan. From visual cues only, the reporter surmised that Harrity had refused this request and Ladd had to wait until Duncan was finished. If this interpretation is correct, we might conclude that Altgeld had thought that Marston’s performance was sufficiently disconcerting to the silver men that he considered another, more effective speech to be necessary. Arguing against this interpretation is that Ladd would not have had much time to prepare an address and would have had to be very fast on his feet to pull off a performance. The speech itself suggests neither a level of sophistication requiring long preparation nor impromptu qualities implying that Ladd had made it up as he went along. Ladd attempted to explain why the silver men, as much as they respected Senator Hill, could not allow him to serve as temporary chairman. He would preside fairly; no man doubts it. He would make a speech; no man doubts it. It would be an able speech; no man doubts that. It would be a New York speech, and no man doubts that; and the Democratic party – the majority of it – would have to explain that speech to our Republican enemies during the whole campaign.

At this, the assembled delegates and spectators, both silver and gold, responded with “laughter and applause.” The remainder of his speech was quite moderate in tone as he primarily appealed to the gold men to join their silver colleagues in battling their common, Republican enemy. When Ladd concluded, he was “cheered to the echo” as he walked back to his seat on the convention floor. A silver man, J. W. St. Claire of West Virginia, now spoke for Hill. The main point of his comments was that the gold men deserved to be heard and that Senator Hill could do little harm by addressing the convention as temporary chairman. For his part, he said that he was “too good a silver man to be not heard, and only impressed the convention by the eagerness and ease with which he drank eight schooners of ice water from the pitcher on the speaker’s platform.” Only slightly kinder, the New York Times said that Marston “proved too bad to be tolerated by the silverites, and will never recover from the reputation he gained in the presence of 15,000 people.”

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influenced by a speech from David B. Hill or anyone else.” The convention heard him out relatively calmly until he said, I came here four years ago, and with my friend from Colorado [Thomas who had spoken previously] fought hand in hand in favor of David B. Hill for President and against Grover Cleveland. My friends, I believe some of you have lived to see the mistake that you did not follow the wisdom of that minority at that time.

This allusion to the contest between Hill and Cleveland “was received with shouts of laughter.” After St. Claire had finished, Harrity sketched a procedure under which the roll call might commence: Gentlemen of the Convention: Unless a clear majority of the delegates to the Convention shall seem to determine or indicate to the contrary, the Chair will direct a call of the roll immediately after the recognition of the next gentleman. It is for the delegates to determine whether the Chair is unduly hasty in thus directing the calling of the roll. (Applause and cries of “Roll, roll.”) Then, as the Chair understands the sentiment of the delegates, he will present the last gentleman to be heard upon this question.

Although the chairman was undoubtedly correct in concluding that a majority of the delegates approved this arrangement, this method of sampling sentiment was remarkably informal. Applause was, of course, non-verbal and was used in many instances to show respect for men with whose positions the clapper disagreed. And the verbal part of this response consisted of repetition of one word, “roll,” which referred to the alphabetical list of state delegations. How the assembled delegates came to settle on these forms as means of communicating their approval to the chairman up on the podium thus involved a whole host of understandings and practices that would have probably seemed deeply mysterious or at least curious to a spectator from a different political culture. Henry Clayton now closed the debate. He began by promising “he would not offend the majority by threats [as had Waller of Connecticut] nor will I amuse others by drinking much water. (Laughter.) It is calculated to amuse the average Democrat to see a Louisiana Democrat load up on lake water.” This last allusion to Marston “was received with laughter” on all sides. The rest of his very short speech was very moderate in tone and elicited little response from the assembly. The Roll Call on Temporary Chairman Roll calls were both one of the most well-defined ritual proceedings in the convention and the occasion for some of the most chaotic demonstrations. During a roll call, each of the states was called in alphabetical order by a clerk. The chairman of that state’s delegation then responded to the call by either reporting the vote of the delegation or “passing” (postponing the report until all other states had been called in the regular order). Several things made roll calls

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particularly rich as a ground for protests. First, a roll call gave many delegates a chance to speak who would otherwise not seek an opportunity to address the podium. In fact, roll calls were the ritual setting in which the greatest number of speakers could legitimately address the podium in the shortest period of time. The serial order in which these men spoke was also fixed, so that there were opportunities for one delegation chair to respond to another as the clerk moved down the roll. While talk irrelevant to the number of votes the state delegation cast violated parliamentary ritual, these disruptions were usually short and for that reason eluded suppression. Finally, almost all the states and territories were publicly, often notoriously, committed to either silver or gold. When the chairman of a particularly notorious delegation stood up and reported a vote, the simple declaration of the yeas and nays sometimes elicited a spontaneous demonstration that interrupted the proceedings for several minutes. The states themselves thus became symbols arrayed against the backdrop of parliamentary ritual and, in that way, became prompts for protest. At the end of the debate, Harrity instructed the clerk to call the roll on the minority report. Because the minority report named Senator Daniel as the silver candidate for temporary chairman, a vote for the minority report was for Daniel and a vote against favored Senator Hill, the gold nominee. Whoever won this roll call would then be voted up or down in a subsequent vote. Although Illinois was cheered when the state cast its 48 votes for the silver side, the roll call produced no significant demonstrations or controversies until Iowa was reached. Iowa was both a silver state and the home delegation of Horace Boies, one of the leading candidates for the presidential nomination. When the chairman reported the delegation as casting 26 votes for the minority report, one of the gold delegates, W. H. Stackhouse, rose and addressed the chair, saying, “I protest against the vote of Iowa as reported.” Harrity responded, “The vote of Iowa is challenged, as I understand it?” Stackhouse answered, “Yes, sir.” At that point, the clerk was directed to poll the delegation, asking each of the members how they cast their vote. When the polling was completed, Harrity announced that Iowa had cast 19 yeas and 7 nays. Because the unit rule required that the entire state’s vote be cast on the side that the majority favored, all 26 of Iowa’s votes were then recorded in favor of the minority report. Although the challenge that Stackhouse had made was properly offered in parliamentary terms, no one actually doubted that the chairman had accurately reported Iowa’s vote. The object of the challenge was to provide an opportunity for the gold minority on the delegation to dissent publicly from the delegation’s majority. Without the challenge and the ensuing poll of the delegation, their dissent would simply have been smothered by the unit rule. The challenge thus did not change the outcome, but it did reveal that over a quarter of the delegation would have voted for Hill if they had been given the opportunity. And the political fallout with respect to the Boies candidacy was substantial. Because the silver men were deeply suspicious of any covert understanding that might emerge between one of the ostensibly silver candidates for the

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nomination and that third of the convention that supported gold, the fact that seven men on the Iowa delegation had voted for Hill was interpreted as either a calculated overture to the gold men (in the form of paying the New York senator a compliment without formally affecting the outcome) or an insult to Boies himself (by publicly breaking ranks with the silver majority of the convention, the dissenters intentionally undercut the former governor’s standing with the silver faction, which, after all, was going to determine who was nominated for the presidency). The Boies campaign chose to interpret the defection as a breach of promise on the part of the gold men and released a statement explaining how it happened that gold men were on the delegation. Noting that Stackhouse was an Internal Revenue collector and thus a Cleveland patronage appointee, the Boies campaign said that an agreement had been reached with the gold men on the Iowa delegation in which they were allowed to attend the convention if they would quietly submit to the unit rule and agree not to oppose Boies or free silver. . . . This they promised upon their honor as gentlemen, and never until on the floor of the convention today did we have the first thought that they would not do as they agreed. It now looks to us like a preconcerted scheme of the gold men to defeat Boies in an underhanded and dishonorable way.

This was probably the best possible interpretation that the Boies campaign could place on the defection because the event then demonstrated both the perfidy of the gold men and their “accurate” assessment that Boies was the strongest possible silver nominee (and thus worth embarrassing). Despite this heroic effort to stanch the wound, Boies was severely damaged by this public demonstration that had relied on a parliamentary device to reveal the distribution of preferences within the state delegation.69 When Kentucky was reached, that delegation was similarly polled in order to reveal publicly the dissent of two gold men from Louisville. Kentucky was the home of Senator Joseph Blackburn, another of the presidential possibilities, and he was cheered when he voted “aye.” The two gold men were both hissed and applauded when they cast their votes for Hill. Because their dissent was expected, there were no political repercussions for Blackburn. A couple of minutes later, the vote announced by Michigan’s chairman was also challenged. This was another state that, like Iowa and Kentucky, was operating under the unit rule, and, once again, the majority position was not in doubt before the challenge. However, in this case, the actual distribution of votes was significant in that an important contest over the seating of some of the Michigan delegates 69

After the convention adjourned, the Boies campaign sent out “scouts and skirmishers” to the other state delegations to assess the damage. When they returned, they reported that “in some delegations they heard it asserted that the break in Iowa was disastrous to Boies and that ‘it is all up with Uncle Horace.’” Detroit Free Press, July 8, 1896. On the day before, an attempt to endorse a gold platform had failed in a caucus of the Iowa delegates by a 4 to 22 vote. Because this division confirmed what most observers thought was the split on the money issue in the Iowa contingent, Hill had evidently drawn the support of three silver men in the temporary chairman contest. July 7, 1896.

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had been filed. When the poll revealed that twelve men on the presently constituted delegation voted in favor of the minority report and sixteen against, the distribution suggested that the unseating of three gold delegates and their replacement with three of the contesting silver men would result in a silver majority on the Michigan delegation. And with a silver majority operating under the unit rule, all twenty-eight of the Michigan votes in the convention would thus shift from the gold to the silver side in the struggle over the platform and presidential nomination. Unlike the more or less symbolic challenges in Iowa and Kentucky, the Michigan poll revealed information that was tactically important.70 When the large New York delegation was called, the chairman, Roswell Flower, rose and said that all but one of the state’s seventy-two votes were cast against the minority report. The one abstention was Senator David Hill. Chairman Harrity then “smiled” and “paused dramatically” before repeating the announcement of the vote in this form, “As the Chair understands the Chairman of the New York delegation, Senator Hill did not vote on this question, and New York, therefore, cast but 71 nays. Is that correct?” When Flower replied, “That is correct,” the “audience cheered and the delegates were liberal with their applause.” In this case, there were at least three aspects of the ritualized performance that created the context for the gold demonstration. In the first place, New York was the largest delegation in the convention, and large delegations, whether silver or gold, were symbolically important because they constituted much larger portions of their respective sides than the smaller states and territories. Second, Senator Hill had followed an almost universal political norm when he refused to vote against the minority report. In substance, if he had voted against the report, he would have been voting for himself. In and of itself, his individual vote was of no significance because the silver men had a large majority of the convention and he was going to lose this contest regardless. But the ritual gave him a way of using his right to vote much more effectively, in terms of a public demonstration of gold sentiment, than if he had actually voted for himself. Finally, Harrity had cued the convention as to the symbolic thrust of Hill’s action by simply repeating, in detail, the substance of Flower’s report. We do not know whether Harrity was aware of Hill’s intention to abstain before Flower rose to announce New York’s vote, but these actions could not have gone better for the gold men even if they had rehearsed their performances many times over. These were the political maneuvers of very experienced politicians who

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Most correspondents had reported estimates of a small gold majority on the Michigan delegation, but many of them had suggested that some of the monetary preferences were soft and might change. In fact, some early reports had given the silver men a majority even before the contested seats were decided. This poll had the effect of publicly revealing the preferences of the individual delegates in a context in which the silver total was the minimum that the soft money could expect from the state (because Hill was drawing the support of some silver men from the convention and Daniel was attracting no gold support).

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exploited the formal proprieties of parliamentary ritual to create situations that would elicit, and thus demonstrate, the passion of their followers. The roll was again interrupted by a challenge, this time from the gold minority on the Ohio delegation. The poll only revealed eight votes for Hill out of the forty-six cast. These eight, like the gold men on the other delegations where the silver men had a majority, had been smothered by imposition of the unit rule. Although this was the home of John McLean, another of the presidential aspirants, the gold votes had been expected and there was no particular significance attached to their revelation. The roll call was now winding down, and when Tennessee voted, the minority report was unbeatable because a majority of the convention had already voted yea. Even though the outcome was no longer shrouded by even the most modest shadow of a doubt, there was still one last opportunity to exploit the parliamentary formalities. When Virginia was called, the chairman from the delegation rose and announced, “Virginia casts 23 votes yea and 1 vote – that of Hon. John W. Daniel – nay.” Although Harrity did not repeat the vote, as he had done for New York, the delegates and spectators did not need prompting. By voting against the minority report, Senator Daniel had, in effect, voted against himself and voted for Senator Hill. Like Senator Hill’s abstention, Daniel’s “defection” from the silver side of the struggle had no significance with respect to the outcome. But in symbolic terms, the impact was enormous because Daniel had both conformed to the norm (of not voting for oneself) and raised the ante by voting for his rival (Hill, remember, had simply abstained). The entire assembly immediately recognized the action as an opportunity to demonstrate and “rose in a mighty throng,” sending “up a tribute of shouts that set the air trembling.”71 Daniel and the silver men had had time to consider how they might counter the gold demonstration that had been sparked by Hill’s abstention because there were twelve states on the roll between New York and Virginia. Although we do not know for certain, they must have considered that a mirror-image abstention by Daniel would not have elicited as strong a response as going the New York senator one better by voting for him. The silver men, experienced in the ways that parliamentary ritual could create a context for symbolic action, needed no more than the simple announcement of Virginia’s vote to appreciate both the cleverness of the stroke and the resulting opportunity to demonstrate their own passion. A short time later, a Wisconsin silver delegate challenged that state’s vote, and a poll revealed that the delegation had split 20 to 4, with the majority favoring Hill. Harrity asked the delegation chairman, General Edward Bragg, “whether the unit rule was adopted by the State of Wisconsin? Will the Chairman of the delegation be kind enough to inform him?” Harrity’s question reflected the complex operations of the unit rule. A state convention could either impose a 71

A correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution was so excited he misreported to the paper’s readers that the entire Virginia delegation had voted for Hill, adding that “at the moment Daniel could have been nominated for the presidency.” July 8, 1896.

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unit rule on its delegation to the national convention on all questions that might arise or restrict the rule to just one or more issues or situations. When the state was called, the delegation chairman then announced the vote of the majority, adding to the majority the number of men who had either abstained or voted in the minority. When a vote was challenged, the individual delegates, as we have seen, were asked to indicate their votes. But a vote could also be challenged on the grounds that the unit rule had not been ordered on the question before the convention. If so, the convention chairman would not enforce the rule and would, instead, ask the clerk to record the individual yeas and nays. The gold and silver men in the Wisconsin delegation bitterly disagreed over the scope of the state’s unit rule. Even though the convention chairman was the arbiter of whether or not the rule was in effect, he had no independent information on that subject. He was thus forced to rely on what the members of the delegation told him. And, not surprisingly, the majority of the delegation told Harrity that the rule applied in this case because, in Bragg’s words, “Wisconsin votes as a unit on all questions, as the majority shall direct.” The tally at the end of the roll call was 556 votes for the minority report (Daniel) and 349 against (Hill). Although the silver men knew that they had already carried the vote, they waited until the result was formally announced before mounting an explosive demonstration, lasting “nearly twenty minutes during which no business could be transacted, on account of the applause, cheers, noise and confusion.”72 When order was restored, Harrity moved to expedite the proceedings by saying to the delegates, Unless objection be made by the Convention, the Chair will regard the vote which has just been announced as a practical rejection of the report of the Democratic National Committee, and he will not consider it necessary to put the questions involved to formal votes.

The construction of his motion was a little odd. From a parliamentary perspective, the adoption of the minority report as a substitute for the majority report simply obliterated the latter; it no longer existed as a formal object of the convention’s attention. Thus, it was no longer possible to do anything with the majority report (including, as Harrity appeared to imply, formally reject it). What Harrity meant to say, and what the convention understood him to be saying, was that at least a majority of the delegates would have ratified the minority report, naming Senator Daniel as temporary chairman, if it had been submitted to the convention for an up and down vote. That being understood, he moved to dispense with that vote. When no one objected to his motion, Harrity appointed a committee of three to escort Senator Daniel to the podium. The Virginia senator, apparently sitting with his delegation on the convention floor, had difficulty reaching the dais because his hip had been shattered in the Battle of the Wilderness during the 72

Dickinson, Official Proceedings, p. 97. The account of the roll call appears on pp. 93–97.

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Civil War. The band helped him along by playing “Hail to the Chief” and an immense eruption of “cheers and yells” accompanied his progress. The greatest demonstration of the day up to this time occurred. . . . Delegates stood in their chairs and yelled with might and main, waving canes, handkerchiefs and flags. The band aided the enthusiasm by starting up a patriotic air and the delegates stamped, clapped and cheered with a vociferousness that threatened to drown the efforts of the musicians.

During this silver exhibition, “the delegates from New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and the other gold States sat still.” When things had quieted down, Harrity ritually introduced Daniel to the convention and handed over the gavel. The senator then warmly thanked Harrity for presiding over the convention, adding that he hoped to “be able in some feeble fashion to mould my conduct by your model and to profit by your example.” The spectators and delegates applauded and cheered this sentiment, with the Pennsylvania delegates rising up and letting “loose a mighty yell.” At this point, Daniel gave the address that was the most important prerogative of the temporary chairman. In terms of demonstrations and other incidents, Daniel’s address was fairly unremarkable. In fact, because he could not project his voice throughout the hall, “he rather lost the attention of his audience. Many of them had difficulty in hearing him, and the consequence was they fell to gossiping among themselves and making noise.” When Senator Daniel had finished his speech, there “was so much confusion in the hall” that he asked the sergeant-at-arms to restore order. Some of this disruption appears to have been just the normal activity of restless men who had already done what they considered the most important work of the day. But there were also “cries of ‘Hill’ from all parts of the hall,” which indicated the disruptive alienation of the gold men. Although Hill’s name had been used intermittently during the day as a vocal demonstration of commitment to the gold cause, this seems to have been the point at which calling out “Hill” became a routine way of signaling that commitment when delegates were protesting something that was said or done on the podium. The foundation for this protest was the common practice of calling out the name of a man whom the shouter wished to have address the convention. So, in terms of conventional norms, calling out “Hill” was simply a vocal request that the New York senator say something from the podium. However, two facts transformed that conventional norm into a simple protest against the silver majority: the convention was almost completely polarized over the monetary issue and the New York senator had become completely identified with the gold cause. The gold delegates certainly would have liked to hear Hill address the convention, but they did not expect that to happen until the gold faction had arranged an opportunity (Hill actually delivered a formal speech two days later during the debate on the platform). In the meantime, a cry of “Hill” was intended to be a simple protest against silver by way of a display of gold sentiment.

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In response to Senator Daniel’s request for order, the sergeant-at-arms “directed the Assistant sergeants-at-arms to see that all were seated, and the police were directed to remove everybody from the hall who were not seated.” Senator Jones, as the leader of the silver faction, was then recognized and offered a motion of thanks to Chairman Harrity on “behalf of the silver members of this Convention and the personal request of a number of them.” This ritual motion was unanimously adopted amid widespread cheering and applause. Senator Stephen White of California then offered a motion that the rules of the last national convention, including the rules of the House of Representatives of the Fifty-third Congress, serve as the parliamentary rules of the present convention. This, too, was unanimously adopted, although few of the delegates realized the significance of the motion at the time (see chapter 5). Former Governor James Hogg of Texas then moved that the roll be called in order that the states might name their representatives to the various temporary committees that would then deliberate on the permanent organization of the convention. During this ritual procedure, loud cries for “Hill” once again broke out from the floor. The only other incident was the filing of a formal protest by the Ohio delegation against the seating of the South Dakota gold delegation before the contest over representation was settled (there was a silver delegation competing for the seats). Just before the convention adjourned, Congressman William Sulzer of New York attempted to offer a resolution endorsing Cuban independence from Spain, which, if it had been adopted, would have been referred to the platform committee. Because the platform committee could have taken up this topic without the resolution, Sulzer’s motion was purely symbolic. But merely bringing it before the assembly required unanimous consent, and the silver men were in no mood to entertain a motion from a delegate from a gold state. Cries of “no” were heard throughout the hall. The convention then adjourned at 4:45 in the afternoon to meet again the next day at 10 in the morning. Events after Adjournment When the Committee on Permanent Organization met right after adjournment, the gold men wanted to proceed directly to the nomination of convention officers. However, the silver delegates discovered that they were uncertain whom their leaders favored for permanent chairman of the convention and recessed the full committee until 8 o’clock that evening, moving its deliberations to the Sherman House. Among themselves, the silver members of the committee agreed to meet half an hour earlier and decide who should be permanent chairman before the gold men arrived for this meeting. Only two names were put forward for the post at this silver session, one of them William Jennings Bryan. The Chicago Tribune, in fact, reported that “the sentiment was overwhelmingly in favor” of Bryan in this meeting. However, several of the silver men said that “their delegations wanted an opportunity to vote for the Nebraskan for President in the convention, and it would be

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embarrassing to the Chairman to act during such a proceeding.”73 A subsequent poll of the silver delegations showed that Stephen White was favored over Bryan by a vote of 14 to 9. As soon as the silver members had completed their slate of candidates, they sent out “scouts . . . to round up” the sound-money members and “invite them” to a meeting of the full committee. The gold men of course knew what had happened before they entered the parlor and “treated the whole proceeding as a huge joke.” They went through the ritual of nominating David Hill as an alternative to White, and White easily prevailed with 33 votes out of a possible 51.74 Because he came from California, White’s nomination nicely balanced the regional distribution of the most important convention offices. While Harris had almost universally been considered the man who would be permanent chairman, the selection of Senator Daniel had made his nomination doubtful because the silver men did not want southerners to fill both of the most visible convention offices. And as one correspondent noted, Senator White’s nomination meant that he was no longer “a dark horse” in the presidential race because his selection now ruled him out of contention.75 Conclusion While the outcome was never in doubt, the rejection of Senator Hill and the election of Senator Daniel was generally interpreted as a significant blow to the hopes and designs of the gold men. An Atlanta Constitution correspondent reported that Whitney himself was “disappointed that he has been unable to accomplish anything,” although “he is too much of a thoroughbred to show it.”76 Viewed as raw numbers, the yeas and nays on the roll call for temporary chairman showed that the silver faction was some 48 votes short of a two-thirds majority. Because that two-thirds majority was necessary to make a 73

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The New York Times reported that Bryan had been “in the committee room some time, and there was considerable talk in his absence about making him” the permanent chairman. “At the suggestion of his friends, however, his name has not been presented, for the reason that he might be a candidate for President before the convention.” July 8, 1896. In ruling himself out of contention for the post, Bryan was maneuvering to keep his candidacy a possibility without openly becoming a contender (see chapter 8). Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896. Although Harris maintained that he was healthy enough to serve, his prolonged illness may have convinced some of the silver leaders that he would not be a good choice for permanent chairman, despite his recognized parliamentary skills. His inability to fill one of the convention leadership positions may have, in fact, made Daniel the temporary chairman as the silver leaders looked around for a southerner to place in one of these posts. During the period when Harris had still been considered the probable permanent chairman, White had been proposed as temporary chairman in the “general belief that Senator Harris, hailing from the south,” should be balanced by someone “chosen from the western states.” So, when Daniel was selected temporary chairman, White was a natural choice for the permanent post. Detroit Free Press, July 6, 1896. Also see Boston Globe, July 9, 1896; New York Times, July 8, 9, 1896. Harris died almost exactly one year later, at the age of seventy-nine. July 8, 1896.

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presidential nomination, the support for Hill on this vote appeared to indicate that the gold men might play an important role in naming a candidate, even if they were powerless to prevent adoption of a silver platform. However, at least three considerations made a two-thirds silver majority on the nomination highly likely. First, some of the silver men voted for Hill out of respect for the New York senator. These men would probably, if not certainly, return to the silver fold on the nomination. Second, the territories were limited to two delegates during the opening sessions of the convention until, as recommended by the national committee, their size was increased after the permanent organization was completed. Because almost all of these delegates (outside of Alaska) would favor soft money, the silver men would gain from the expansion. Finally and most important, the silver men intended to throw out some of the gold delegations and seat silver contestants in their place. The Nebraska gold delegation was considered certain to be replaced, and something – just what it was was still unclear – looked likely to happen with the Michigan delegation as well. So far at least, the silver leaders had skillfully led their faction. Their effectiveness was undoubtedly enhanced by the decision of the gold delegates to forgo dilatory parliamentary tactics and other forms of guerilla warfare. In turn, the rather reserved behavior of the gold leaders was probably, at least in part, due to an awareness that the silver faction was well prepared to deal with such measures. But the price the silver leaders paid was, in traditional political terms, quite high. Even though they were otherwise the most powerful men in their party during this second week in July, 1896, they were necessarily giving up almost all influence over the selection of the man who would lead them into the general election in November.

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4 Prospects for a Gold Bolt

Politics between the gold and silver factions resembled negotiations between two armies at war, conducted at arm’s length and with only so much trust as might be engendered by the harm they could inflict on one another. Because they were the smaller of those armies, the gold men were going to lose that struggle. And that fact brought with it the very real threat of civil war within their own ranks. That threat was a major reason why the internal politics of the gold wing at the convention was almost entirely independent of the decisions and strategies pursued by the dominant silver wing. The basic problem facing the gold men emerged from the contradiction between the need for unity at the convention and the reality that, once the convention ended, their personal interests were going to produce different responses to the triumph of the silver faction. The challenge facing the gold generals was to preserve discipline in the face of a much larger enemy until the all but inevitable point was reached when all their soldiers would rout. When this situation of “every man for himself” emerged, each gold man would have to make one of four choices: (1) swallow his medicine and endorse the silver platform and candidate; (2) do nothing, endorsing no platform or candidate in the presidential race; (3) back an independent platform with a gold Democrat as the candidate; or (4) endorse William McKinley and the Republican platform. One of the most perceptive correspondents at the convention was A. Maurice Low of the Boston Globe. Low predicted that Whitney, as leader of the gold faction, would be able to keep the hard money bloc “thoroughly under control and absolutely under his domination” until a silver plank was adopted as part of the national platform. But that would be the “breaking point” when all the gold men would have to choose between party loyalty and fealty to their cause. It is this division of sentiment, and Mr. Whitney’s knowledge of the impossibility of mapping out a program which would be followed to the letter by every goldite, which has weakened his leadership, and made him timid and halting, instead of the bold and

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audacious tactician that he usually is. It was apparent to Mr. Whitney as soon as the gold men came on the scene that some of them were strongly in favor of a bolt, and others were equally as determined that nothing should drive them out of the Coliseum.

While Whitney was formally “invested with autocratic power,” in practice his authority might be overthrown by “open and defiant mutiny . . . when he least expects it.”1 Rumors of Gold Defections Because the impending party commitment to silver meant that many hardmoney politicians would either have to endorse silver or sacrifice their political careers, there were constant rumors of defections from the gold camp in the week before the convention opened. However, even if they defected from gold in order to maintain ties with their party, most of these Democrats faced very long odds in election contests with hard-money Republicans. The problem was that divisions over the monetary standard were sectionally aligned with much of the gold sentiment in the country residing in the Northeast and the major cities of the Great Lakes states. That meant that almost all gold Democrats came from these areas and would lose elections even if they converted to silver. There were only a few places where the Democratic party was both very strong locally and, before 1896, devoted to gold.2 Most gold Democrats were thus caught in the horns of a dilemma. Either they converted to silver in order to maintain their place within local and national party councils and then lost elections or they kept their commitment to gold and watched others more nimbly opportunistic read them out of the party. The rapid growth of the silver movement in the South and West had caught many eastern gold Democrats by surprise. In their search for explanations, they often labeled silver sentiment a “contagion” produced by “a fever.” Other metaphors emphasized the supposed “insanity” of the silver men, who were said to subscribe to all kinds of improbable or flatly impossible beliefs. While these descriptions were intended to denigrate silver supporters, they also revealed deep anxiety over the sudden rise of the silver movement. Most gold men, in fact, interpreted silver sentiment as an irrational attitude that defied logical analysis and viewed most silver men as willfully refusing to engage in reasoned debate. But this interpretation meant that this contagious insanity could erupt anywhere, including what had been the eastern strongholds of the gold standard. Their anxiety made any hint of growing silver sentiment in the East quite alarming. One of these possible straws in the wind was a story filed by a New York World correspondent stating that the hitherto “solid gold ranks” of the 1 2

Boston Globe, July 8, 1896. New York City was far and away the most important of these places. For that reason, Tammany was the most important convert to silver after the convention.

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Pennsylvania delegation were dissolving with up to eighteen of the sixty-four delegates now inclined to vote for silver.3 Just before the convention opened, another report raised the number of defections in the Pennsylvania delegation to twenty-four and suggested that Chairman Harrity, hitherto regarded as a staunch gold advocate, might swing the state behind a silver favorite son in the presidential contest. Gold support was also said to be eroding in the Massachusetts delegation where seven delegates were now said to favor silver. The Maine delegation, previously regarded as solid for hard money, was now rumored to be split down the middle, six for silver and six for gold, with two or three of the remaining gold men wobbling as “the silver pressure was growing very strong.” Some of the gold delegates in Minnesota and Maryland might also heed silver’s siren call.4 Even the New York delegation was not free from suspicion.5 Only one delegate to the convention was actually identified as having changed his preferences on either gold or silver. That delegate was George Frederick Williams of Massachusetts, who announced his conversion in Boston on July 2, adding: The time has come for a great popular uprising, and I propose to be in it. In taking this step . . . I realize that I am doomed politically in Massachusetts, and that I shall never be forgiven by men who say they are Democrats. I realize, also, that these men can punish me socially and financially, but I invite the persecution with a conscientious feeling that I am doing right by voicing the sentiments of an outraged public.

Although he intended to run for governor in Massachusetts, Williams sounded as if he intended to campaign in Mississippi. The representatives of the money power are going to Chicago to defeat the will of the delegates, but I think Mr. Whitney and his agents will meet their Waterloo. The west and south do not meet in Chicago as a malicious body of people. They go there as honest, hardworking, robbed people looking for the alleviation of their wrongs.

As for his conversion, Williams explained that he had only begun to study the monetary question three years ago when the Cleveland administration began to issue federal bonds in order to defend the gold standard.6 His study, he said, had “changed my mind considerably, until I am now convinced that for every million dollars’ damage done by the alleged evil of free coinage, the people of 3 4 5 6

Reprinted in Atlanta Constitution, July 2, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896. Detroit Free Press, July 6, 1896. Although Massachusetts had evidently not bound its delegation on the monetary issue, Williams had been considered by some Democrats in the state as a gold man when he had been elected as an at-large delegate. As one of his colleagues on the delegation put it, “I do not think him a safe man to follow. In my opinion he is a man of very sudden conversions.” Other Massachusetts men said that they saw this conversion coming and were not surprised. Boston Globe, July 3, 1896.

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the country would be robbed of five million dollars by Hanna and his trust if they get control of the country.”7 As the convention drew near, speculation on whether the gold men would capitulate ran rampant. On June 28, for example, a correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution thought that there “will be plenty of elected gold delegates so anxious to climb on the band wagon” that resistance to the silver program would be insignificant. But that was speculation born of traditional politics with normal commitments; this was to be a convention of a different kind.

The Goals of the Gold Faction While the first priority of the gold men had to be the creation of a leadership, for a long time it did not seem that anyone wanted to lead them. In fact, many of those who ultimately became the leaders did not originally plan to attend the convention. William Whitney, for example, decided to go to Chicago only weeks before the convention opened.8 The key event in organizing gold resistance to silver was probably a meeting at William Whitney’s New York home on June 17. By that time Whitney had cancelled a trip to Europe in order to organize the gold forces. Matt Ransom, the ambassador to Mexico, was at this meeting, probably representing the administration. Also present were James Campbell and Senator Calvin Brice, both of Ohio, along with Senator Arthur Gorman of Maryland and “all the Tammany bosses.” Senator Hill had come by the previous day. President Cleveland also sent word that he “would send all his cabinet and every federal officer who might be of service” to Chicago to lobby for gold.9 While the plans emerging from this meeting suggested guarded optimism concerning hard-money 7

8

9

Atlanta Constitution, July 3, 1896. Williams’s reported defection led the Constitution’s Chicago correspondent to chortle, “It has become the silver band wagon. They are all crowding to get upon it now. . . . This all from Massachusetts, the supposed home of gold.” July 3, 1896. In an interview on July 8, Williams said that he wanted his party’s nomination for governor. Boston Globe, July 9, 1896. Williams had run for governor the previous year and was to run again in 1896 and 1897. He was never elected. For an account of his bolt to silver and its consequences, see Geoffrey Blodgett, The Gentle Reformers: Massachusetts Democrats in the Cleveland Era (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1966), pp. 212–18. Former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts was equally tardy. Boston Globe (Extra), July 2, 1896. Another late addition was Perry Belmont, who decided on June 22 to cancel the rest of his European trip in order to return to the United States and go to Chicago as a New York delegate. Atlanta Constitution, June, 23, 1896. Whitney alternately coaxed and flattered Russell into going to the convention. Blodgett, The Gentle Reformers, pp. 210–11. Among administration officials who attended the convention were Comptroller of the Currency James Eckels, Assistant Secretary of the Treasury Charles Hamlin, Secretary of Agriculture Sterling Morton, Commissioner of Internal Revenue Joseph Miller, H. W. Van Senden (private secretary to Secretary of the Treasury John Carlisle), Solicitor R. T. Hough, Washington Hesing, the Postmaster of Chicago, and A. A. Wilson, U.S. Marshal for the District of Columbia and “one of the closest of the president’s personal and political friends.” Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896.

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prospects, Senator Gorman was unabashedly gloomy and reaffirmed his intention to boycott the convention.10 On June 21, Whitney released a statement to the press in which he said that free silver would “bring general ruin” to the country and that adoption of a silver plank at the coming convention might irrevocably split the party. Whitney also firmly disavowed any personal presidential ambitions, saying, “I will add, copying the emphatic language once used by the late Gen. Sherman (I think I remember it correctly), ‘I will not run if nominated, nor serve if elected.’”11 The next day Whitney felt obligated to deny a report that the gold men were pessimistic about their prospects in Chicago. However, he did concede that “the silver men will have almost a two-thirds majority in the convention.”12 On the evening of June 22, Whitney and James Hinckley, chairman of the New York State Democratic Committee, met with Hill at Woolferts Roost, the senator’s home, in Albany. After a long conference that night, Whitney and Hinckley stayed over as Hill’s guests and the three started off the next day for the New York State convention in Saratoga.13 Whitney and Hill stayed at separate hotels in Saratoga, frequently meeting together with other New York leaders. The New York Times reported that they decided not to nominate presidential electors, preferring to wait until after the national platform had been adopted and a presidential ticket had been named.14 When the convention met, the gold standard was unanimously endorsed as the primary plank in the state platform. A report filed with the Chicago Tribune described the gathering as a “funeral,” while the Times termed the atmosphere “business-like.” Either way, the New York State convention finished its business in two brief sessions held on the same day with some of the delegates starting home before sunset.15 A few days later, Whitney gave the gold forces hope in an interview carried by the New York Evening Post, saying, “When the silver men from the South and West meet their Eastern brethren at Chicago they may conclude that free silver is not the panacea they want, after all”16 (see Fig. 4.1). Some of the gold men already in Chicago also put up a brave front. Colonel Shirley of Kentucky, for example, said that the party would be united if the convention would only

10 11

12 13 14

15 16

Atlanta Constitution, June 20, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 22, 1896. Whitney’s next sentence also recognized a harsh political reality: “I am not foolish enough to suppose that any Eastern man could be nominated by this convention, much less that I could.” Chicago Tribune, June 22, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 23, 1896. Ibid.; New York Times, June 23, 1896. Even if gold Democrats stayed within the party, they could make things very difficult for a silver candidate by simply refusing to put Democratic electors in the field, allowing McKinley and the Republicans to win be default. On July 1, the Boston Globe reported that if a silver platform were adopted and a silver candidate were nominated, “it looks as if” no Democratic electors would be put forward in Wisconsin and New York. On plans for Wisconsin to present no electors, see Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1896; New York Times, July 3, 1896. June 24, 25, 1896. Reprinted in the Chicago Tribune, June 27, 1896.

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figure 4.1. William C. Whitney of New York, ex-Secretary of the Navy, was the leader of the gold faction in the convention. Here, several days before the convention opened, he is trying to command the surging tide of the silver movement to halt. Source: Boston Globe, (Extra), July 3, 1896. Originally published in the Chicago Dispatch.

adopt a hard-money platform such as the one approved in Saratoga.17 The highest ranking administration spokesman at this time was Comptroller of the Currency James Eckels, who reportedly viewed “the task for the friends of sound money as a difficult one” but concluded that “we stand a good show of winning the coming election” if the “party is not disrupted by the radical action of silver men.”18 However, Washington Hesing, the postmaster of Chicago, was so despondent he urged Whitney and the other eastern gold men to stay home and let the silver delegates have their way.19 Senator John Palmer of Illinois also predicted 17 18 19

New York Times, June 28, 1896. Also see Boston Globe, July 2, 1896. New York Times, July 1, 1896. Also see Detroit Free Press, July 2, 1896. Detroit Free Press, July 2, 1896.

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the silver faction would run rampant, rejecting all appeals for compromise and moderation.20 By now the silver men were well aware that Whitney was trying to put together a coalition that might head off their impending victory in Chicago. For their part, the gold men constantly referred to the “missionary” work they were doing at the convention, presumably among the silver heathen.21 Now that gold leaders had emerged, their first task was to suppress the rivalries and hostilities that had grown out of their prior ambitions and disputes. The most important of these opportunistic reconciliations occurred between William Whitney and Senator David Hill.22 The result was a division of labor in which Whitney did much of the planning and strategy for the gold faction while the senator became the public symbol and spokesman.23 Another, only partially satisfactory, accommodation brought together the Tammany and regular Democratic factions.24 Both the Whitney-Hill and Tammany-regular conciliations were essential to molding the New York delegation into a cohesive unit on and off the convention floor. Equally essential was the suppression of divisions with respect to the Cleveland administration. Whitney, for example, had been the manager of the Cleveland campaign during the 1892 Democratic National Convention. This was the same convention in which Cleveland’s supporters had humiliated David Hill, who, at that time, was supported for the presidential nomination by the New York delegation and many of the same men who were now leading the silver faction. However, eastern supporters of Cleveland and Hill had not disagreed on the monetary standard in 1892, and what brought them together now was the politics of hard-money. Given the almost universal hard money sentiment in the East, reconciliation for the purpose of defending the gold standard was professionally imperative, even if personally distasteful. Despite this reconciliation, an incident took place in the New York delegation headquarters that underscored just how complicated relations had become 20

21 22

23 24

Having been all but read out of his party in his home state by the Altgeld forces, Palmer later ran as an independent gold Democrat in the 1896 presidential election. New York Times, June 28, 1896. Detroit Free Press, July 6, 1896. Even as they acted together in the convention there were repeated rumors that bad feeling between them threatened unity within the gold wing. See, for example, Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896. Noting that some people attending the convention seemed to think that Hill was “a puppet” with Whitney pulling “the strings to make him dance and prance,” a Boston Globe correspondent said, “Nothing is further from the fact. The man who thinks David B. Hill, a cool-headed, cold-blooded, icicle nature, self-contained, self-seeking politician by the training of many, many, many years, has all of a sudden been transformed into a member of William Whitney’s private suite is an idiot.” Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896. For a general account of Whitney’s activities just before and during the convention, see Mark D. Hirsch, William C. Whitney: Modern Warwick (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1948), pp. 486–505. Commenting on the arrival of the Tammany men at the New York State convention, a correspondent for the New York Times wrote that the “Tammany men came arm in arm with their old enemies, the State Democrats. The tomahawks had been buried – deep enough . . . to keep them out of sight until the Democratic National Convention should be over.” June 24, 1896.

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between the gold men and the Cleveland administration. Because of the huge size of the state’s contingent and the plethora of prominent leaders, the New York headquarters almost served as the central office for the entire gold faction. The sergeant-at-arms of the New York State committee, Len Wager, had been given the task of decorating the room with appropriate icons of hard-money sentiment, along with the traditional patriotic bunting and party symbols. The headquarters was on the parlor floor of the Palmer House, and Wager must have done his job well. The rooms were “among the most handsome in the hotel. They are profusely ornamented with national colors draped in an effective manner with the coat of arms of New York State and other appropriate emblems.” One of those emblems was a large portrait of President Grover Cleveland. Cleveland, of course, had almost single-handedly saved the gold standard in 1893. He also hailed from New York and could thus be considered a favorite son. These were good reasons for hanging his picture in the headquarters. But on the other side of the ledger were even more weighty considerations. First, Senator Hill was personally and politically estranged from the president in ways that were probably beyond repair. The Tammany men were also unreconciled opponents. In addition, the president was so unpopular with the silver men that he was nothing but a liability to the gold effort at the convention.25 When the gold men realized just how symbolically harmful Cleveland’s picture was, they first turned the portrait so that it faced the wall and then, after the headquarters had closed for the day, took it down. The New York Sun reporter said that Whitney had summoned “in stern, hoarse accents, an idiotic person charged with the equipping” of the room and ordered him to hide Cleveland’s picture “among the refuse in the hotel attic.”26 The Chicago Tribune carried a different account in which Cleveland’s picture was replaced with a portrait of former Governor Flower. When asked what had happened to the president’s likeness, the explanation was that the “string was weak” and that the picture might be damaged if it broke. Cleveland’s portrait was then “stored” out of sight; apparently, no attempt was made to repair the string. The Tribune also republished a story from the Boston Morning Journal in which a correspondent for that paper, perhaps tongue in cheek, “congratulated the Tammany man in charge on his display of loyalty” by putting up the president’s portrait. The Tammany man was said to have retorted, “I wish somebody would throw a chair through it!”27 When a correspondent from the New York Times asked Wager what had happened to Cleveland’s portrait, he claimed that “early in the day the President’s picture was stolen. Who did it I do not know. I think that it was only done as a joke, and that it will be all right.” But later that day, when asked 25

26 27

The Detroit Free Press reported that administration officials became “incensed” when they discovered that not “a single picture of the president [could be] found in the hotels.” July 7, 1896. For reports of hostility to Cleveland at the convention, see the Chicago Tribune, July 5,1896; Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896. Reprinted in Atlanta Constitution, July 9, 1896. Also see Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896.

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again what had happened, Wager gave an entirely different explanation, “I borrowed that picture from a man here in the house who wanted it today to decorate another headquarters with, and so he took it away.”28 Both of Wager’s accounts were transparently false and some of the other reports seem apocryphal. The mysterious disappearance continued to attract attention from correspondents throughout the convention.29 However, the fracas over Cleveland’s picture was only a diversion from the real struggle. Because many of the gold leaders were much more committed to hard money than to their party, the silver men often claimed that they would try to sabotage a silver ticket.30 On July 3, for example, a correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution reported a rumor, backed up by a letter in the possession of a Tennessee delegate, that the gold faction was secretly paying the expenses of Populists who wanted to attend their national party convention in St. Louis. Claiming that the “Whitney crowd” was behind this effort, the report said the intention was to encourage, by way of subsidy, the Populists to nominate a separate slate of silver candidates so as to divide the opposition to McKinley. Another rumor insisted that the gold men were going to vote en bloc for Senator Teller for the nomination. This speculation explained that the major problem facing the gold men was how to oppose the Democratic ticket without bolting the party. The solution, the gold men reasoned, was to nominate a Republican (Teller) as the Democratic candidate for president. If Teller were nominated, the general election would thus involve a choice between two Republicans, McKinley and the senator from Colorado. Gold Democrats, by voting for McKinley, would no longer be bolting a “Democratic” ticket because there would be no such ticket in the field. For this reason, the gold men “would endeavor to concentrate on Teller.”31 Simply bolting the party was a very real option for those gold Democrats for whom politics was an avocation. But professional politicians could not abandon the Democratic party without sacrificing their careers. They might try to sabotage a silver Democratic ticket and attempt to recapture the party organization after the party lost the election. But this was a risky strategy because the party might become so weak and demoralized that it could no 28 29

30

31

New York Times, July 5, 6, 1896. After the convention ended, Wager said that he had taken the picture down himself because he had heard a rumor that “a gang of fellows from one of the Western States had planned to smash the picture when they got a good opportunity.” New York Times, July 12, 1896. This belief could be justified by reference to the many statements by gold men thinly veiling, if veiling at all, their intentions. For example, the Cleveland Leader reported that John Fellows of New York had told Don Dickinson, the leader of the Michigan gold men, “The best service that can be rendered to the Democratic party is to ensure the defeat of the candidate nominated by this convention.” Reprinted in Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. The only thing unclear in this statement is what strategy would best insure that defeat. Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. Although there was little doubt that many more gold men would feel comfortable bolting the ticket if Teller were the nominee, there is no other evidence in the newspaper reports that anyone actually wished to concentrate the hard-money faction’s vote on his candidacy.

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longer mount an effective election campaign. The best way to maintain those organizations and to retain their influence within them was simply to convert to silver by openly professing support for the nominees and platform. And for that reason, once the convention had completed its business, many career politicians in the gold wing intended to repair their bridges swiftly in order to prevent others from taking their places within the party organization. From this perspective, the most complex personality may have been Senator David B. Hill of New York. Hill had previously been quite estranged from many of the gold men who were now singing his praises, so much so that many observers expressed bewilderment that he would allow himself to be used as the public face for the gold faction. In addition, he had previously vacillated just enough on his commitment to gold to encourage speculation that he might just suddenly convert to silver.32 On July 13, 1893, for example, Hill had written a private letter to the editor of the Atlanta Constitution in which he said, I am in favor of bimetallism as the issue of the future. We should seek to keep that issue to the front – we should not strive for temporary success or compromise. We should be for free coinage under an international agreement, if it be possible to procure one – and for which every exertion should be made – and if not possible, then for independent bimetallism. This is the great goal for which we should strive.

Hill did hedge a little on this apparent endorsement of free silver by adding that it “cannot be done at once. Our friends must not be impatient. The people must be educated.” And he also assumed an orthodox gold position favoring “unconditional repeal” of the Sherman Silver Purchase Act. However, after this tacking toward gold, he concluded with the recommendation that the party “should continue to hold out free coinage as the goal which the country must ultimately reach.” In 1895, he gave permission for the publication of this letter, and on July 2, 1896, the Constitution printed most of the text.33 Hill was clearly a professional politician, with ambitions that extended well beyond his home state. He had been a leading presidential possibility in the 1892 convention and probably harbored similar ambitions in 1896, at least before the silver men emerged as the dominant bloc in the upcoming convention.34 Hill’s 32 33

34

Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. An accompanying editorial interpreted this letter as evidence that there there was nothing “to prevent Senator Hill from pulling in line with the free coinage movement, taking charge of it in his own state, and leading his party to the most significant victory in that quarter that has ever been won.” The next day the paper reported that this letter “is being quietly circulated and may be read in the convention.” July 9, 1896. In fact, even after Hill’s defeat in the election of a temporary chairman, there were “those who have the courage to predict that Presidential lightning may strike him before the week is over.” This comment appeared in the New York Journal, reprinted in Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1896. After the demonstrations before his speech during the platform debate on July 9, the New Orleans Picayune stated that no one “witnessing that scene [doubted] that the silver men would have been glad to name Hill their candidate for president” had he declared for silver. “He is the strongest simon pure Democrat in the United States today, and his time may come yet, after the delusion of the hour has died out and the silver sheep return to the fold.” July 10, 1896.

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professional ambitions were aided by well-honed political skills that had created personal good will extending well beyond the gold faction.35 The New York senator, for example, was apparently the only gold leader to meet with Governor Altgeld during the convention. On July 4, Hill dispatched his personal secretary to the Sherman House to ask for a meeting, preferably sometime that evening after supper. Altgeld set the time at 8 o’clock and Hill was prompt. During this meeting, the New York senator reportedly conceded that the convention would endorse silver but urged that the silver men nominate someone other than the current front-runner, Richard Bland. Hill suggested either Matthews or McLean as alternatives but was even willing to accept more radical silver candidates such as Senator White of California or Horace Boies of Iowa.36 Aside from demonstrating Hill’s willingness to cross factional lines and discuss sensitive questions with a man who was anathema to most of his allies, two things are remarkable about this meeting. First, Hill chose to meet with Altgeld rather than attend the gold rally that was being held at the Auditorium Hotel the same evening. In fact, by asking that their discussion be scheduled after dinner, Hill had intentionally created a conflict between this meeting and the gold rally.37 Second, if the report is accurate (a big “if”), the New York senator actually thought there was some possibility of persuading Altgeld not to endorse Richard Bland. At this time, Altgeld was believed to be leaning strongly toward Bland and had probably privately committed himself to “Silver Dick.” Because this endorsement was not yet public, there was some room for Altgeld to maneuver but there wasn’t much. That Hill thought this attempt was worth the effort is thus all the more remarkable. Whether and how the gold men thought they were going to change the outcome of the Chicago convention remains unclear. Almost all the gold men, for example, had given up hope of moderating what they expected to be a “radical,” uncompromising endorsement of free silver in the platform. Thus, one plausible line of speculation, attributed to Whitney himself, held that the gold faction would make no more than a symbolic fight over the monetary plank, concentrating instead on “the nomination of a candidate who does not stand squarely upon the platform.” Because adoption of the silver plank required only a simple majority of the convention and the silver men would constitute about 35

36 37

Hill was also feared. After he had been in the Senate only a few months, Senator Richard Coke of Texas observed, “He is a strong man is Hill, heap stronger than we thought. He is a dangerous man. A brave and desperate man, and I reckon if Hill had been brought up in Texas he would have killed a dozen men by now.” New Orleans Picayune, July 10, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. Hill’s absence was widely noted, in part because earlier reports had said that Hill would both give a major speech and act as chairman of the gold rally. Chicago Tribune, July 3, 1896. Hill himself downplayed his absence describing the “gold meeting last night” as an event “held by local people and I was not expected to speak.” This characterization was more than a little disingenuous in that the role of “local people” was limited to renting the hall and that, if he was not expected to speak, it was because he had said that he did not want to. Detroit Free Press, July 6, 1896.

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two-thirds of all the delegates, a symbolic protest against the platform seemed to be all that the gold men could do. But a two-thirds’ majority was required for a presidential nomination, and, thus, if the silver faction were divided between a number of competing candidates, the gold minority might hold the balance of power in the convention. One Boston Globe correspondent, for example, reported a general belief that Whitney favored “throwing the gold vote to the least objectionable of the silver candidates,” but he could not publicly announce who that was for fear that the silver delegates would shun that candidate “on the theory that whatever a gold man approves a silver man must disapprove.” Seen that way, mystery would necessarily enshroud the gold faction’s plans until the very last moment.38 A similar scenario posited that Richard Bland and Horace Boies would deadlock the convention for a number of ballots until frustrated delegates turned to other alternatives. In that situation, Whitney was said to prefer former Governor James Campbell of Ohio or Governor Matthews of Indiana and, by controlling a disciplined mass of three hundred or so gold delegates, might put one of them over the top.39 The price of that support would be a lukewarm endorsement of the platform by the presidential nominee, which would leave enough room for a practical renunciation of the silver program if he were to be elected.40 Yet another scenario posited that the silver leaders would attempt to tilt the nomination toward their favorite (Senator Teller), thus alienating supporters of the other candidates in such a way that they would seek support from the gold faction. On the evening of July 6, for example, “a number of men with Boies badges were in the room” when the New York delegation held a caucus. When a correspondent from the Detroit Free Press suggested that they might be soliciting support for their candidate, Whitney replied, “I have not heard of the alleged overtures of the Boies people to the gold men, but it is not impossible and there may be breaks when the silver men find the arbitrary way in which the leaders will try to dispose of their booms.”41 However, in the absence of intervention by the silver leaders, any attempt to establish links with the gold faction would fatally undermine a candidate’s standing within the silver faction. Thus, this scenario depended on an obvious blunder by the silver leaders, a blunder they did not make. 38

39

40

41

July 7, 1896. This strategy was discussed at length in an article in the July 5 issue where it was attributed to Whitney, Flower, and “other prominent business men who . . . figure on delegates just as they would on a business transaction in which they were about to invest their money.” However, the correspondent also reported that many gold men were just as eager to nominate a radical candidate who would bring about the ticket’s defeat because a silver platform made Democratic victory unacceptable to them. Also see July 6, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, June 28, 1896. On Campbell, see Chicago Tribune, June 22, 1896. VicePresident Adlai Stevenson was also frequently mentioned as a Whitney favorite. See, for example, Boston Globe (Extra), July 1, 1896. One of the wilder rumors had Whitney himself maneuvering for the nomination by, so it was said, trimming his support for gold and thus attracting moderate silver men to his candidacy. Chicago Tribune, June 28, 1896. July 7, 1896.

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Whitney never appeared to commit himself to any particular strategy. In his public pronouncements, he gave very broad characterizations of the gold faction’s plans that would have offended none of his allies or those he wanted to convert. His carefully worded utterances appear to have had several related goals. The first was to maintain credibility with his wing of the party by acknowledging that gold prospects at the convention were grim. Unrealistic optimism would have both raised eyebrows among his colleagues while goading the silver men on to even more extreme pledges of fealty to soft money. He also tolerated divergent tactics within the gold faction as long as they postponed their responses to the impending silver victory until the convention was over. He contended that this postponement was the only way to prevent internal divisions over their individual fates and futures from creeping into the temporary confluence of interests between those who would leave the party over principle and those who would sacrifice principle to remain in the party. However, he also sympathetically acknowledged that some of the gold men had already given up any hope that the party might be saved from silver. Finally, when Whitney observed that adoption of a silver platform would disrupt the Democratic party, he unavoidably, by way of an objective description of the situation, threatened a bolt by the eastern wing. This was a dangerous card because the gold wing was very divided over how they, as individuals, would ultimately respond to a silver platform and candidate. Here Whitney only tentatively placed the card on the table in order to signal what, to him, appeared to be the dire consequences of a silver declaration. Putting all the pieces together, Whitney was sending pretty much the same message to two bitterly divided political communities, addressing each of them in different ways.42 The Gold Strategy The gold strategy had five elements. The first four arose out of responses to silver initiatives concerning the selection of a temporary chairman, the contest over seating of the Michigan delegation, the adoption of a silver plank in the national platform, and the nomination of a presidential candidate. Each of these initiatives occupied one of the first four days of the convention. The fifth element was a decision to encourage the gold delegations to delay their formal responses to the silver triumph until they had a chance to return to their home states and “consult” with their constituents. Each element had a different purpose. The decision to put forward Senator David Hill as the gold candidate for temporary chairman was an attempt to use respect for regular party organization and Hill’s personal popularity to divide the silver majority on the opening day of the convention. The Michigan contest involved an “appeal to fair play” that was similarly intended to break up the silver majority over what the gold men attempted to define as a procedural 42

See, for example, an interview published in the Atlanta Constitution, June 28, 1896.

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issue. The platform conflict involved, of course, the very heart of the policy conflict between the two wings. By this point the gold men had lost all hope of even bargaining with the silver wing. On the next day, the convention moved to the selection of a presidential nominee, and most of the gold men followed the example of their leaders and abstained from the voting. For the gold men who refused to participate, this strategy postponed a decision on whether or not they would be “honor bound” to support the silver platform and the candidate who ran on that platform. For similar reasons, postponement of their personal responses to the silver victory until they had returned home effectively coordinated a general, collective delay for those gold men who followed that strategy. The gold men felt their way toward these decisions through mutual consultation and, in many cases, mutually sympathetic recognition of the difficulties in which they individually found themselves. The opening moves in Chicago were undertaken by the Illinois Sound Money Committee, which set up its headquarters in the club room of the Palmer House on July 2. Anticipating the arrival of the eastern gold men, the committee also arranged for a conference of gold leaders in the Auditorium Hotel the next day. On the floor above the club room, a battery of “shorthand men and typewriters were set at work” pouring out public notices that a mass meeting of the gold faction was to be held on the evening of July 4.43 All “the hopes of the gold men in New York left for the seat of war” at 4:30 on the afternoon of July 2, the same day that the Sound Money Committee opened its headquarters. For the trip west, Whitney chartered three “elegant parlor cars fully equipped for the sleeping and the eating and drinking necessary to put the high-class politicians in excellent humor.” Even so, the journey was “exceedingly hot and disagreeable” with most of the travelers frantically trying “to keep cool and ward off the blinding dust and cinders.” Senator James Smith of New Jersey, “who is very large and susceptible to heat, was seated in a large armchair and waved a fan lazily.” Senator David Hill “sat on a large couch by himself, with a slouch hat pulled over his eyes and engaged in a deep meditation so characteristic of him – a meditation which has threatened to bear parliamentary fruit during the convention.” In what became his personal car, Whitney and others “devoted considerable time to reading the reports in the Tribune and all the other Chicago morning papers, as they confessed themselves wholly ignorant of the situation.” As his other guests, the former secretary took with him former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts, New York District Attorney John Fellows, New York State Democratic Chairman James Hinckley, New York National Committeeman William Sheehan, former Mayor of New York Hugh Grant, Manager Thomas F. Ryan of the Metropolitan Traction Company, and T. J. Regan, Whitney’s private secretary. When the “luncheon hour” rolled around, these men enjoyed an elaborate feast prepared 43

Atlanta Constitution and Chicago Tribune, July 3, 1896. A description of the origins and membership of the Illinois group appears in the latter story.

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by a “special chef,” and “champagne corks were flying at a lively rate for an hour or two.”44 Arriving on July 3, this wing of the New York delegation was thus in Chicago early enough to organize strategy at the convention and take part in the mass rally on Saturday night. Far more inclined to make peace with the silver men once the convention ended, the Tammany Hall contingent came separately, only starting for Chicago on Sunday and arriving at 10:30 on the morning of July 6.45 Although they brought with them 250 delegates, alternates, and political supporters, all crowded into ten parlor coaches, the Tammany men intentionally missed most of the pre-convention consultation and “missionary work” among the silver delegations.46 As it turned out, one of the Tammany trains blew a cylinder and the engine could only creep along at about fifteen miles an hour. This part of the Tammany contingent was some two hours late arriving in Chicago, although the men were able to drown their “impatience and ill-humor in the copious vats, tuns, and casks in the baggage cars.”47 No brass bands met Whitney and his entourage with they arrived in Chicago on July 3. Instead, the ex-Secretary of the Navy was found “on the curb at the station signaling for cabs for his party.” After he registered at the Auditorium Annex Hotel, Whitney was warmly greeted by Chairman Harrity but made no statement to reporters. Senator Hill, who would stay at the Palmer House, returned a reporter’s card with a simple message on the back, “Just arrived; nothing to say at the moment.”48 That evening the gold men gathered together in Whitney’s rooms and conferred for three hours with Senator Gray of Delaware in the chair. About a quarter of those attending this meeting were delegates; the rest were “government officers” and those with “interests 44

45

46

47

48

Ryan owned one of the three cars on which the contingent rode. Chicago Tribune, July 2–4, 1896. The arrangement through which Hill and Whitney became traveling companions appears to have made just before they left for Chicago because Hill had said, on the evening of June 30, that “I shall leave here for Chicago some time Thursday on one of the regular trains. I do not know of any party being made up to go from here. I do not know of a living soul that is going out with me. There does not seem to be many around here who care to go.” Boston Globe, July 1, 1896. At the station just before leaving New York, Martin Engel, a Tammany district leader, said, “Tammany Hall must be regular at all costs. We will go in and work for the regular Democratic nominee, whoever he is. If our people refuse to vote for him at the polls that will be their look out and the look out of the majority who nominated the candidate, not ours. There is no danger of any silver rising in the East. We understand perfectly that any change in the monetary standard would paralyze business and thus knock out the poor man as well as the rich.” New York Times, July 6, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896. The Tammany men traveled in two trains, running ten minutes apart. Among the most prominent of the passengers were former Senator George W. Plunkitt, Tammany boss John Sheehan, Henry Purroy, and Congressmen Amos Cummings, William Sulzer, George McClellan, and Thomas Walsh. Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896. The reason given for the Tammany men’s late start was that they wanted to celebrate the Fourth of July in New York City, rather than Chicago. July 5, 1896. Atlanta Constitution and Detroit Free Press, July 4, 1896.

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antagonistic to silver.” All who attended had been invited by Whitney.49 As the states were called in alphabetical order, men reported on the gold and silver sentiment in their delegations, frankly stating their views, including their own intentions and their estimates of the chances of success. In “an impassioned speech and with tears streaming down his face,” John Fellows of New York painted the consequences of a silver victory in the most dire terms, both for the party and the nation at large. In response to a question concerning his own intentions, Senator Hill stated that he would not make a decision until he was forced to confront it. Others urged the nomination of an independent, gold Democratic ticket. The most prominent of the men favoring a bolt was former Governor Flower of New York. According to a correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution, the gold men decided to try to persuade silver delegates to support Hill’s election as temporary chairman and generally “to do the best they could.” But there was little optimism among those attending this meeting, and many of them simply “wanted to give in.” Senator Hill and Whitney, however, urged them to stand firm. The ultimate goal of their efforts appears to have been to prevent the nomination of an “extreme silver man,” with Matthews as the preferred choice among the silver candidates. Before adjourning, the conference agreed to meet every evening at 8 o’clock in the Auditorium with participants enjoined to secrecy. The only exception was the next day when they would meet again at 11 o’clock in the morning followed by a mass meeting of the gold men that evening.50 The mass meeting on July 4 was held in the theater of the Auditorium Hotel. Drawing some six thousand people, the centerpiece of this rally consisted of stirring speeches by many hard-money luminaries: former Governor Flower of New York, Franklin MacVeagh of Chicago, former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts, Senator Gray, and Colonel John Fellows. While Whitney occupied one of the theater boxes, Senator Hill was absent. For three hours, the gold men celebrated their cause with the most vigorous demonstrations occurring during the speeches by MacVeagh, Russell, and Fellows. When MacVeagh charged that Altgeld had captured the Illinois delegation for silver through fraud and chicanery, the crowd cheered and hissed for several minutes and every attempt of the speaker to continue was interrupted by prolonged cheers. Some admirers of the governor in the rear of the theater attempted to offset the hisses by calling for cheers for Altgeld and were answered by loud cries of “put them out.” 49

50

Immediately on arriving at his hotel room, Whitney began to write “personal notes addressed to the leaders of all the states opposed to silver,” inviting them to this conference. Detroit Free Press, July 3, 1896. A list of the most prominent figures attending this meeting appears in the article. Only Alabama, Connecticut, and Ohio were not represented. Senator Gray was made permanent chairman of the gold conference. July 4, 1896. Also see the July 4 issues of the Boston Globe, Chicago Tribune, and Detroit Free Press.

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Russell’s endorsement of Cleveland’s monetary policy was greeted with “loud acclamations and plaudits” honoring the president. When it came his turn, Fellows said that the choice facing him and many other Democrats was between national patriotism and party loyalty, adding that he feared the consequences should his party win the election. This brought “laughter and applause” from the crowd, many of whom recognized their own predicament in his description. The crowd laughed again when he said that silver men always answered “16 to 1” regardless of the question that had been posed to them. Fellows next drew a parallel between the silver movement and the French Revolution. “To the guillotine! to the guillotine!” was then the cry of the populace. They tore down all that existed of substantial government; they profaned the altars in their temples; they wrote over the portals of their churches “There is no God”; they caused the gutters of their streets to run red with blood. They produced a change. They were the heralds of revolution. But the guillotine shortened the necks of many of them.

The crowd laughed once more. Fellows then added, “So now with 16 to 1 the cry proclaimed by the wild dervishes of the day.” And again the crowd laughed. He ended his speech by claiming that New York had always taken a benign attitude toward the rest of the country, particularly the South and West, and with that the rally closed at about 11 p.m.51 On Sunday, July 5, over two hundred gold men met at the Auditorium to discuss strategy and hear reports. Two sergeants-at-arms scrutinized all those coming through the door, and two silver advocates who had managed to make their way into the room were promptly evicted. With the exception of Senator Hill and former Governor Flower, all the prominent gold men then in Chicago were present. Chairman Gray opened the conference and turned first to Whitney. Although the press was barred from this meeting, the Atlanta Constitution reported that Whitney roused his faction with a ringing declaration: “I take it for granted than no man in this room will ever consent to the subordination of the welfare of the country and the integrity of his party for any consideration.” The gold men present responded with loud cheers, “and it was some minutes before the applause died away.” Whitney also said that he thought the gold men had made progress over the last several days. As evidence of the impact of gold lobbying, he cited abandonment of silver plans for a mass caucus and for abrogation of the twothirds’ rule on presidential nominations. Whitney also reported that internal division within the silver ranks seemed to make agreement on a common softmoney candidate impossible and that, to the best of his knowledge, the silver faction would not challenge the nomination and election of a gold temporary chairman.52 51 52

Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. Also see Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896. While the silver men had not yet agreed on a candidate to put up against a gold nominee, divisions within their ranks were not so serious as to threaten their plans. Either Whitney was exaggerating what intelligence he had available to him or that intelligence was flawed. See chapter 3 for a description of the silver meetings on July 5 and 6.

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Despite his characteristically guarded replies to the questions of correspondents, Whitney inadvertently fed rumors of an impending bolt by the gold men. Sometime that Sunday, for example, he said, “We are now conducting our campaign of education, and it will last until the convention meets. How it will end nobody knows, but we will move quickly after the convention gets in session. Will we bolt? Well, I can’t discuss that now.” Former Lieutenant Governor William Sheehan was more blunt: “To talk of bolting before the convention decides anything is foolish. We will act after the platform is adopted.” Former Governor Flower, described as “one of the heavy guns in the sound-money ranks,” thus only voiced his personal opinion when he said, “I don’t think we will remain in the convention after the adoption of a silver plank.”53 On the evening following Daniel’s election as temporary chairman, the gold men met again at the Auditorium, deliberating for more than three hours. Senator Gray called the conference to order with over three hundred men in attendance. Some gave speeches advocating the running of an independent Democratic gold ticket in the general election, and speakers “were frequently interrupted with cries of ‘Give us a separate candidate’; ‘we won’t stand for a silverite.’” Whitney himself gave a short, “very conservative” speech in which he counseled that an independent candidacy should not be launched until gold Democrats throughout the country had been consulted. He also said that bolts from the convention should be seen as individual protests against the decisions and behavior of the silver majority. However, he thought the presence of gold men on the convention floor and in party committee meetings had a laudatory, moderating effect on the silver majority that was valuable, regardless of what the gold men might be compelled to do in the future. The conference ultimately adopted a resolution ordering the appointment of a committee to consider the possibility of a separate gold ticket and ordered that it report back to Senator Gray no later than August 1. It was approaching midnight when the meeting ended.54 After the gold conference adjourned, the New York delegation caucused until 1:15 in the morning. The primary question was whether the delegates should support a silver ticket. On this point, increasing tension between the Tammany party loyalists and the other gold men threatened an open split in the delegation. Former Governor Flower presided and opened the discussion by indicating that he personally could not endorse silver nominees on a silver platform. Henry Purroy, “a high sachem in Tammany,” responded with “one of his thunderbolt speeches” strongly opposing a bolt.55 Aligning himself with Flower, Perry Belmont urged that the delegation publicly repudiate the silver 53 54 55

Boston Globe, July 6, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 8, 1896. For lengthy descriptions of this meeting, see Chicago Tribune and New York Times, July 8, 1896. In a separate interview with the New York Times, Purroy said that, in his opinion, “I never saw a more Democratic convention than is this one, and I have attended four of them. Of course, I am sorry that it did not go our way, but there was nothing in the proceedings as they were carried out to protest against or to warrant any talk about bolting. We must submit to the majority.” July 8, 1896.

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program. Then came a “sensational speech” by Congressman William Sulzer in which “he said that he would not bolt the ticket under any circumstances, and when he returned to New York he intended to call a meeting of his constituents” to endorse it. Sulzer then added, “I am a Democrat. I am going to stay a Democrat. Nobody can make me anything but a Democrat.” Apparently “much amused” by Sulzer’s views, Federic Coudert attributed them to the “effervescence of early youth” but said there were some things that even a party loyalist could not tolerate. Coudert then asked his listeners, Suppose this convention should declare that no one should belong to the Roman Catholic Church, I am quite sure that I would walk out of the convention, and that ex-Mayor Grant should walk out, and many others would walk out. Suppose it should declare in favor of legalizing murder, would my young friend, Mr. Sulzer, believe it necessary that he should go home and work for the ticket just because the convention had nominated it?

In the course of his comments, Coudert “occasionally coupled Purroy and Sulzer” to the former’s acute discomfort.56 Perry Belmont followed Coudert and indicated that he was personally ready to bolt. Jumping to his feet and pointing directly at Belmont, Sulzer shouted, “You have a personal reason for doing this, and I know what it is; it is treachery to the party.” Sulzer’s demonstration seemed overly dramatic to many of the Tammany men, and they “snickered and then laughed outright.” Pulling rank as a senior member of the delegation, Belmont replied, “I think we have had enough of this sort of talk.” Returning to the main question, Frederic Coudert stated that he, too, was reluctant to endorse a free silver candidate but “would abide by the [wishes of a] majority of the delegation.” Aside from Purroy and Sulzer, it became evident that the “Tammany men were not ready” to announce their intentions. Their leader, John Sheehan, proposed that the delegation agree to meet again at 9:30 that morning for more discussion of the issue.57 When the delegation caucused again the next morning, Coudert and Belmont once more favored an immediate bolt. However, Whitney told the delegates that he and the other gold leaders, including Senator Hill, believed that the best strategy would be for the gold men to participate in the proceedings until the platform had been adopted. After the silver plank was ratified, the gold leaders recommended that their faction remain in their seats but refuse to participate in the proceedings, including balloting on the presidential nomination.58 56

57 58

Because a “few of the Tammany delegates, including Mr. Sulzer, have been doing so much talking” with respect to their future endorsement of a silver platform and ticket, “[w]ord was sent out from Tammany headquarters last night . . . ‘let up.’” According to the New York Times correspondent, this order had some effect. July 9, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra) and Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1896. The most complete account of the morning caucus on July 8 appears in New York Times, July 9, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 8, 1896. New York Times, July 9, 1896.

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Selection of a Temporary Chairman The gold leaders favored Senator Hill as their candidate for temporary chairman long before the convention opened on July 7. Among Hill’s attractive qualities was his standing as the most prominent Democrat attending the convention. In addition, his public statements over the years had had just enough ambiguity to suggest a “moderate” commitment to gold, if such a thing were possible. Although few doubted that he firmly stood for hard money at the convention, the silver men could still view him as more of a party stalwart than a hard-money zealot. And he was personally popular with more than a few of the silver delegates, including many of the silver senators. For this reason, some correspondents believed that Hill might not even face opposition from the silver bloc or, if he did, that enough silver men would cross the line to elect him. In hindsight, such interpretations appear to have seriously underestimated the intensity of silver sentiment in the convention, but, even so, Hill was probably the only gold leader who could have been put forward who would have engendered such speculation. Some of the gold men declared that “an irregular beginning to the convention” in the form of the rejection of the national committee’s choice, combined with “other arbitrary acts” by the silver majority, would be considered ample justification for bolting the party.59 As with many such reports, it is not clear whether the gold warnings were intended as attempts to coordinate the actions of those gold men who had already decided to bolt the convention by focusing on a single event (Hill’s rejection as temporary chairman), as expressions of anger at the tactics of the silver majority, or as declarations that might persuade at least some silver men to support Hill. The first and three of these interpretations are, of course, related in that a credible threat requires a firm commitment to imposing the consequences if the threat fails to change an opponent’s action. Thus, if the silver men did not believe that gold men were, in fact, ready to bolt the party, they would be much less likely to be influenced by the threat. The second alternative reinforces the others by harnessing “passion” in the service of what otherwise would be a sober calculation of advantages and disadvantages with respect to a bolt. So all three might be true at the same time. In any event, after Daniel’s victory, both Hill and Whitney immediately said there would be no bolt of the gold men from the convention. The Michigan Contest The selection of a temporary chairman had been set up by the gold men as a test of party regularity in that the man proposed by the Democratic National Committee had always been ratified in prior conventions. When Hill was turned down by the silver men, the decision was thus characterized as a break with party traditions that underscored the radicalism of the silver faction. The contest over the seating of the Michigan gold men was similarly characterized as a breach of party regularity in that the state convention, on its face, had followed 59


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appropriate norms and practices in the selection of the delegation. The result was that a majority of the delegation supported gold, and, under the unit rule, all twenty-eight delegates would be aligned with the gold camp. As is described in the next chapter, the silver faction needed these twenty-eight votes in order to reach a two-thirds majority in the convention, thus putting them in a position to nominate a presidential candidate without requiring any votes from the gold faction. Thus, the Michigan contest became another opportunity to potentially divide the silver forces. The passions surrounding the Michigan contest spawned one of the most spectacular – and spectacularly false – rumors of the convention. On July 7, a correspondent for the Boston Globe reported that Senator Hill had told Senator Cockrell of Missouri that he was ready to bolt the convention if the Michigan gold delegates were unseated. In what must have been a paraphrase of the actual conversation, if it ever took place, Hill reportedly said, Cockrell, you can give us the Ocala platform of the populists, and we’ll stand it; you can nominate Bland, and we’ll swallow him; you can declare oats to be money of final redemption, and we’ll not bolt, but if you dare to invade the sovereign state of Michigan and say whom we shall and shall not select as our delegates I shall leave the hall.60

This and similar reports printed in other papers surprised almost all those who had followed Hill, because the senator had always been very reluctant to speak to the press. As for the senator himself, he called the report “absolutely false”: I never said anything to give any person the idea that I would counsel a bolt. In fact, I have steadfastly refrained from making any signed statements of what action we would take in the convention.61

His denial, however, did little to squelch rumors running rampant in the hotel corridors and on the floor of the Coliseum, although most of them referred to delegations as opposed to individuals.62 After assiduously searching the convention for delegates who would unequivocally say they intended to bolt the convention, the Chicago Tribune could identify only nine men. Five were from New York, two were from Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts and New Jersey had one apiece. And even these men said that, when the time came, they would leave the hall quietly, forgoing a public demonstration.63 Even so, some of the silver faction had believed those gold men who had said that seating silver men in place of gold in the Michigan contest would constitute grounds for leaving the convention and the party. Thus, 60

61 62 63

The comments were paraphrased by A. Maurice Low, the Boston Globe correspondent. July 8, 1896. Because both the Globe and Low strongly sympathized with the eastern gold men, there seems to be little doubt that they believed the reports of Hill’s threat to be accurate (otherwise they would be seriously damaging their relations with the New York senator). Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896; New York Times and Detroit Free Press, July 7, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 9, 1896. The Detroit Free Press reported essentially the same story but could find only seven delegates who intended to bolt. July 9, 1896.

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when the vote was announced, both spectators and delegates looked around the hall to see whether anyone got up to leave. No one did.64 The Platform Fight The silver and gold factions chose to fight over the selection of a temporary chairman and the seating of the Michigan gold delegates. Although conceding either or both decisions to the other faction would have made them uncomfortable, victories were not essential to either side. The monetary plank in the national platform, on the other hand, was not only vital to both factions, it was the decision that utterly defined victory or defeat. Neither side could have chosen to withdraw from that contest without automatically conceding the convention to the other. Thus, everything that had transpired in the first two days was merely a prelude to the adoption of the platform. Deploying their best speakers for the struggle and demonstrating their passion in all the ways they could, the gold men put up a good fight. But, as expected, they lost. Abstention during the Presidential Nomination When he arrived in Chicago on July 6, John Sheehan was reluctant to discuss the political situation with reporters, arguing that he had not been on the ground long enough to have formed an opinion. But he did say that Tammany stood behind the gold plank in the New York platform, and he thought there was still some chance of a compromise between the silver and gold men. He then stated that Tammany did not yet have a favorite in the presidential race but that, personally, I am free to say that I am in favor of Mr. McLean. . . . He is a man of wide experience, a man of capacity, and I believe will be a statesman for the country from most any platform. I hope the ultra-silver people will come to recognize his good points.

Another Tammany leader, Judge Gorman, also thought McLean would be “an excellent nominee for the party” but still hoped “that the convention will come to see the wisdom of making Senator Hill its choice.”65 These statements clearly implied that the Tammany men intended to play an active role in the presidential contest even if a silver platform were adopted. These statements also more or less flatly contradicted the positions that Whitney and the other gold leaders were trying to set out for their faction. As they waited for the Democratic National Committee to nominate Hill for temporary chairman on July 6, the gold leaders held a small conference in the senator’s rooms at the Palmer House. In addition to Hill, those in attendance included Whitney, Donald Dickinson of Michigan, Senator Gray, former Governor Flower, and former Governor William Russell. Although there was “strong sentiment” favoring abstention in all convention proceedings after the platform was adopted, they decided to solicit opinions by visiting the various gold 64 65

Atlanta Constitution, July 9, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896.

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delegations. Because the leaders already realized that some gold men favored an immediate bolt and others would, albeit with much reluctance, endorse a silver platform, this solicitation was as much for the purpose of coordinating the actions of the gold faction as it was to survey opinion.66 On the morning of July 8, even before the Michigan contest had been decided, the gold leaders had tentatively agreed to remain in the convention after the platform had been adopted but to abstain when voting on the presidential nomination took place. However, some of the hard-money delegates insisted that they would participate in the presidential balloting. Most of these dissenters belonged to the Pennsylvania delegation, which had been instructed by its state convention to vote for a favorite son, former Governor Pattison. Although many of these men would have preferred to have been released from these instructions (because they then could abstain in the presidential balloting along with the other gold men), they felt that only Pattison could free them. Telegrams asking that the delegates be released were consequently sent to Pattison throughout the day, but the former governor did not reply.67 Abstention during balloting on the presidential nomination met with opposition on two fronts. First, there were those gold men who simply wanted to quit the convention after the platform had been adopted. At least nine of the New York men, for example, tried to persuade their delegation to walk out of the hall before voting began. Many of them felt that a public bolt would demonstrate the deep disaffection among the eastern gold men and thus help to launch an independent ticket. A different but by no means incompatible consideration motivated the others. For them, simply sitting in their seats on the convention floor, even if they abstained from voting for a nominee, tacitly implied an endorsement of the proceedings and, thus, an obligation to support the party nominee. The only way to avoid this obligation was to vacate the premises.68 Just after the silver plank was adopted, many of the gold delegations caucused.69 The New York delegates met in the nearby Washington Park Club, the use of which had been offered the delegation when it arrived in Chicago. In the words of a New York Times correspondent, the meeting “was held under very comfortable circumstances . . . in one of the large parlors which opens out 66 67 68

69

New York Times, July 7, 1896. Boston Globe, Detroit Free Press, and New York Times, July 9, 1896. The nine delegates in favor of an immediate bolt were Perry Belmont, Augustus Schell, Roswell P. Flower, De Lancey Nicol, Frank M. Scott, C. C. Baldwin, Hugh J. Grant, Charles Tracey and George B. McClellan. Boston Globe (Extra), July 10, 1896. Wisconsin did not waste any time, casting its vote against the platform and then immediately leaving for one of the committee rooms just off the convention floor. After a caucus only ten minutes long, Wisconsin declared that it would no longer take part in the proceedings now that a silver platform had been adopted. General Edward Bragg, the leader of the delegation, told a New York Times correspondent, “We had long known what we would do in case of an emergency like this. We did not need to deliberate; we only needed to take formal action.” July 10, 1896. Also see Los Angeles Times, July 10, 1896.

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on the broad veranda which overlooks the Washington Park race track.” The caucus lasted two hours. Former Governor Flower had the chair with Hill and Whitney sitting “just behind him on a sofa.” John Fellows denounced the platform as a tissue of populistic and anarchistic notions compiled by men who have no claim to recognition as statesmen or even politicians, but who are frenzied fanatics. I cannot see how I can support such a platform or any person placed upon it.

Former Governor Roswell Flower “made a red hot speech” in which he described the silver platform as a “crazy quilt of anarchy [made by] incompetent and brainless fools. . . . I will never cast my vote for such a ticket.” But the Tammany wing blocked any move to commit the delegation to a bolt. In fact, William Sulzer said that he thought the delegation should not only stay in the convention but should also take part in the proceedings. When asked whether he meant “that we should vote for this silver platform,” Sulzer replied, “Yes . . . and work for it.” The rest of the delegation then “cried [him] down” with shouts of “Shame, shame.”70 As a substitute for Flower’s resolution, Hill moved the creation of a committee to solicit opinions from the other gold delegations. Composed of Whitney, Hill, State Chairman Hinckley, Flower, Frederic Coudert, and William Sheehan, that committee was instructed to canvass the other gold states during the Thursday evening session of the convention.71 The committee’s survey subsequently revealed that only the Wisconsin delegation favored an immediate bolt and that delegation was not united. As of 3 o’clock in the morning, the New York delegation had not finally decided on a strategy. A strong minority wanted to walk out of the convention, but a majority, led by Tammany, still resisted a bolt72 (see Fig. 4.2). However, most of the gold leaders, including Hill and Whitney, had already decided that abstaining from the proceedings while physically staying in the convention was the best strategy. Their silent presence would dramatically protest the silver platform without compelling them to either oppose or support the ticket. In this way, the strategy represented a middle course somewhere between the impetuous urgency of those who wanted to immediately repudiate their party’s action and the sullen acceptance of those who put party ahead 70

71

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During the balloting on the nomination, the New York Times reported that Sulzer “almost begged” to be permitted to vote for Bryan, but his request “was simply laughed at.” July 11, 1896. This diffidence, however, was a bow to his Tammany colleagues in that Sulzer did not have to ask anyone for permission to vote. The convention rules gave him that right even if the rest of the delegation abstained. All he had to do was seek recognition from the chairman. This session would be devoted to speeches placing in nomination the various presidential aspirants. Because the New York delegates did not expect to participate in the presidential contest, they would be free to roam about the convention floor sampling sentiment while these speeches were made. Atlanta Constitution, July 11, 1896; New York Times, July 10, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. The Tribune also named ten New York delegates who had decided to “leave the convention.” Detroit Free Press, July 10, 1896.

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figure 4.2. Source: Boston Globe, July 9, 1896. Originally published in the Brooklyn Eagle.

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of principle. Most of the eastern delegates concurred and, by late Thursday evening, Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New Jersey, and Rhode Island, along with Wisconsin, had pledged to follow New York’s lead. There were, however, a few dissenters even among these delegations, and Vermont was said to be divided over what to do. While most of the gold men from states farther west reported that they would accept defeat and continue to participate in the proceedings, the most important defection from the gold leaders was Pennsylvania.73 For their part, the silver men affected an attitude of supreme indifference to whatever the gold men might do. A correspondent for the Philadelphia Press, for example, asked Senator Jones whether the abstention of the gold delegates in the presidential balloting would damage the party. The silver leader rather disingenuously replied, “I hardly think so. I would say to them as was said to the bolters at St. Louis: ‘We don’t want you to go; we would like to have you stay, as we love you, but if you will go, why then go to - - - -.’” When Richard Bland was told that the gold men might launch a separate ticket headed by a gold Democrat, he only laughed and said, “Perhaps the more gold tickets the better for us.”74 Several days earlier, Senator Daniel of Virginia had welcomed the eastern delegates to the convention with the observation, “If the gold men intend to bolt a silver candidate, I suppose we can do nothing to stop them. . . . They are full grown men, and I suppose they have come here with their minds fully settled on the course they are to pursue.” Some of the silver delegates, in fact, openly taunted the gold faction. One of these was Judge O. W. Powers of Utah, who gave what the New York Times termed “a characteristic Western view of the subject”: If these Eastern men were in earnest when they say free silver meant dishonor, I do not see how they can refrain from bolting. Surely they would not countenance dishonor. . . . But they will not bolt. In New York they were raging lions; here they are cooing doves. They have come out prepared to lay down and be walked upon. They have become so imbued with English ideas that they no longer retain the robust American spirit which makes a man stand up for his principles, even though he may be alone.

Underlying the masculine hubris that colored this challenge was the belief that a bolt by the gold men would be the surest means of legitimating a Democratic silver ticket when the Populists were later asked to give their endorsement.75 Seen this way, if the eastern men proved their manhood by bolting, the silver Democrats would have better soft-money credentials to present to Populist skeptics. An objective toting up of gold faction assets and liabilities had persuaded these silver men that they would be better off if the eastern delegates 73 74

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New York Times, July 10, 1896. Bland was interviewed in his home town of Lebanon, Missouri. Chicago Tribune, July 8, 10, 1896. A Boston Globe correspondent speculated that Bland managers welcomed a bolt of the gold delegates because it would reduce the number of votes the Missouri candidate would need to win the nomination. July 7, 1896. New York Times, July 5, 1896.

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simply packed their bags and went home. The trick was to make them mad enough to do this. “Consulting” with Constituents The mantra of those gold men who neither wanted to endorse the platform nor immediately bolt the ticket was that they should consult with their constituents back home on what to do next. This, of course, was Whitney’s strategy for holding together the gold coalition. Even after the platform was adopted and Bryan was nominated, some of those who had strongly urged the New York delegation to bolt still followed the faction line. One of them was Congressman George McClellan, who reported his position this way: “I am in favor of the delegates from New York going home and reporting to their constituents. Our action in the campaign will be decided by the State convention.” But the son of the Union Army commander and 1864 Democratic presidential nominee still could not resist tipping his hand. I consider the national convention was not a representative Democratic gathering; it was controlled by Populists and Anarchists, got together by the silver miners. There are prominent Democrats, some of whom were delegates to this convention, who have announced they will not support the ticket. They may decide to put up a third ticket in our State.

It is hard to see how McClellan could fail to endorse this independent ticket regardless of the decision reached in a state convention.76 Congressman Charles Tracey would have nothing to do with this kind of shilly-shallying: “I will not support [Bryan] on that platform. I do not know whether there will be a third ticket nominated or not, but if there is I stand ready to do what I can to insure its success.” All this maneuvering led one Chicago Tribune correspondent to conclude, “The gold people are not going to bolt. But they are not going to support either ticket or platform, so it doesn’t seem to make much difference what name their actions may be given.”77 However, he was wrong; the very fact that the faction had a mantra that they could recite to the 76

77

McClellan ultimately endorsed neither the Bryan nor the third-party platforms, although he accepted backing from both factions as he ran for re-election to the House. However, he was ostracized as a (in his words) “social pariah” by his elite peers, including members of his club, because he accepted the regular (now silver) Democratic nomination. McClellan, The Gentleman and the Tiger (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1956), p. 116. Chicago Tribune, July 11, 1896. Tracey, in fact, quit the convention and left for New York. In what might have been his last interview in Chicago, he said, “I do not think that more than twenty-two out of the seventy-two New York delegates will support the Democratic platform and ticket. There are only three or four Tammany delegates and two or three from the interior who are for it.” Wilson Bissell also went home before the Friday session, as did Perry Belmont and De Lancey Nicol. Allen McDermott, an at-large delegate from New Jersey, left about this time as well. Detroit Free Press, July 10, 11, 1896. For a sampling of reactions to the convention from other New York delegates, see New York Times, July 11, 1896. Nicol, for example, said, “I would rather cut my right hand off than vote for this ticket.”

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press and, sometimes, to each other underpinned their otherwise rapidly fraying solidarity. Although it only postponed what was an inevitable reckoning when the eastern party organizations would fragment and go their separate ways, it at least prevented the silver men in Chicago from being entertained by a fratricidal blood-letting within the gold faction. In addition, for those who wanted to ensure the defeat of the Democratic ticket, a thorough review of the alternative strategies was also a consideration. It was not immediately clear, for example, whether an independent gold Democratic ticket or an open endorsement of McKinley would be the most effective means of promoting a gold victory in the general election. And here too the solidarity of the gold Democrats would be a factor in that whatever choice they made would presumably influence the votes of rank-and-file Democrats who would follow them. However, this was a problem different from the one that had been presented in the convention because those gold Democrats who intended to endorse the Bryan ticket were no longer included in the gold leaders’ calculations. The Final Act of the Gold Men While certainly united in opposition to a silver platform, only the most superficial veneer of collegial cooperation covered the impending breakup of the eastern party organizations once that platform was adopted. And this veneer was transparent to whomever cared to investigate the internal dynamics of these formerly powerful constituent units of the national party. Nowhere were the divisions between the gold men who would bolt and those who would not more intense than within the New York delegation. And those divisions included those who just could not make up their minds. Senator Hill, for example, remained in his rooms at the Palmer House while the convention voted on a presidential nominee on Friday. James Hinckley carried the news to the New York delegates then assembling on the floor of the Coliseum, and they immediately began to speculate that the senator was bolting the convention, albeit covertly. Many of the gold delegates who had argued strongly for a bolt contended that they, too, should leave the hall. After “whispering” to these men, apparently in an effort to convince them that Hill was not feeling well and that his absence was in no way intended as a bolt, Hinckley “spoke guardedly for publication,” saying only that “Mr. Hill is very tired. . . . It has been a severe strain on him in the committee on resolutions and on the floor.” When asked whether Hill’s absence could be interpreted as a personal “withdrawal from the convention,” Hinckley paused for a moment and then “said he could add nothing further.” Former Lieutenant Governor William Sheehan was very surprised when he learned that Hill was intending to stay in his hotel room: A nice position we are put in. . . . There should be a committee sent down to him at once. He should not refuse to come unless he is seriously ill and then he should send his excuse. We have begun to fight on a certain line and should keep it up.

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Although several New York men were sent to locate Hill and attempt to persuade him to come down to the Coliseum, the senator refused.78 When a correspondent for the United Press told him that his absence was provoking rumors that he had bolted the convention, Hill in frustration could only reply: Absolutely absurd. Must I attend every session? You know I have been working day and night since I came to Chicago, and I found myself this morning completely played out. This is why I was absent from the convention today, and you may deny all statements to the contrary, upon my authority.

After Bryan was nominated, Senator Hill would only say, “I was a democrat before this convention and I am a democrat still.”79 The Massachusetts delegation was also bitterly divided. After Bryan had been nominated, the Boston Globe asked the delegates for their reactions, and their responses ran the entire gamut of possibility. For example, Jeremiah O’Sullivan, one of the prominent silver men, was pleased with the platform and the candidate. I believe that Stevenson would have been the most acceptable man in the east, and for that reason voted for him. But I am perfectly satisfied with Bryan. When the people in the east come to know Bryan he will be popular with them. He will make friends when he meets the people face to face.

At the other end stood Patrick Maguire, who concluded that the convention was run by a lot of cranks. We are to have not a political, but a business campaign. In a great crisis men of property and standing do not need to be told what to do. They know enough to look out for their own interests, and that is what you will find them doing this year.

While Maguire only implied that he would bolt the ticket, Samuel Hamilton bluntly rejected everything the convention had done. I won’t stand upon the platform, and won’t vote for any one who does stand upon it. . . . I think the convention [has adopted] a platform of principles which, if executed, would result in a terrible panic and the consequent impoverishment of all our people.80 78 79

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Detroit Free Press, July 11, 1896. Senator Hill remained utterly silent during the entire fall campaign. Richard L. McCormick, From Realignment to Reform: Political Change in New York State, 1893–1910 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1981), pp. 104–5. However, four years later, Hill would second Bryan’s nomination as the Nebraskan won the right to attempt another run for the presidency. In his speech, he would say that he “doubted the wisdom of some portions of the [1900] platform,” particularly “the propriety of going into details as to portions of our financial policy” that again endorsed silver. However, he acquiesced “loyally” in the party’s decision. Official Proceedings of the Democratic National Convention (Chicago: McLellan Printing, 1900), pp. 132–33. In an interview on July 2, well before the convention opened, Hamilton had pledged to stand by the gold plank that had been unanimously adopted by the Massachusetts state convention “till God calls me.” When the reporter asked him whether there would be a bolt if a silver platform were adopted, Hamilton replied, “We shall not cross any bridges until we get to them. I can only say for myself that I am a gold man to the end.” Hamilton had now crossed that bridge. Boston Globe, July 3, 1896.

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John Crosby from the western part of the state fell somewhere in between the extremes. He thought the platform and ticket were a disaster for eastern Democrats but thought gold men should, instead of bolting, “take such action” as would “preserve their organization.” Many of the others expressed disgust at the outcome but either did not know what they might do or refused to disclose their intentions.81 As “he ate a hearty after convention luncheon,” Ben Cable, one of the leading hard-money Democrats in Illinois, entertained no doubts about the strategy most gold men would take. Our crowd will name a third ticket. We are still democrats. We are not leaving the party. We want to hold the party together, preserve it, in other words, until it shall come together again. We who are in this fight for the gold standard – we who are democrats – stand between two fallacies, the republican fallacy of protection and the democratic fallacy of free silver. We can in conscience support neither. So the third ticket will come in. No formal steps have been taken to organize to name this ticket. I don’t know when such steps will be taken.

But Cable did know because he was already aware that he and the other soundmoney Democrats of Illinois would secretly meet at the Richelieu Hotel on the evening of the day Bryan was nominated. They adopted a resolution calling for a national convention of gold Democrats for the purpose of nominating an independent ticket.82 Conclusion Just before the convention opened, the gold delegates appeared to a correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution to be “as united as one man” and “propose to contest every inch of ground.” The general form the convention would take was also clear: an opening day battle over the temporary chairmanship; a struggle over contesting delegations on the second day; and a fight over the platform on the third.83 All of this had come to pass, and on all of this the gold men had stood firm. But their unity had begun to fray in the state caucuses long before the delegations began to divide on the convention floor. Some of the gold men now embraced the new regime with little hesitation. Others had never, even for a moment, considered the new regime worth confronting, let alone embracing. And there were those who had confronted and 81

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The Globe reported the reactions of nineteen of the thirty delegates. Seven said they would support the ticket, six stated that they would refuse to endorse either the platform or the candidate, and six did not say what they would do. In several cases, delegates responded in slightly different ways to different reporters. Boston Globe (Extra), July 11, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 12, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 11, 1896. For an account of this third-party ticket, see Stanley L. Jones, The Presidential Election of 1896 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1964), pp. 264–75. Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 1896. Left implicit was the dedication of the fourth day to the presidential nomination.

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lost.84 This last group was now returning home. Whitney’s private cars pulled into Grand Central Station at 6:30 on Saturday evening. A little over nine days had elapsed since they had left the same station for Chicago. After the “express came to a standstill,” the weary-looking party of men stepped slowly from the cars and walked up the passageway. . . . The members of the party were tired out, all of them, and they wore in their faces the ravages of a week of struggle, pleading, argument, and sturdy defense of their position. . . . Whitney led the way. His face was haggard. The fight at Chicago had told on him. He had, however, a confident and resourceful air when he faced the reporters.

Holding up his hands, Whitney refused to comment on the convention or anything else, “I may talk later, but now I can say nothing.” Returning with Whitney was almost exactly the same group of men who had earlier traveled west with him. They were now scattering along the same lines as they had been gathered together. State Democratic Chairman James Hinckley and National Committeeman William Sheehan had been dropped off in Buffalo. Senator Hill and former Governor William Russell had left the party at Albany. And some of the others, such as Senator Gray of Delaware and Senator Smith of New Jersey, still had some traveling to do before they reached their homes. Whitney’s party had discussed the future of the state organization during their trip and someone in the party anonymously disclosed the details of their discussion, in particular their debate over three alternative courses of action. 1. Gold Democrats should split their ballots, voting Republican in the presidential race and Democratic in all other federal and state races. Implicit in this strategy was the continuing commitment of the state party to the gold standard. 2. Gold Democrats, by controlling the state party organization, should nominate electors pledged to McKinley, thus consolidating a hybrid party slate committed to gold from top to bottom. Aside from the head of the ticket, all other nominees would be Democrats. 3. Gold Democrats from New York, along with their counterparts in the other states, should nominate an independent gold Democratic candidate for president, pledge the state’s electors to that candidate, and place all other Democratic nominees on the same ticket. According to this anonymous source, few in Whitney’s entourage opposed the first strategy. However, many on the train opposed the second alternative because they viewed it as “going a step too far toward the Republican camp.” And the third possibility was even more strongly criticized because it might allow the silver Democrats to gain control of the state organization and thus control the future of the party. Some countered this argument by contending 84

The way in which the gold men made these choices almost perfectly illustrates the three options described by Albert O. Hirschman in his Exit, Voice, and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations, and States (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972).

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that the present state party organization would be recognized as the legitimate authority and, thus, could determine who would be listed on the party line on the state ballot. If so, they could endorse an independent presidential candidacy without conceding control of the state party to the silver wing. However, even if this interpretation were correct, most still felt that the political risks attending an independent candidacy would be too high. Almost by default, then, the first alternative appeared to be endorsed by a majority of the Whitney contingent. Although left unsaid, one of the attractions of this strategy was that it did not require open cooperation. They did not have to coordinate their actions either publicly, in the form of an open declaration for McKinley or an independent gold Democrat as they constructed a slate of nominees, or privately, as they made their individual accommodations to the new political reality. All the gold men had to do was split their tickets in the privacy of the voting booth. But something else was left unsaid as well. This alternative did not describe what the state party organization should do about the presidential race, and, here, the presumption would be at least a nominal endorsement of the Bryan ticket and silver platform. The Tammany Hall men arrived at Grand Central Station about five hours after the Whitney contingent. Although we can safely assume that the Tammany men must have also reviewed their options now that the convention had done its work, there is nothing in the newspaper accounts to suggest what they discussed. In some ways, however, Tammany was almost a party within a party, an arrangement that both narrowed and expanded their options.85 On the one hand, the machine could be relatively indifferent to the fate of the national 85

In all of the eastern gold states, there were divisions over whether or not to accept the new reality: the silver platform and everything that went with it. Many of those Democrats who represented the patrician, Protestant elite were pledged to gold both socially and politically; tolerance, let alone endorsement, of a silver platform for them was unthinkable even if they thought they could somehow survive politically. For the immigrant, lower-class, Catholic wing of the party, however, prospects under a silver endorsement were somewhat brighter. The wholesale exit of the native-born blue-bloods meant that immigrants in the large cities of the East, such as those associated with Tammany, would inherit control of the state parties. That control compensated in part for the diminished electoral prospects for the party, while their concentration in urban working-class precincts and districts meant that this wing of the party would survive silver (although it would not prosper). On the rapid recovery of the New York City Democrats from Bryan’s defeat in the 1896 general election, see Alan Ware, The Democratic Party Heads North, 1877–1962 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 81. On the reaction of the Democratic state organizations in the Northeast to the endorsement of silver and the nomination of Bryan, see Samuel T. McSeveney, The Politics of Depression: Political Behavior in the Northeast, 1893–96 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972), pp. 166–75. McSeveney concludes that “Tammany managed to weather the storm of 1896 in reasonably good shape” and, two years later, took control of the New York state organization (pp. 173, 175). On the ethnic split in the northern Democratic party, see pp. 175–76. Also see McCormick, From Realignment to Reform, pp. 104–5. For the plight of the Massachusetts gold Democrats, including loss of control of the state party organization, see Blodgett, The Gentle Reformers, 224–30. As Scott James puts it, the “realignment of the 1896 finally purged Mugwumps from the Democratic party.” Presidents, Parties, and the State: A Party System Perspective on Democratic Regulatory Choice, 1884–1936 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 120.

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ticket because its primary concern was control of the municipal government. There were certainly costs associated with a silver ticket, one of them being loss of the state government to the Republicans. But the huge majorities the machine could run up at home more or less insulated the machine from national politics. This insulation expanded their options in some interesting ways. For example, if the gold Democrats associated with Whitney bolted the party, they would inherit major influence, if not control, of the state party organization as it fell, so to speak, into their lap. On the other hand, Tammany had to preserve the organizational solidarity and identity on which the very existence of the machine depended. That meant the machine had to publicly endorse a national ticket and platform that was almost entirely alien to New York City. Tammany could have had little or no hope that Bryan and silver were somehow going to become domesticated within Gotham; in fact, Bryan and silver were probably even more alien to those who served the machine than to ordinary rank-and-file voters. So the major question became what the machine would do behind the scenes, out of sight of its public declarations. Robert Muh, a New York City alderman who had gone to Chicago to visit friends and attended the convention in a private capacity, suggested, “Since the State leaders have declared against the ticket, I suppose Tammany Hall will scratch it and put extra effort into the campaign for Congressmen and for State and local offices. I would not be surprised if New York City gave McKinley a majority. Tammany votes can do it, of course, although it will be hard for Tammany men to help a Republican.” By “scratch it,” Muh meant the machine would covertly direct votes to the Republicans in the national race while harvesting, as usual, their followers in the state and local races.86 But unlike the actions and decisions of the Whitney contingent, this would be a highly coordinated and disciplined effort. The melodrama of the gold men had been intended to influence a silver audience. But the silver men ignored the entreaties of their eastern brethren and the hard-money delegates played out their scenes alone. In the end, Whitney’s machinations had almost no impact on what the silver faction decided. The silver leaders worried over his plans, his devices, and his supremely talented allies, but those worries did not shape the construction of the platform. When Whitney and his associates attempted to convert silver men through “missionary” 86

New York Times, July 12, 1896. In fact, this is more or less what happened as McKinley rolled up a 20,000 vote majority in New York City. As Gustavus Myers put it, Tammany “ignored the national Democratic platform. Though ratifying Mr. Bryan’s nomination, a general apathy prevailed at the Wigwam throughout the campaign, and the more radical [i.e., loyal] Democrats repeatedly charged the leaders with treachery to the ticket.” The History of Tammany Hall (New York: Burt Franklin, 1968), p. 281. When Bryan gave his speech accepting the Democratic nomination in Madison Square Garden, Tammany reserved five thousand seats, but most of the organization’s leaders did not attend. William D. Harpine, From the Front Porch to the Front Page: McKinley and Bryan in the 1896 Presidential Campaign (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2005), p. 76. On Tammany’s belated endorsement of the national platform, see McSeveney, The Politics of Depression, p. 172.

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work by engaging them in an ostensibly dispassionate discussion of the monetary issue, the silver men usually responded with a passionate assertion of the moral rectitude of a silver triumph. And then the silver men tried to convert the gold delegates, turning Whitney’s strategy on its head. But only the rank and file of the silver bloc attempted to convert the gold men. The silver leaders wasted no energy on attracting allies among the gold delegates, simply treating the gold faction as an enemy to be neutralized. Unlike the gold leaders, they did not try to sow dissension within the state delegations allied with the opposing faction. As they saw things, the gold men could either take the silver dish that was being presented to them or abandon a feast to which they were not particularly invited. The one decision that was undoubtedly influenced by the activities of the gold faction was the presidential nomination. However, the faction’s impact was entirely unanticipated and, perhaps, ultimately regretted. Whitney and his colleagues had hoped to divide the silver candidates for the nomination in such a way that at least some of their supporters would seek aid and comfort from the eastern delegates. In this, the gold men utterly failed. Indeed, the effort was clearly counter-productive as the silver men first turned the gold delegates into pariahs to be shunned and then punished those candidates who were merely suspected of engaging in illicit contact with the gold faction. If anything, then, the gold men had more or less guaranteed that the nomination would go to a “radical” silver candidate because they had tainted those who were, on the relative scale of things, considered moderates. From that perspective, at least some of the gold men must have concluded that they should not have come to Chicago in the summer of 1896. However, their presence on the convention floor and on the podium still shaped the presidential race, albeit inadvertently. The gold men deployed a variety of arguments in committee deliberations, corridor discussions, and formal speech making. Their dispassionate analysis of what would happen if the gold standard were abandoned converted no one in the silver ranks. Even so, many, if not most, silver men knew they were out-gunned when they went up against the scions of eastern capital. The monetary system appeared complex and often mysterious to those unaccustomed to its workings. But the gold leaders were on intimate terms both with the theoretical complexities of that system and the practical meshing of its golden gears. As a result, the silver men knew it was their will, not their intellect, that would give them their triumph. And that made many of them feel vaguely unworthy, if not nervous. On a more professional level, the gold men trotted out their own personal vulnerability. Whatever the southerners and westerners believed with respect to the practicality of free silver coinage, the professional reality was that their eastern brethren were going to be sacrificed on its altar. For decades, the eastern gold men had composed the patriarchal core of the national party. In that role, they had dispensed patronage to their junior partners in the agrarian periphery while protecting the southern wing from the designs of the Republican party. They had come to national conventions as the thoroughly professional elite who

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managed the inter-regional interests and needs of what was a highly diverse coalition with inherently contradictory interests. They were the elders of the national party and had been, until now, benign philosopher kings. And now they were to be led to the slaughter. There was little or no doubt on this score and the gold faction repeatedly stressed the lethal and intensely personal consequences of a silver platform in a way that could not be ignored. And that made the silver men feel guilty, if not ashamed. Those feelings of unworthiness, anxiety, guilt, and shame would not have had the same intensity had the gold men not come to Chicago. In fact, they might not have existed at all if the silver men had ruled the convention unopposed. But the gold men did come and these emotions had emerged within the silver ranks. By the time the debate on the platform began on Thursday, July 9, the third day of the convention, the silver men were almost desperately seeking a leader, someone who could tell the gold men why they had to do what they did, why things had come to this pass, and why their vision cohered so truly and convincingly, even while the gold men saw nothing but smoke. And Bryan offered himself as that leader, releasing those emotions in what turned into an explosive demonstration of identity and self-affirmation unmatched in American political history. The gold men had inadvertently made Bryan the nominee. The question would be whether his nomination was worth their efforts. And they probably would have said no. In terms of what they had intended to accomplish, the gold leaders were never given an opportunity that they could exploit. And many of them knew that would be the case before the convention had even opened. But Whitney, Hill, Russell, and the other gold leaders played out their roles anyway. They did not quite constitute a sideshow; the struggle was far too dramatic for that. But they were more or less irrelevant nonetheless.

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5 Rules and Rituals

All meaningful human action rests on shared understandings of what is intended by words, gestures, and behavior.1 Much of what is referenced by the term “culture” merely describes the content of those shared understandings within one community or another and the boundaries of meaning that divide them. “Political culture” thus refers to the limits and content of shared understandings within a community with respect to the deployment of power, including the creation of institutions, collective decision making within those institutions, and the selection of those to whom authority is assigned. The boundaries of a political community are defined by what the members have in common in terms of shared understandings of meaningful human action. In that sense, a shallow, limited set of understandings would define a much larger political community than a deep, extensive set. At one extreme, the notion of a “global” political culture might mean very little because only a very small number of actions carry universally understood meaning. At the 1

Max Weber, Economy and Society, vol. 1, trans. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), pp. 3–17. For a more contemporary definition of culture as “shared understandings and meanings” that give rise to “dispositions” in the form of “traits, knowledge, values, and group identification,” see Dennis Chong, Rational Lives: Norms and Values in Politics and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), p. 213. With respect to a political convention, an even more appropriate conception of a shared culture would be the “native membership in a field” of political practice that confers “a feel for the game in the sense of a capacity for practical anticipation of the ‘upcoming’ future contained in the present, everything that takes place in it seems sensible: full of sense and objectively directed in a judicious direction.” Pierre Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1980), p. 66. This “feel for the game” includes, for example, not only knowledge of the ritual order of the proceedings and the tactics and strategies available to the participants, but also a deep awareness of the emotional attachment of the players to the possible outcomes and how the course of play might change their preferences and options. A product of past personal experience and collective history, this almost intuitive “practical sense” precisely focuses the attention and action of veteran politicians on those actions and sentiments that crucially determine the future course of events.

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other extreme, very small political communities often have a very rich political culture, so much so that an action by one of its members can simultaneously communicate multiple meanings that convey future intentions in great specificity.2 At both extremes, either a global political culture encompassing all humanity or extremely small communities containing a very small number of people, formal political institutions either do not exist or are very weak. At the global level, the prospective political communities that might be governed by an overarching institution are culturally too diverse to sustain collective agreement on how decisions might be made. On the smallest scale, formal institutions often impair the efficiency of collective decisions because the depth and breadth of what is shared between, for example, a married couple is so extensive that even unstructured discussion is often unnecessary before a decision is made. There are, to be sure, both explicit and latent institutional forms at both the largest and smallest of these scales. But they pale in comparison with the formal detail and definitive operation of institutions in the middle range between them.3 As one of these middle-range institutions, the national Democratic party in the late nineteenth century constituted a community with a distinctive, welldefined political culture. The party also possessed a very well-developed and extensive set of formal rules that structured the actions and decisions of its members. In this chapter I explore some of the ways in which these rules facilitated the exchange of meaning among the participants, including the revelation of preferences, the imputation of future action, and anticipation of events. I first take up the general procedural scaffolding of the Democratic convention, which, in many respects, was generically similar to most party conventions and legislative assemblies in the United States. I then turn to some of the most important rules governing the making of collective decisions in the 1896 convention: the unit rule governing the calculation of votes within state delegations and the two-thirds’ requirement for presidential nominations. Following a brief discussion of these rules, I analyze the way the convention settled contests between competing claimants for membership. Here I focus on the most controversial of these contests, involving a handful of seats in the Michigan delegation. The conclusion sets up the general problem of how political culture and formal institutions mutually define one another through practice and experience. 2

3

Pierre Bourdieu makes much the same point when he says, “Talk of rules . . . is never more fallacious than when applied to the most homogenous societies . . . where most practices, including those seemingly most ritualized, can be abandoned to the orchestrated improvisation of common dispositions.” Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 17. Also see p. 207, n. 74. Although Lisa Wedeen is right to emphasize the dynamic quality of “culture as practices of meaning-making,” we can also take a “snapshot” cross-section of these practices at a particular time for comparative purposes. From that perspective, we can identify the inverted “U-shaped” relation between the depth and breadth of shared understandings and the extensive development of formal institutions. “Conceptualizing Culture: Possibilities for Political Science,” American Political Science Review 96, no. 4 (December 2002): 713–28.

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In particular, the structure of the proceedings in the Democratic convention defined the limits and opportunities of individual agency for all of the participants, including which actions could, in fact, be comprehended by others as intentionally willed. The Structure of National Party Conventions National party conventions are among the most ritualized settings in American politics, so much so that modern conventions are viewed as monotonous rote performances. Convention rituals include the order in which presiding officers are selected, contests between rival delegations are resolved, the platform is adopted, and nominations are made. All of these produce collective expectations as to how the convention will proceed and, as such, frame the strategies and tactics of those participating in the proceedings. Underlying all of them are the “parliamentary rules” that control, often in minute detail, how delegates are recognized and what they may do. Other aspects of the convention that are more or less fixed include the physical setting of the convention (e.g., where delegates sit in relation to the podium, the positioning of the press, and the provisions made for spectators). Taken together, these rituals, rules, and the physical setting constitute the structure of the political site in which decisions are made and alternatives are chosen.4 The structure underlying convention proceedings arises out of a clear conception of the gathering in its relationship to the national party. In the nineteenth century, the national convention was a quadrennial convocation of the individual and largely autonomous state party organizations. Once a convention adjourned, the only remnant of this gathering was the national party committee, composed of one representative from each of the states and territories. This committee was empowered to set a date and choose a location for the next convention but otherwise played little more than a caretaker role for the national party. When the next convention met, the national party, as a collective assembly of the respective state delegations, emerged anew. This emergence in many respects mimicked the traditional myths that attempt to explain the creation of 4

Michael Suk-Young Chwe contends that rituals create, for both the observers and the participants, “common knowledge” of the realities of political power, and the common knowledge thus created solves what are for him ubiquitous “coordination problems” that otherwise would seriously, if not fatally, undermine the social and political order. While other scholars have contended that “public ceremonies generate action through heightened emotion,” his own interpretation “is based on ‘cold’ rationality.” On the whole, his approach is compatible with the one I adopt here, with two caveats. First, as I think he would concede, the ceremonies themselves rest on common value orientations (such as respect for democratic principles) that often impinge on the otherwise very functional role he ascribes to them. Second, once they are up and running, the material structure of these ceremonies determines when and how political emotions are expressed. And the emotive situations they thus create are open to rational exploitation by political actors (as Bryan successfully demonstrated in his “Cross of Gold” speech). Rational Ritual: Culture, Coordination, and Common Knowledge (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001), p. 4.

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a government out of a prehistoric “state of nature.” From this perspective, the major problem was to provide just enough order for the convention to open without impairing the unfolding discovery of an unconstrained “democratic will.”5 At the very beginning of a Democratic national convention, the presiding officer was the chairman of the outgoing national party committee.6 His primary responsibility was to open the proceedings and immediately move to the election of a temporary chairman (see Table 5.1). The outgoing national party committee nominated a candidate for temporary chairman who, in the normal order of things, would be ratified by the delegates. Because the outgoing national party committee, including its chairman, might not represent the collective will of the new convention, the election of a temporary chairman was an interim arrangement through which the committee yielded control over the proceedings to the delegates. Because there was still a possibility that these opening moves might prejudice the proceedings (in the sense that the outgoing national party committee might be out of sympathy with a majority of the delegates), the task of the temporary chairman was more or less restricted to completing the initial tasks associated with opening the convention: the adoption of rules of procedure for deliberations and the construction of an official roll of delegates. Adoption of rules of procedure was usually a mere formality. The construction of a permanent roll for the convention, however, was often more contentious because it involved resolution of contests over the right of competing delegations to represent their state.7 By resolving these contests, the permanent roll designated the members of the convention who could legitimately participate in the proceedings. For that reason, resolution of contests had to precede the election of a permanent chairman of the convention because only legitimate delegates could select the officer who presided over the regular convention proceedings. 5

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For more on this “opening dilemma,” including the theory underpinning practice in the U.S. House of Representatives, see Richard Bensel, “States Out of Nature: The Legislative Founding of Democracies,” unpublished paper presented at the “Conference on Congress and History,” Princeton, New Jersey, May 18–19, 2007. The outgoing national party committee was composed of those state and territorial representatives who had either been elected at the last convention or selected during the interim. The incoming national party committee was composed of those state and territorial representatives who had been or were to be selected by their delegations to the present convention. In many cases, the new representatives were the same as the old because they had been re-elected by their respective states or territories. One of the responsibilities of the outgoing national party committee was to construct a temporary roll for the convention so that a vote could be conducted for the election of a temporary chairman. Construction of this temporary roll entails, as a matter of course, deciding which of competing delegations would be recognized on the floor, but the convention itself had no means of either approving or overturning the committee’s decisions. The construction of the temporary roll was thus another of those interim steps through which the delegates emerged from their “state of nature” into a formally organized political community.

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Declares party position on major policy issues Selects the party nominee for president Selects the party nominee for vice-president

Nomination of the presidential candidate

Nomination of the vice-presidential candidate

Determination of the official delegate roll

Resolution of contests over state delegations

Adoption of the party platform

Provides parliamentary order as frame for proceedings

Adoption of rules of procedure

Presides over proceedings for remainder of the convention

Presides over proceedings until permanent chairman is elected

Election of temporary chairman

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Individual delegates may vote for other candidates who have not been formally nominated

Individual delegates may vote for other candidates who have not been formally nominated

Amendments to platform planks offered by a minority of the Committee on Resolutions

Nominations of other candidates by a minority of the Committee on Permanent Organization

Support of contesting delegations by a minority of the Committee on Credentials

Amendments offered by other delegates

Nominations of other candidates by a minority of the outgoing national party committee

Possible Alternatives

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One or more candidates nominated by one or more state delegations

One or more candidates nominated by one or more state delegations

Proposed by majority of the Committee on Resolutions

Nominated by majority of the Committee on Permanent Organization

Proposed by majority of the Committee on Credentials

Individual delegate recognized by temporary chairman

Nominated by majority of the outgoing national party committee

Originating Body

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Election of permanent chairman

Function

Task

table 5.1. Structure of National Party Conventions

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Election of a permanent chairman completed the preliminary organization of the convention and, thus, the transition from a “state of nature” to a formally structured political community. While each of the steps in this transition was intended to facilitate the uncovering of a democratic will (as the collective desire of the newly assembled delegates), all of them were vulnerable to abuse. For example, the outgoing national party committee could nominate someone who was out of sympathy with a majority of the delegates (this did happen in 1896) and the chairman of the outgoing national party committee could refuse to recognize a delegate who proposed an alternative to the committee’s candidate (this did not happen). Here, however, we are not so much interested in the possibility of abuse as in the logic underpinning the order in which these things were decided, because the ordering of these decisions became the first part of the ritual backbone shaping the expectations and strategies of the delegates. The other part of that ritual backbone was composed of three decisions. First, the delegates were to consider and adopt a national platform on which the party would conduct a campaign for the national ticket. Second, the delegates were to select a presidential nominee. Finally, when both of these decisions had been made, the delegates would select a vice-presidential nominee. Here too, the order possessed a certain logic. Before a presidential candidate could be named, the party had to construct a platform defining the policy positions on which the nominee would run. Because, at least in theory and more or less usually in practice, the principles on which the party stood were more important than the charismatic qualities of the candidates for the nomination, the platform set out expectations with respect to which candidates could be viewed as viable contenders for that nomination. For example, those candidates who were clearly out of sympathy with the platform that had been adopted could either announce a change in their principles (this happened, albeit in a rather odd way, in 1896), withdraw from consideration (this also happened), or remain in the competition as a hopeless contender. But the larger point for our purposes is that the candidate was not nominated first and then a platform constructed (presumably constructed around the nominee’s principles). For similar, perhaps more obvious, reasons, the vice-presidential nominee was always named after the presidential nominee. However, in this case, the nominee was usually chosen, in part, because he was personally compatible with the presidential candidate. The other major consideration was whether or not the vice-presidential nominee would “balance” the ticket, something that could be determined only once the presidential candidate had been chosen. As a ritual backbone to the convention, both the preliminary and regular portions of the proceedings presented situations in which politics could take place and, as such, shaped the expectations of the delegates and the strategies of their leaders. Some of these situations produced competing alternatives and generated formal roll calls that tested the relative strength of the rival positions. Others, for one reason or another, were not exploited for that purpose and gave way to consensual decisions (see Table 5.2).

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Gold Faction Alternative Senator David B. Hill of New York, nominated by majority of the outgoing national party committee No proposal

Seating of gold delegates in the Michigan delegation No candidate Minority amendment endorsing the gold standard Governor Pattison of Pennsylvania

No candidate

Task

Election of temporary chairman

Adoption of rules of procedure

Resolution of contests over state delegations

Election of permanent chairman

Adoption of the party platform

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Nomination of the presidential candidate

Nomination of the vice-presidential candidate

Several candidates, among them Bland, Joseph Sibley of Pennsylvania, McLean, and Arthur Sewall of Maine

Several candidates, among them Richard Bland of Missouri, Bryan, Horace Boies of Iowa, and John McLean of Ohio

Platform plank endorsing the free coinage of silver

Senator Stephen M. White of California

Seating of silver challengers to gold delegates in the Michigan delegation

Sibley leads on first vote, Bland on second and third, McLean on fourth, and Sewall is nominated on fifth

Bland leads on first three votes, Bryan leads on the fourth and wins nomination on the fifth

Silver plank prevails, 626 to 303

Unanimously elected

Challengers seated, 558 to 368, as some silver delegates defect

Unanimously adopted

Daniel is elected, 556 to 349 as some silver delegates defect

Senator John W. Daniel of Virginia, nominated by minority of the outgoing national party committee

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The 1892 convention rules along with those of the House of Representatives, moved by Senator Stephen M. White of California

Outcome

Silver Faction Alternative

table 5.2. Contestation and Structure in the 1896 National Democratic Convention

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Decision Rules The ritual backbone gave the convention a beginning, middle, and end, thus shaping what the participants anticipated would happen within each of these stages. But this ritual backbone only specified what was to be decided, not how those decisions would be made. The latter were laid out in “decision rules” that detailed who could make decisions, including who could vote and how they could vote. For the analytical purposes of most of this book, both the ritual backbone and decision rules have been and will be assumed to have been fixed well in advance of their actual operation. However, this assumption is impaired by several instances in which these rules could have been changed. The most important of these involved the unit rule and the two-thirds rule. The Unit Rule The unit rule provided that a state convention could order all the votes of a delegation to be cast for the position favored by a majority.8 In turn, the rules of the national convention provided that these unit rules would be enforced during convention proceedings.9 For example, the Iowa delegation had twentysix members, of whom twenty-two backed silver and four supported gold. The four who supported gold could ask for a poll of their delegation, but when that poll revealed a majority for silver, all twenty-six votes would be cast for that position. When, as in Iowa’s case, the state convention had pledged their delegates on one side or another of the monetary issue, the unit rule simply made the individual preferences of the minority irrelevant. And, in fact, minorities within state delegations passively accepted their fate most of the time. Because the unit rule augmented majorities within the state delegations, both the gold and silver factions briefly considered abrogating the rule and thus releasing minority members to vote however they wished. However, neither faction saw much advantage in eliminating the rule because there were minorities of roughly equal size on both sides of the monetary question distributed among the various state delegations. In addition, abrogation of the unit rule would have made the strategic and tactical calculations of the gold and silver leaders considerably more complicated. Under the unit rule, they only needed to know how a majority of a state delegation might vote in order to tell how many votes their side would draw from that delegation.10 Without the unit rule, 8

9

10

Because the Republicans considered the congressional district (as opposed to the state) as their basic unit, the party did not have a unit rule in their national conventions. Public Opinion 31, no. 1 (July 2, 1896): 10. As described in chapter 3, the presiding officer could enforce a unit rule only if the state delegation reported to him that one had been imposed. Thus, if a delegation wished for some reason to ignore the unit rule instructions of their state convention, all they had to do was cast the votes of the minority along with those of the majority. The presiding officer had no independent evidence for ascertaining whether a unit rule was in effect other than that provided by the delegation itself. In many cases, the personal power of a leader was enhanced by the rule. For example, Governor Altgeld was said to be opposed to abolition of the unit rule because that would release some of the delegates in the Illinois delegation from his control. Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896.

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the leaders would have had to know the preferences of each and every one of the members of that delegation in order to estimate their strength. Everything else being equal, both the gold and silver leaders might thus have preferred retention of the unit rule because it increased the confidence with which they made their plans. However, because this increased certainty aided the silver majority more than the gold men (because the latter only gained certainty with respect to their impending defeat), we could imagine that the gold leaders might have favored abrogation, reasoning that any arrangement that increased uncertainty would aid their cause more than their opponents. In the actual case, the gold leaders placed a higher value on the solidarity of their delegations (because of the enhanced visibility of the symbolic protests they were to make at the convention) than they did on a marginal procedural improvement of their prospects. Under the unit rule, for example, when the giant New York delegation cast every one of its seventy-two votes against the silver platform, the symbolic implication was that all New York Democrats opposed silver. For all these reasons, neither the gold nor silver factions supported abrogation of the unit rule. The Two-Thirds Rule Just after the election of a temporary chairman on the first day of the convention, a resolution was offered moving that the convention be governed by the rules of the 1892 national party convention, supplemented by those of the United States House of Representatives in the Fifty-third Congress. While this motion was unanimously adopted, the apparent consensus cloaked a very serious dispute over whether the traditional rule requiring a two-thirds majority for presidential and vice-presidential nominations should be adopted.11 By supplementing the rules of the prior convention with those of the House, the convention’s Committee on Rules gained the right to report changes in procedure at any time.12 For that reason, the question of whether or not the two-thirds rule should be suspended was deferred until later in the proceedings, when and if the Committee on Rules felt that action was necessary.13 Because the gold minority held approximately a third of the seats in the convention, the two-thirds rule appeared to favor their interests in that the support of at least some of their faction might be necessary to form a two-thirds’ 11 12 13

The two-thirds rule was adopted in the first Democratic National Convention in 1832 and more or less adhered to ever since. Boston Globe, July 5, 1896. For a discussion of the right to report at any time and deliberations in the Committee on Rules on this and other questions, see Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1896. One of the interesting aspects of this arrangement was that, in a convention in which senators played much more prominent leadership roles than congressmen, the rules of the House of Representatives were preferred over those of the Senate. One reason for this preference was probably the “previous question” rule, which, when moved and adopted, closed debate on a proposal. Lacking such a rule, the Senate was then and still is vulnerable to filibusters that, given the intensity of policy differences and personal feeling, could have fatally hamstrung the 1896 party gathering. On the previous question and filibusters, see Sarah Binder, Minority Rights, Majority Rule: Partisanship and the Development of Congress (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 14, 91–100.

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majority on the presidential nomination. The rule thus gave some bargaining leverage to the gold leaders as they attempted to water down the language of the silver plank that would be placed in the platform. The idea here was that covert bargaining with moderate silver candidates for the presidency would produce an agreement through which gold votes on the nomination would be traded for silver votes for a compromise in the platform. And this possibility underlay what most observers saw as gold opposition to abrogation of the two-thirds rule. However, the possibility of such a covert agreement was more an apprehension on the part of the silver faction as opposed to a calculated plan on the part of the gold men. The problem was that any agreement with the gold wing would be on open display during deliberations on the platform and would thus reveal the seduction of the silver candidate into cooperation with the hardmoney faction. Because the platform would be adopted by a majority vote, a clear and unequivocal endorsement of silver was never really in doubt. But the display of cooperation, because it would precede the presidential contest, could still affect voting on the nomination. And here many of the silver delegates adamantly vowed that they would never support a silver candidate for the nomination if there were the slightest evidence of cooperation with the gold wing, regardless of the form that cooperation assumed. That meant that the possibility of striking some sort of bargain on the silver platform was probably impossible. In addition, and more fundamentally, most of the gold delegates had no intention of voting for any candidate for the presidential nomination once a silver platform had been adopted. Within the silver ranks, support for abrogating the two-thirds rule primarily came from those who supported the front-runner, Richard Bland, for the presidential nomination (see Fig. 5.1). They felt a majority decision would make his nomination more or less unstoppable because the tipping point at which a bandwagon would form around his candidacy would be much lower. However, those delegates who backed other candidates were well aware of the probable impact of abrogation and opposed abandoning the rule for this very reason. Everything considered, a motion to amend the two-thirds rule did not cleanly divide the convention along the gold/silver alignment and would never have been supported by more than a substantial minority of the delegates. Thus, the procedural rules that were unanimously adopted avoided a test of strength between the gold and silver factions in which the issue would have been muddied by the ambitions of silver candidates for the nomination and which the silver wing, divided as it was internally, would have been embarrassed.14 14

On the coinciding interests of the gold faction and those silver men backing candidates other than Bland, see Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. On July 7, the New York Times published a detailed, state-by-state projection of what would be the vote on abrogation, should the proposal come to the floor. The paper estimated that abrogation would be voted down by 608 to 322 with the gold faction solidly in opposition and the silver men badly split.

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figure 5.1. Because he had pardoned Chicago anarchists after the Haymarket Riot, Altgeld was often represented as an anarchist himself. Here he is about to light a stick of dynamite under a boulder symbolizing the rule requiring a two-thirds majority for naming a presidential nominee. William C. Whitney and other leaders of the gold bloc stand behind the boulder. Source: Boston Globe, July 4, 1896. Originally published in the Chicago Record.

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Another question involving the two-thirds rule was whether it applied to all the delegates in the convention or just to those who voted on the nomination. This would ordinarily be moot because few delegates in national party conventions have ever abstained during voting on presidential nominations. In 1896, however, abstention became the chosen strategy for a large majority of the gold delegates, and the answer to this question became very important as a consequence. As the intention of the gold men to abstain on the nomination roll calls became widely known, Senator White intimated that his examination of the parliamentary precedents indicated that the rule applied only to votes cast, an interpretation that promised to lower dramatically the number of votes required for a nomination. The prospects for the various candidates were immediately and accordingly handicapped with the general feeling being that Bland’s chances were enhanced because, as the front-runner, the tipping point fo his bandwagon became that much closer. However, White did not formally announce this interpretation to the convention until the nomination contest had actually started and, even then, waited until a point had been reached at which his ruling might actually make a difference. By that time, it was Bryan, not Bland, who benefitted from White’s interpretation. In the end, traditional decision-making arrangements, including the ritual backbone, governed the convention, and we might reasonably conclude that the proceedings were highly structured by well-known rules that were never significantly challenged. Few arenas in ordinary politics are precisely governed by a fixed and exactly known procedural structure; the 1896 Democratic National Convention, in practice, was perhaps one of the more well-behaved venues, particularly in light of the extremely passionate preferences the delegates held with respect to silver and gold. Delegation Contests Once a temporary chairman had been elected and procedural rules adopted, the next task was the construction of a permanent roll. This entailed settling contests in which more than one delegation competed for the right to represent a state.15 In 1896, most contests were abandoned before the convention reached this stage, leaving only two major disputes to be settled. One of these was the Nebraska case in which the silver delegation was led by William Jennings Bryan. For a number of reasons, the gold delegation was on very weak footing in this contest, clearly representing but a minority of Nebraska Democrats when it 15

Although settling these contests was obviously important for the conduct of later proceedings, the decisions also reverberated back on the home states of the competing delegations. While state party organizations were formally autonomous from the national party, the recognition of one set of claimants over another inevitably raised the prestige of the victor while lowering, sometimes dramatically, the standing of the loser. In some cases, where factional lines were tightly drawn, a decision could even shift control of the state party organization from one faction to another. For that reason, the political stakes for the individual contested states were usually just as high outside the convention as within.

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had staged a separate state convention for the selection of delegates. Although the outgoing national party committee had originally ruled in its favor and thus allowed it to vote on the roll call electing a temporary chairman, the Nebraska gold delegation was more or less abandoned by the gold faction when the permanent roll was constructed and Bryan’s silver men replaced them without a floor fight. One of the reasons the gold men gave way on Nebraska is because they chose to concentrate their resources on the Michigan case. Although only four of the twenty-eight delegates were at stake in the Michigan dispute, these four held the balance of power between the silver and gold factions in the state delegation. And, thus, under the unit rule, the Michigan contest was really about control of all twenty-eight votes, not just the four that were formally contested. Another reason this contest became a focal point between the gold and silver wings was that, after the Nebraska case was settled, Michigan held the key to whether or not the silver wing would hold a two-thirds’ majority in the convention. If Michigan’s twenty-eight votes went over to silver, the gold wing could not block the nomination of a silver presidential nominee no matter what they did. By the time the Michigan contest came to the convention floor, the possibility that the gold wing might try to stonewall a nomination probably seemed remote to most delegates, particularly because the two-thirds rule could be abrogated if necessary. Just the same, the Michigan contest became a second opportunity for the silver faction to demonstrate its mastery of the convention and, even if the impact was largely symbolic, place the gold wing in an even more impotent position during the rest of the proceedings. The Michigan Contest: Waiting for the Committee Report The outside doors to the Coliseum were opened at 9 o’clock on Wednesday morning. When the spectators and delegates entered the hall, one of the first things they saw was a “fresh, green, fern bank crowned with bright roses” along the edge of the podium. Sunshine and lake breezes “poured through the hundreds of open windows” on what started out as a very pleasant day. The filling of the galleries was entertaining. A thousand persons, more or less, pouring in a stream through the narrow entrances scattered as soon as they reached the acres of chairs, and were lost like a stream in the ocean. The weather was cool, and no fans were needed. Ladies found few discomforts, and the galleries were alive with gay dresses, roses, and Summer girls. Bands played conventionally, the hum of the thousands who were greeting each other, the rushing about of pages and officers of the convention, the flashing of badges, and the ripples of applause that started for various ex-Governors, Senators, Representatives in Congress, and other notables made a spectacle magnificent in its proportions, so brilliant in its details, so picturesque in its entirety, and so significant when the business of its inner circle was considered that it stood almost without parallel.16 16

New York Times, July 9, 1896. All the newspaper citations in this section, except where otherwise noted, are from July 9.

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The proceedings were scheduled to begin at 10 a.m. but there was a delay, and delegates and spectators milled about the hall as they waited. One of the first prominent men to appear was Governor Altgeld, who quietly took his place next to the Illinois standard and quickly attracted a knot of admirers. The governor ran his “lean fingers” through his “short brown beard as with inclined head he listened to the latest reports of his lieutenants.” As a correspondent for the Detroit Free Press put it, the “air was rife with rumors, much of it hovering about the question” of whether the gold men would bolt.17 The Iowa delegation made an appearance just after 10 o’clock, again bearing a huge “blue silken banner” emblazoned with the face of their favorite, Horace Boies. The delegates and alternates marched onto the floor in double column, each of the forty-eight men carrying a small American flag over his shoulder. Their entrance drew cheers, but not as many as the delegation probably wanted. The procession of a Bryan club through the galleries also drew cheers but they too did not last long. A “big brass band” belonging to the Bland Marching Club of St. Louis led the Missouri delegation into the hall and up to their seats on the floor.18 Letter carriers in gray uniforms moved about the hall distributing the mail to delegates and alternates. Around half past ten, Senator Daniel, “his long black hair falling to his shoulders,” ascended the podium and sat down. After he had “adjusted his glasses on his nose,” he began reading letters, some of which were probably messages from the other silver leaders transmitting intelligence on the proceedings and committee deliberations. One of those arriving about that time was the elegant Mrs. Potter Palmer, “the duchess of Chicago,” who merited a “most deferential bobbing of heads . . . all along the line of her triumphal progress to her seat.” As she sat down just behind Daniel, the senator “with true Virginia gallantry” got up and paid “elaborate court” to her.19 Against the monotonous sea of black suits worn by the delegates and many of the male spectators, “the gay costumes of ladies [along] with banners, flags and the delegation standards furnish[ed] a much needed bit of color.” When Senator Daniel finally called the convention to order, he turned the podium over to Rev. Thomas Green, rector of the Grace Episcopal Church, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, who gave the prayer. Green’s invocation was followed by an announcement that delegates expecting letters could pick up their mail at the convention post office at the southeast end of the Coliseum. While the 17

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When Allen McDermott, a New Jersey delegate, came onto the floor, a New York Times correspondent quoted him as saying, “We can stand throat cutting, and hari kari, and mild forms of assassination could be endured; but it is possible that a step may be taken which we will not tolerate. That step may be taken today.” McDermott later bolted the convention. The Detroit Free Press said this club was from Kansas City and was dressed in “white suits and caps, the latter having black ribbons in silver letters announcing their allegiance to ‘Silver Dick for president.’” The Duckworth Club of Cincinnati was also reported to be in the Coliseum but does not seem to have entered the convention hall. New York Times. Boston Globe. Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had held the “brilliant reception” for party luminaries on Lake Shore Drive described in chapter 2.

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sections reserved for the New York, Maine, Massachusetts, Maryland, and New Jersey delegations were still empty, the galleries and floor of the Coliseum were otherwise almost filled.20 Senator Daniel opened the regular proceedings by calling on the Committee on Credentials for their report. No one from the committee responded to that call. After a ten-minute delay in which Daniel conferred with the other silver leaders, the sergeant-at-arms announced that the committee would renew their deliberations in a room just off the floor and, in the meantime, had nothing to report.21 To fill the time, an informal recess was moved and former Governor James Hogg of Texas was asked to address the convention. Wearing a “long tall, double-breasted bombazine coat,” Hogg walked to the front of the hall and “removed a generous quid of tobacco from his mouth.” However, a band in one of the far reaches of the gallery failed to notice that the convention had come to order and kept playing “Dixie” for almost ten minutes after Hogg appeared on the podium.22 When the music finally ceased, Hogg delivered his speech, dutifully stretching his allotted five minutes into a half an hour.23 A Boston Globe correspondent examined Hogg as he spoke, describing him as a magnificent specimen of masculine humanity, with a big head surmounting a big body, the vocal outcome from which is at times something tremendous. . . . The governor made a good old-fashioned democratic talk, a kind of comradic chat, as it were, with abundant gesticulation and much swaying of the body in true backwoods style.24

20 21

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The New York delegation was late because it had caucused that morning at the Auditorium (see chapter 4). The other delegations were also said to be caucusing at this time. Daniel was apparently unaware that the Committee on Credentials was not ready to make a report. This is surprising at first glance, but the explanation was probably that the committee had been deliberating miles away at the Sherman House and had not communicated its deliberative complications to the leadership. Even at 10:45, when the opening of the convention was threequarters of an hour late, a correspondent for the Boston Globe still thought the platform would be debated some time that day. This possibility slowly vanished as the convention marked time waiting for the report of the Committee on Credentials. There were at least two bands in the hall, one over the speakers’ stand, which was under the direct control of the chairman, and one “far away in the spaces devoted to spectators.” The chairman could easily communicate with the former by means of an electric bell, but the latter had difficulty hearing that signal. The lack of communication produced another interruption very late on this day when Thomas O’Donnell was giving the final speech during floor debate on the committee report. Chicago Tribune. Because he cited statistics and quoted passages from previous party platforms, Hogg must have prepared his speech before he arrived in the hall. However, he could not have known that he would be asked to address the convention. He thus must have had the speech in his pocket, ready for an opportunity if one developed. The same must have been true for at least some of the subsequent speakers who followed him, but unlike Hogg, they would have had at least some time to prepare their remarks. Another Globe correspondent described Hogg as a “seemingly inexhaustible human phonograph” whose voice “resembles the bellow of a Texas steer rather than the squeal of his great American namesake.”

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When Hogg concluded, Senator White announced that the Committee on Credentials was still in session and requested that all committee members join the deliberations.25 A correspondent for the Boston Globe wrote that as of 11:57, the chairman of the committee had still not arrived at the Coliseum and the committee could not start deliberating without him. There were cries for “Hill” from all over the hall, but the New York senator was nowhere to be seen. Cries for Altgeld and Blackburn were also heard. While the convention waited for the committee to make its report, Senator Joseph Blackburn of Kentucky was asked to address the assembly.26 Unlike Hogg, Blackburn had difficulty projecting his voice, and some of the spectators scattered over two and a half acres inside the Coliseum probably could not hear him. Although the temperature outside was “delightful,” the hall was becoming a little warm, with the humidity in particular becoming “positively annoying, and a provocative to the fanning element.” During Blackburn’s speech, some of “the delegates read letters or newspapers, wandered from point to point, went out to see a man, and returned listless and regardless of the moment.” One of the delegates who had other things to do was John McLean, chairman of the Ohio delegation and that state’s favorite for the presidential nomination. He sat near the center of the convention floor and “held quite a levee pretty much during all the session.” His location compelled many delegates to pass him as they went to and from their own seats, and as a consequence, the exchange of “courtesy and chat” was “most natural.” Some of Blackburn’s lines drew loud applause, and the Kentucky senator was “cheered mightily” when he finished. The ensuing lull brought more cries for “Hill” from the delegates and spectators. At this point, Senator Daniel was having trouble maintaining order, announcing, “No business will be transacted in the midst of noise and confusion. Nothing can be done in this Convention if this immense audience insists upon obstructing its proceedings.” In what must have been a pre-arranged motion, Congressman James Richardson of Tennessee moved a recess of thirty minutes.27 However, the convention was in no mood for delay and shouted the motion down. Although everyone in the hall was waiting for the committee to report, the floor was still very active with delegates constantly moving about and messenger boys, pages, and 25

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The Chicago Tribune reported that Senator White took over from Daniel as presiding officer because the Virginia senator’s voice was failing. The convention transcript and newspaper accounts do not always clearly state when Daniel gave way to White and vice versa. The following account assumes that, unless evidence indicates otherwise, Daniel was presiding up until White’s installation as permanent chairman. This request was unusual in that Senator Blackburn was the only serious presidential contender who addressed the convention. Although Bryan’s speech made him a serious candidate, he was a very minor prospect before that. Once Senator Stephen White of California took over as permanent chairman of the convention, Richardson often presided for him. For that and other reasons, he should be regarded as belonging to the inner circle of silver leaders who managed the proceedings on the floor.

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ushers “on the jump.” Postmen were again delivering mail to delegates at their seats. Daniel started up the band in order to restore order, and a Mississippi delegate subsequently moved that Bryan be invited to address the convention.28 Although the crowd approved this motion, Bryan was not in the hall. This discovery was followed by a “universal howl of ‘Hill!’ ‘Hill!’ ‘Hill!’” One of the Illinois delegates then moved that Altgeld be invited to speak, but the governor stood upon his chair and moved that Senator Hill be requested instead. However, Hill was not in the hall. In exasperation, Senator White asked those who had been yelling for New York senator, “What’s the use of calling for a gentleman who is not in the hall?” Finally, a Kansas delegate, David Overmeyer, was asked to speak. As it turned out, Overmeyer did not have much to say. In his one paragraph of 148 words, he reported that Senator Daniel’s election the day before had transferred “the seat of empire . . . from the Atlantic States to the great Mississippi Valley” and that Kansas welcomed “its friends from the South and from the Northern States” in their joint endeavor “to redeem this good land . . . by restoring the dollar of the daddies, 16 to 1.” While his comments were received with “unbounded enthusiasm,” they did not take up much time. Following calls for the governor, which threatened to turn into a chant, Altgeld now took a turn at the podium.29 The governor’s effort met with the approval of a correspondent for the Boston Globe, no mean feat considering that in his paper’s cartoons, Altgeld was routinely depicted as an anarchist clutching a stick of dynamite. While maintaining Altgeld was not physically impressive, the correspondent reported that his manner is so earnest, his matter so vital from his point of view, his phrasing so felicitous and his voice so penetrating that his power over a populist gathering should not surprise anybody. He devoted much of his harangue to English greed, English money, English bondholders. His address was punctuated by wild and prolonged applause, more especially from the Illinois and Missouri delegations. The burden of his song was the usual cheap blatancy about poor farmers, hungry women and the suffering babies on the block of idleness and penury. Now and then he mounted easily the hilltop of genuine eloquence and I unhesitatingly gave him the palm of oratorical success, during the entire session.

From the gold perspective, this was clearly a triumph of style over substance. The gold men must have been appalled, for example, when the governor claimed that “English money lenders and their American agents and representatives” had “harnessed the Republican party to the English cart.” Altgeld then said that “other members of the firm are here trying to put the same English 28 29

This was probably Patrick Henry, but the delegate’s name was listed in the Official Proceedings as “R. H. Henry.” From the way he walked to the podium, a correspondent for the Chicago Tribune reported that “it was plain to be seen he was not at all well.”

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halter upon this Convention” and asked, “Are you going to allow them to do it?” From “all over the convention,” the silver men roared back, “No! No!”30 In fact, much of Altgeld’s address had a decided Anglophobic quality. England devours the substance of Ireland. She gathers the harvest in the valley of the Nile; she has carried away the riches of India; she has ravished the islands of the sea; she had drawn the life-blood out of every people that have ever come under her domination.

After Altgeld had finished, the silver men on the podium “feverishly” shook his hand as they congratulated his performance. The delegates and spectators then “cheered lustily” as he returned to the Illinois reservation on the convention floor.31 George Fred Williams of Massachusetts was next invited to address the convention. Before he was introduced, Senator Daniel announced that the “Committee on Credentials will meet in the committee room at once.” This was now the second request from the podium that members attend the committee’s deliberations. The announcement could have suggested either that those deliberations were so acrimonious that members were walking out or that some members were boycotting the meeting. However, the most likely explanation was that many of the committee members were not yet in the Coliseum. As a Boston Globe correspondent observed, the combination of a night session in which the committee had met until six in the morning followed by another session four hours later “would have been a physical impossibility for some of them and a terrible strain of mentality to all of them.” In fact, when the committee adjourned, some of the members had already gone to bed. Unaware that the committee had later agreed to reconvene at 10 a.m. in the Sherman House, they went directly to the Coliseum when they awoke the next morning. Thus the committee was both sleepy and strung out between two locations several miles apart.32 The silver convert from Massachusetts was greeted with “Three cheers for George Fred Williams” and drew more than ordinary interest from those in the hall. Although his comments were brief, the “stalwart, fashionably attired, blond mustached, scholarly looking” easterner was well received. At one point, Williams described a typical “capitalist of New England” as someone “who leads a life of honest toil to make what money he can to support himself and 30

31

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Because answering “yes” would have aligned oneself with “English moneylenders,” Altgeld’s question permitted but one response: “no.” Thus, the gold men had no clear way of disrupting the governor’s rhetorical query. Compare the construction of this question with McDermott’s “What ought the Convention to do about it?” which was effectively countered by a silver delegate (see chapter 3). When Senator White praised Altgeld for his speech, Altgeld was said to have replied, “I happen to be governor of this state, and that ought to be prima facie evidence that I am not a blamed fool.” Boston Globe (Extra). According to the Chicago Tribune, the text was almost identical to the address the governor had delivered to the Illinois state convention several weeks earlier. Detroit Free Press.

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those upon whom he is dependent.” The “slip of the tongue” implied that this typical businessman was compelled to grease the palms of more powerful capitalists and provoked a “burst of laughter” from the audience. Williams caught the error and corrected by saying, “Of course I suppose I should have said those who are dependent upon him.” For us the important point is not that he made a mistake but that those in the hall caught the error. They must have been listening very attentively. In his closing comments, Williams said that corporate predation “is not sectional” and then ended with the prediction that before this campaign is over . . . New England will join in this great movement not to transfer the seat of empire from one section to the other [a reference to Overmeyer’s earlier speech] but to transfer the control of the United States Treasury and the money of every man here from the magnates of Lombard street in London to the honest people of the United States.

This nationalist justification for the silver cause and explicit rejection of “sectionalism” was loudly cheered, and Williams had his hand shaken by Daniel, Blackburn, and other silver leaders on the podium as he started on the return journey to his seat on the convention floor. Williams may have been asked to close his speech early because Senator White immediately announced, We now have before us the report of the Committee on Credentials; not complete, I am told, but nevertheless as far as it has been prepared it will be presented to the Convention.

The committee chairman, J. H. Atwood of Kansas, then read the report. The first part recommended that the size of the delegations from each of the territories and from the District of Columbia be increased from two to six. This expansion had been long expected and was non-controversial. The second part stated that the committee found the temporary roll correct with the exception of the Nebraska and Michigan delegations. With respect to Nebraska, the committee recommended the seating of “the delegates and alternates headed by William J. Bryan,” with Bryan’s name drawing “great applause.” This displaced the gold delegation previously seated by the national committee. The Michigan case was still not decided. The committee thus recommended ratification of the roll as amended so far by the committee, with the exception of Michigan. Reading the handwriting on the wall, the Nebraska gold delegation graciously indicated that they would yield their seats and official badges to the Bryan men. Senator White then put the motion to approve this partial report by the committee, and the convention gave its approval in a voice vote, although “there was a large and vigorous” yell when White asked for the nays. Former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts rose to demand a roll call. When this was challenged, White ruled the demand in order. At this point, Atwood interposed that the committee had unanimously approved seating of the Bryan

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contestants, saying, “New York, Massachusetts and everyone voted for it.” Russell then withdrew his motion.33 Chairman White then announced that the committee report had been approved, following up with yet another indication that the convention was disorderly. The Chair has been informed that there are alternates who are occupying the seats of delegates, and the chair is also notified that the delegates are too modest to ask the alternates to step aside. The Chair has no such scruples, and the alternates are requested to permit the delegates to take their seats.

To better hear speeches delivered from the podium, alternates had infiltrated the areas reserved for their respective delegations. This infringement would not be a serious problem as long as many delegates were off the floor, as was the case when White made his request. But once the proceedings began to pick up again, the presence of alternates would produce overcrowding within the state reservations. Seen from that perspective, White’s request was pre-emptive in nature, intended to rectify a problem before it threatened to interfere with the proceedings. The request also suggests just how much of the order in a convention is collectively produced through the voluntary action of individuals. White, for example, did not call on the sergeant-at-arms and his assistants to remove the alternates; he asked them to leave the floor voluntarily. Forcible removal might have been impossible but, even if feasible, would have so disrupted the assembly that proceedings would have come to a standstill. One of those more or less organized disruptions occurred at 1:10 when the Bryan men marched in carrying “silver tipped spears” and “a huge blue banner” bearing the name “W. J. Bryan club” in silver letters. As a band played, the Bryan men were “vociferously applauded.” Although bringing a banner onto the convention floor was a violation of convention rules, no one seems to have protested its presence. In fact, the Bryan banner was soon taken to the podium, mounted on a pole, and hoisted up among the rafters over-arching the delegates and spectators. B. W. Marston, the Louisiana man who had consumed so much water on the podium the day before, then moved that Senator Tillman be invited to speak. However, like Bryan and Hill, Tillman was not in the hall because he, too, was a member of the Committee on Resolutions. In another pre-arranged motion, Governor Altgeld proposed that the convention recess until 5 o’clock so that the Committee on Credentials could complete its deliberations on the Michigan 33

The Nebraska gold delegates were probably already aware that the committee decision was unanimous, and, given that the gold members of the committee had already abandoned them, a roll call would only emphasize their isolation in the convention. Thus, they yielded as gracefully as they could. Russell’s motion, however, suggests that he at least was unaware that his hardmoney colleagues on the committee had given up this part of the struggle. Although merely straws in the wind, these events still confer some idea of how uneven the availability of information was on the convention floor, even within the same faction.

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case. The delegates, however, shouted their disapproval, leading Chairman White to announce that upon consulting with the Committee on Credentials it has become manifest that no report will be presented for some time. This motion [by Altgeld] is the result of an examination into that condition.

White’s report was followed by an apparently unanticipated motion by an Ohio delegate that the convention take up the report of the Committee on Permanent Organization, thus electing permanent officers, and then proceed to the consideration of regular business, presumably debate on the party platform. White ruled this motion out of order because as there is no recognized roll showing who are members of this Convention, there can be no permanent organization or declaration of party principles until the membership of the Convention is first settled.34

At 1:31 p.m., the convention recessed until 5:00. Some “15,000 people pour[ed] out into the street, some crowding the cars for down town, but many remaining to take their chances with the Coliseum or neighboring restaurants,” subsequently taking “a postprandial stroll amid the adjacent ruins of the World’s fair.” Several hundred spectators skipped their meal and used the opportunity to move into better seats, attempting to establish squatters’ rights by continually occupying them throughout the long recess. “They camped in squads, scattered along the long sloping banks of chairs which stretch up to the eaves of the building.” However, the men employed by the sergeant-at-arms “swept along the seats and herded the populace to the doors, ladies and children with them.” If they had admission tickets, they presented them to the doorkeeper and “came trooping back to make themselves at home and while away the time with newspapers and sandwiches.” The Michigan Contest: The Issues After the Committee on Credentials organized on July 7, the silver contestants presented a brief that contended that the Michigan state convention had 34

One of the most interesting aspects of a convention transcript is the interplay between prearranged motions made by “insiders” who know in advance that their suggestion will be welcomed and unanticipated proposals by other delegates who do not enjoy this kind of relationship with the chair. Superficially, the Ohio delegate’s motion might seem quite reasonable. Because only the Michigan contest remained unsettled, almost 97 percent of the delegates had been placed on the permanent convention roll. His motion thus implied that the convention set aside the question of these remaining credentials, which constituted only 3 percent of the total, and proceed to regular business. White, however, had a much better reason for suppressing this suggestion. Under parliamentary law, proceeding in this irregular fashion would require unanimous consent from the assembly, something that almost certainly would not be forthcoming. If the Ohio delegate had informally suggested his motion to the chair before offering it from the floor, White would have told him he would not entertain it. While this suggests the dominance of an insider elite over the proceedings, we should also note that this Ohio delegate, E. B. Finley, was recognized by the chairman and was thus able to make his suggestion.

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been “controlled by federal officeholders” who used bribery and intimidation to change the votes of silver delegates while placing nine men on the delegate roll who ostensibly represented counties that had never held conventions. As a result, a silver majority of 160 was transformed into a gold majority of fifty-eight. Once they had control, the gold men then rammed their program through the convention. All of this was properly buttressed with “voluminous affidavits.” The issues involved in the Michigan contest were quite complex, particularly because some of the charges made by the silver men were difficult to substantiate. A fair overview of the silver side of the contest came from Clark Howell of the Atlanta Constitution. It was charged, and not denied, that an overwhelming majority of the delegates to the state convention were instructed specifically for silver. It was shown that by marvelous system of manipulation this instructed majority had fallen prey to the army of the federal office holders which took possession of the convention and which, in defiance of the instructions of the party primaries, had chosen a majority of gold men to the national convention and locked the whole delegation with the key of the unit rule.35

Against this substantive argument that the will of the convention had been thwarted, the gold side made a largely procedural case. As summarized on the floor when the minority report was presented, the gold interpretation of the facts was also largely uncontested. [T]he Convention which met in the State of Michigan in April last consisted of about 800 delegates. There was not a single contest as to a single delegate to that Convention. There was a unanimous report, and after that report had been made these delegates were elected. They were elected in accordance with the law of the State of Michigan, and there was not the slightest question made, or contest or challenge made as to the legality or the validity of the election of those delegates.36

In sum, the gold interpretation rested on the fact that the silver men had not claimed that fraud or any other impropriety had been committed during the convention proceedings. In fact, much of what was now being challenged by the silver men had been ratified unanimously by the Michigan convention in open deliberations. The gold argument also asserted that national conventions had never “gone behind the returns” of a duly constituted state convention and to do so now would set a dangerous precedent.37 For all these reasons, the decision to unseat the Michigan gold men was not an easy one. In fact, as late as the evening of Tuesday, July 7, correspondents 35 36 37

Atlanta Constitution. Official Proceedings, p. 137. Although largely implied, “going behind the returns” was seen as indirectly validating the position of the Republican party with respect to federal intervention in southern elections. Ever since the Civil War, the Republicans in Congress had claimed that the outcome of fraudulent elections, no matter how well certified by the proper authorities, should be reversed. The Democratic party had always strongly opposed this position, contending that the rights and prerogatives of the individual states should be respected.

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were confidently reporting that the Committee on Credentials would uphold the claim of the Michigan gold men to their seats.38 Given the past practice and precedents of national conventions, the gold men probably had the stronger case if the contest had been considered on the merits.39 Many, if not most, party conventions were imperfect reflections of what might be called the “will” of the party. There was just no one to police the translation of the preferences of individual party members in county conventions into a collective decision at the state level. And if the national convention had attempted to do this, the legitimacy of many of the state delegations in the 1896 convention would have had to have been examined. In any event, the Michigan contest was only superficially considered on its merits; what the silver men were really after was a secure two-thirds’ majority in the convention, and they needed the Michigan delegation for that purpose. And there is little doubt that the gold men, even if their position had been weak, would have fought just as hard as they actually did. The Michigan Contest: Floor Debate on the Committee Report At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, well before the anticipated end of the recess, hundreds of spectators “began streaming in, pouring up through the entrances along the slopes like so many ants from sand piles.” However, nothing happened until 5:08 when the sergeant-at-arms announced that the Committee on Credentials was to meet yet again. After ten minutes or so, people in the galleries became impatient and began to yell, “Time!” “Time!” Although the floor section was swarming with delegates and the galleries were crowded with spectators, the New York reservation was almost empty. Hill, former Governor Flower, and Whitney were “conspicuously absent.” Perry Belmont, who we know from other reports was ready to bolt the convention, “hovered around as if he had no particular liking for his surroundings.” Because there was nothing yet to put before the convention, the band played for the next fifteen minutes. At about 5:30, a group of silver leaders, including Senators Harris, Jones, Tillman, Cockrell of Missouri, and former Senator Reagan of Texas, was moving “around uneasily from section to section,” perhaps sounding out the silver men on the Michigan contest. About ten minutes later, Senator Hill and many of the other New York delegates came into the hall, “greeted with shouts of ‘Hill!’ ‘Hill!’” As he walked down the aisle, Hill constantly bowed in appreciation of their cheers. However, one of the gold men could not help adding in a loud voice, “That’s a pretty good demonstration, considering that he’s a 38 39

See, for example, Atlanta Constitution, July 8, 1896. With tongue firmly in cheek, a correspondent for the Boston Globe could not resist summarizing the silver argument: “The silver men, on the other hand, undertake to maintain that the wicked gold leaders, by ways that are dark, took in hand a body of delegates to the Michigan state convention, a clean majority of whom had been instructed for silver, and transformed them into gold bugs.”

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dead man!”40 The New Yorkers quietly took their seats, thus filling up what had been a huge gap on the left side of the floor. At 5:41, the convention was called to order and the Committee on Credentials recommended seating the silver contestants in the fourth and ninth congressional districts, leaving the rest of the delegation unchanged. This transfer of four delegates from the gold to silver side would transform the previous 16 to 12 gold majority into a 16 to 12 silver advantage. Representing eighteen states on the committee, John Crosby of Massachusetts rose for the purpose of presenting a minority report recommending that the claims of all the contestants be rejected, leaving the Michigan gold men in control of the delegation. Because his voice was very weak, Crosby’s presentation drew constant “cries of ‘louder’ and derisive applause, most of his remarks being delivered in dumb show.” Hundreds of spectators throughout the galleries rolled up newspapers to make ear trumpets so as to better hear the speaker. Debate on the majority and minority reports immediately ensued. John Brennan of Wisconsin led off for the gold men and was cheered when he said that adoption of the majority report will “overturn the will” of the people of Michigan. He ended his brief speech with an “appeal” to the silver majority’s “honesty and fairness not to let it pass.” This plea was loudly cheered.41 Brennan was followed by a silver man, S. M. Taylor of Arkansas, who also delivered a very short address. His rendition of the silver case provoked little reaction from the delegates or spectators. Another silver man, Governor A. J. McLaurin of Mississippi, followed him with a detailed synopsis of the Michigan convention. However, few people were apparently listening because a Tennessee delegate rose and complained. There is so much confusion in the galleries that nothing can be heard by the delegation of which I am a member, and I move that the Sergeant-at-Arms be directed to clear the galleries.

Even though Tennessee was located on the far left side of the convention floor, it was near the front of its column and thus, in relation to all the delegates, about an average distance from the podium. If men in Tennessee could not hear McLaurin, then at least half or more of the delegates could not hear him. And if this many delegates could not hear him, probably none of the spectators could. All of which explains why there was “much confusion in the galleries.” First, some of the spectators became bored with McLaurin’s detailed account. They started to talk and mill about. Then none of the spectators in the galleries could hear the speaker. So they all became bored, started to talk, and move about. And so on down to the outer reaches of the delegate section on the convention floor. This cascade effect occurred repeatedly over the five days of the convention. 40 41

New York Times. A correspondent for the Chicago Tribune said that the “fact that Mr. Brennan talked loud and distinct was hugely appreciated by the convention, which uttered yells of delight.”

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Chairman Daniel intervened: “The gentleman from Tennessee moves that the galleries be cleared unless quiet is maintained. The galleries must be quiet.” McLaurin started up again but finished only a few sentences before the galleries again became unruly. Someone in the hall blew a police whistle, contemptuously indicating that McLaurin’s time was up, and the audience “roared” in response. Some of the disruption during his speech took the form of a protest against the silver program in that cries of “Hill!” erupted in the spectator section. In fact, someone in the gallery shouted “Shut up and sit down,” which seemed to spark a “systematic attempt to howl down the speaker.” These catcalls made a number of the silver men angry, whereupon one of the Louisiana delegates rose and shouted that the “galleries are packed by the gold men.” He demanded that they be removed from the hall if they were not quiet. Former Governor Hogg then intervened, “waving his hands” while saying, “We want to hear Mississippi’s Governor.” At this point, Sergeant-at-Arms Martin interrupted McLaurin with another warning to the galleries. The chair has requested the Sergeant-at-Arms to instruct the Assistant Sergeant-at-Arms and the Police Department to remove anyone in the galleries who may disturb this meeting, and I will carry out that order.

Although this threat was received with “ironical applause and laughter,” the warning must have worked, because “quiet was restored.” McLaurin was now wandering a little far afield, claiming that the gold delegates were the political descendants of bond holders who had lent the government money during the War of 1812 and then demonetized silver so they would have to be paid back in much more valuable gold. This incensed one of the more radical gold men, Allen McDermott, who attempted to raise a point of order against McLaurin’s charge. My point is that no question of seventy years ago can affect the election of delegates to a Convention held in 1896.

Before Daniel could say anything, McLaurin rather cryptically shot back, “You want to put a coal of fire on a terrapin’s back if you want to see him move.” Then the chairman simply said that McDermott’s protest was “not in order.” Soon after this, McLaurin ended his speech. John Saulsbury of Delaware, a silver delegate, then spoke very briefly for the minority report. His remarks demonstrated to the audience that at least some silver men would break ranks with their faction by opposing the unseating of the Michigan gold men. He was followed by Elliott Stevenson, the leader of the Michigan gold delegates, who provoked laughter with his opening line, “I am the man they say who stole Michigan.” From the galleries and delegates on the floor there came cries of “Good!” and a question, “What did you do with it?” Having caught the attention of his audience, people in the galleries wondered who he was and called out “Name, name.” The Michigan man obliged

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with “Stevenson.”42 When he observed that those who had filed a contest in Chicago had “never uttered a protest” when the convention had been held in Michigan, a voice in the hall retorted, “You didn’t give us a chance.” Ignoring this interruption, Stevenson continued his speech, at one point saying, It may suit the purpose of some of the gentlemen in this Convention to pursue this course to-day, but, gentlemen, you are making a precedent that will damn you some day. The only safe Democratic doctrine is to stand by precedent and stand by the delegates who got the credentials to this Convention.

This brought cheers from the gold men. Next was former Lieutenant Governor William Sheehan of New York, who frankly admitted, I will be fortunate, indeed, if my voice will be strong enough to reach the remotest part of the section of the hall devoted to the delegates elected to this Convention. I will make no effort whatever to throw my voice beyond that distance, because it is impossible.

Although the record does not reveal anything one way or another, we might conclude that few of the delegates and none of the spectators could have heard Sheehan’s comments. However, their vision was unimpaired and when Sheehan “paused for a drink of water, the sense of humor was aroused among the audience by this simple act, and they cried: ‘Have one on me!’ ‘Don’t hurt yourself!’” Marston’s performance on the previous day was not forgotten. J. W. Blake of Texas next spoke for the silver men. Blake began by conceding, “I am both tired and sleepy.” In fact, because most of the committee members had had no more than a few hours’ sleep, almost all the speakers in the Michigan debate were tired. Just after Blake’s admission, someone in the hall yelled out, “What state?” Blake courteously responded, “I am from the Lone Star State, sir, of Texas.” This drew applause. The Texas delegate discussed the evidence that had been presented to the committee in a very general way, but blurted out in the middle of his remarks, “I want to tell you right now that, in my judgment, this whole infernal delegation from Michigan ought to be turned out, if half the facts are true.” Although Blake was a little vague, his other remarks made it clear that he was only referring to the gold men in the delegation. In any event, the silver faction liked this blunt approach to the question and cheered Blake on. He was cheered again when he said that “if we cannot nominate a President upon a silver platform by votes that are honest and fair, I do not want it.” Following Blake was the Michigan representative on the Committee on Credentials, W. F. McKnight, who spoke for the silver side. Early in his remarks, 42

Because the convention did not print programs, the audience depended on announcements from the podium for the identification of speakers. Much of the time those sitting in the galleries apparently did not know who was speaking from the podium and did not care. But when a speaker caught their attention, they often demanded that he identify himself.

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he alluded to “the outrages perpetrated upon the Democracy of Michigan” by the gold men, adding that when the administration at Washington learned of this fact [that the silver men were certain to possess a majority of the delegates in the Michigan convention], Mr. Stevenson, who has appeared upon this platform, was called to Washington by the great chief and after he was told that Michigan was solidly in the silver column –

Climbing upon his chair and turning to face the delegates and galleries, Elliott Stevenson yelled out, “There is not a word of truth in that.” Having returned to his seat after finishing his remarks, Stevenson was now ensconced in the front row of the Michigan delegation on the convention floor. That delegation was located immediately in front of the podium and, as a result, there may have been no more than ten feet separating McKnight and Stevenson.43 Their proximity made the interjection all the more personal. Stevenson’s charge met with “a storm of hisses and howls” from the silver men, abuse so intense that he came down off his chair and went to the rear of the hall. Not deigning to respond, McKnight merely repeated the last few words he had said before Stevenson interrupted and then continued as if Stevenson had said nothing at all. Later, when McKnight charged that 300 federal office-holders had “practically took hold of and managed and ran and conducted [the Michigan convention] in favor of gold,” another Michigan delegate loudly replied, “It is not true.”44 This was Thomas Weadock and he was seated in the very front row. The only way Weadock could have been closer to McKnight was if he had been walking in the passageway between the Michigan delegation and podium. Judge Ferdinand Brucker, a Michigan silver delegate, took up the gold cause. Like the Delaware speaker before him, Brucker demonstrated that there would be silver men defecting from their faction in the Michigan case. Toward the end of his very brief remarks, he said, “We have got votes enough in this Convention to nominate a free-silver candidate by a two-thirds’ majority without committing highway robbery.” That brought applause and laughter from the audience. He then closed: You may take my head for a foot ball if the twenty-eight votes from Michigan are not voted for a free and unlimited coinage silver man for President and Vice-President, regardless of what your vote may be here to-day.

Brucker was claiming that, because some of the Michigan gold men would support a silver nominee, the state delegation’s votes would be available to make up a two-thirds’ majority even if the silver contestants were not seated.45 43 44 45

In addition, the podium upon which McKnight was standing was only six feet higher than the convention floor where Stevenson was sitting. The Atlanta Constitution reported this comment as “That’s a lie.” On the possibility that Michigan, even with a gold majority, would support a silver candidate for the nomination, see Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896. Elliott Stevenson claimed that he had been served “notice” by an “authorized representative of the silver men from Mississippi” that

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While this may have been true, the silver faction was also concerned with what kind of silver candidate the state might support. On that score, the price of the gold men’s support might have been equivocation on the platform. The most important silver defection was Charles Thomas of Colorado. While the gold delegates were probably eager to hear what he had to say, everyone else was now impatiently anticipating an end to the debate. Elliott Stevenson, who had a vested stake in this speaker, went to the front of the podium “waving his hands” and “shouted wildly: ‘Hear him, hear him. He is a silver man from Colorado, and his name is Thomas.’” Many in the audience still “raised loud cries of ‘Vote’” while Thomas was speaking. And there were four more speeches to be made. The men who gave them were paid “little or no attention . . . as the crowd in the galleries was quite turbulent and could not be kept in order. The convention itself, as well as the spectators in the galleries, was in a hurry to come to a vote.” At 7:40 the electric lights were turned on, reminding the audience just how much time had passed since the convention had opened that morning. [A]rtificial daylight flooded the vast space. Electric lights had been hung at intervals from the galleries behind burnished reflectors, which threw the rays in white streams toward the pit. Several lamps, which depended from the lofty steel girders, were also lighted. There were almost 20,000 people in the amphitheater by this time, and the night scene was even more brilliant and inspiring than that of the day.

The Coliseum was a new building, equipped with the most modern conveniences and technologies of its day. The transformative impact of the electric lights, which had not been around very long or often used to illuminate such a vast interior space, must have been dramatic. The most significant incident during these concluding speeches occurred on the floor when a fight almost broke out between a delegate from either Delaware or Illinois and a policeman who was checking the credentials of men admitted to the floor. The incident occurred in front of the press seats just to the left of the podium, and a reporter from the Detroit Free Press in that section noted, “People climbed to their chairs everywhere, and a small riot seemed on hand.” The delegate either did not have his badge with him or refused to present it and was thus refused admission. He then attempted to physically force his way onto the floor. When this dispute became physical, the chairman “pressed the button which signaled the band to play.”46 Given the political passions

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the Michigan gold delegates would be unseated unless they and their colleagues “would agree to vote for Bland.” Stevenson would not name the delegate who made this demand. Detroit Free Press. Prompting the band to play and rapping the gavel were the two stock responses of the presiding officer to disruptions. Rapping the gavel was an invocation of authority and was consequently effective only when the disruptors were willing to recognize that authority. Music from the band, however, appears to have worked differently. During a vocal demonstration in which the participants intended to display passion by making noise, the band usually had no effect because it simply made the demonstration louder. However, in a disruption such as this altercation

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surging through the hall, the remarkable aspect of this altercation was that this was apparently the closest anyone came to actually fighting. And it was about something entirely unrelated to the decisions that the convention actually had to make. The Michigan Contest: The Vote The first roll call was on the minority report. If adopted, that report would have rejected the silver contestants and allowed the Michigan gold men from the fourth and ninth districts to retain their seats. Thus, a “yea” vote supported the gold side of the dispute and a “nay” vote took the silver side. The Alabama vote was challenged and the delegation polled, as was California and Kentucky when their turns came. The hall was quite noisy, so much so that delegation chairmen had difficulty making themselves heard. During the calling of the roll in California, for example, the chairman was forced to interrupt the proceedings. Gentlemen, the proceedings of the convention will not be heard unless order is kept. Delegates must take their seats or the business of the convention will stop until it is in order.

This injunction was followed by one of the many empty threats by the sergeantat-arms. Ladies and gentlemen, the Chair requests perfect order. The delegates are here to transact business and the police and the Sergeant-at-Arms will remove the entire gallery if the delegates are not protected and order preserved.

And another statement by the chairman: “Gentlemen, you must be seated or the proceedings will be stopped.” There was so much commotion that the chairman announced that the California roll would have to be called again. None of the challenges, including California’s, produced changes in the original report of the delegation’s leader. Although there were significant breaks in the silver ranks in Colorado, Florida, and Indiana, the roll call otherwise proceeded without incident until New York was reached. When New York cast its seventy-two votes in favor of the minority report, “a tumultuous wave of cheering broke over the assembly.” At first, Daniel tried to suppress this demonstration by pounding his gavel and, when that proved fruitless, ordering the band to play. These attempts to restore order were countered by gold delegates, who, rising and turning their backs to the chairman and their faces to the immense crowds in the galleries, waved hats and handkerchiefs, and stood on their chairs and gesticulated. The galleries, evidently strongly anti-silver in sentiment, were not slow to respond and between a guard and a delegate, the audience was straining to hear what was being said in order to figure out what the dispute was about. When the band played in such situations, the music smothered what was said on the floor and the audience gave up their attempt to listen to the disputants.

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an unearthly sound from 15,000 throats filled even the vast space of the great hall. The Tammany yell was plainly heard in every temporary lull. The band tried in vain to compete with the babel of noise. Every rap of the chairman’s gavel also seemed to start it again as it began to quiet down. Shouts for Hill, yodel calls and shrill whistles added to the confusion.

The convention floor was a checkerboard, with the gold delegations on their chairs waving anything they could find and yelling at the top of their lungs while the silver men sat almost perfectly still in their seats. After a while, the silver men became irritated and “began to hiss and stamp their feet,” making “matters infinitely worse.” A correspondent for the Detroit Free Press reported that the “silver leaders on the floor were manifestly disturbed” by the gold demonstration. Gov. Stone, of Missouri, moved hastily up to the stage to consult with Chairman Daniel. Senator Cockrell worked his way around to where sat the Illinois delegation. Others moved hither and thither. It looked almost as if the silver men had been stricken with panic. . . . Gradually the storm died away, after being revived once or twice by a New York delegate who shouted for Hill. . . . The sergeant-at-arms had been wildly waving his arms for five minutes. As the tumult died away he was able to make an impression. “The chairman,” he shouted, “desires to make a statement, and I am sure this convention will listen to him.”

But Daniel could only confirm the obvious by saying, “I shall direct the secretary to stop proceedings in this convention until order is restored.” He then sat down and folded his arms.47 A few minutes later the chairman got up again and attempted to close down the demonstration by calling the name of the next state on the roll, North Carolina. North Carolina’s chairman, however, declined to report his state’s vote until he could be heard. As the clerk repeated the call for North Carolina’s vote, the chairman declined several more times. In the meantime, James Hinckley, chairman of the New York State Democratic Committee, and other members of that state’s delegation “vainly tried to stop the demonstration.” By the time it petered out, some fifteen minutes had elapsed.48 North Carolina then gave its report, as did North Dakota. At that point, Altgeld stood upon his chair, amid “a storm of bitter hisses,” and sought recognition. There was so much disorder that the governor had to send a messenger to the podium before Daniel realized that Altgeld wished to say something. With Senator Cockrell and Governor Stone by his side, the governor then made a point of order challenging the right of Michigan to vote on its own contest. In effect, the Michigan gold men 47

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One of those who remained calm during the demonstration was Senator Jones, who afterward said, “I suppose that we can sit in our seats and take it easy as long as they can yell.” Detroit Free Press. Many reporters believed the length and intensity of this gold demonstration proved, in the words of a Boston Globe correspondent, that “the advantage of the gold men in the distribution of tickets was not lost.” The galleries of the convention, in other words, had been packed with gold supporters.

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were voting to seat themselves by voting against the silver contestants, and this, under the rules of the House of Representatives, was not permissible. Having made his point, Altgeld awaited the ruling with “his hand behind his ear, his face screwed into an expression of strenuous attention and his body bent forward.” Communication was hampered by “a tempest of howls, groans, shrieks, hoots and hisses” that rang throughout the hall. While some delegates applauded his point, one delegate even crying out, “Right you are, Governor,” Altgeld had exposed himself as a target in much the same way as Stevenson had earlier. Once Daniel understood the point Altgeld had made, he ruled that no debate or motion was in order during a roll call and that a point of order challenging a state’s right to vote could be heard only at the time the state was called. Because Ohio’s name had now been reached, Altgeld was too late with his point of order. The Illinois governor then asked that he be heard again on his challenge when the roll had been completed. The votes of Ohio and Virginia were challenged and their delegations polled, slowing down the calling of the roll. In between these challenges, William Harrity climbed onto his chair to announce that Pennsylvania cast its sixtyfour votes in favor of the Michigan gold men. Pennsylvania was the second largest delegation in the convention, and Harrity was, of course, very prominent as the chairman of the Democratic National Committee. Both facts primed the gold men for another demonstration and one was attempted. But, as an Atlanta Constitution correspondent explained, this effort “died away in a few seconds,” as the spectators and delegates were “tired out” from their previous exertions. The roll was completed without further incident, and Daniel reported that the minority report had been rejected by a vote of 368 to 558. In this roll call, some of the silver delegates defected to the gold position. As was the case with the earlier vote electing a temporary chairman, the few defections to the gold position in no way endangered the outcome of the contest or silver dominance of the convention. In that sense, this was a “free” vote for defectors as long as there were not too many of them. The silver victory was greeted by another wild demonstration, as the silver men yelled and waved hats and handkerchiefs and displayed Bland pictures and made the night hideous for nearly as long as the gold men, the galleries impartially assisting. During the jubilation by the silver men two stout Kentucky delegates danced a breakdown in the aisle at the rear of the delegates’ section, several others “patting time,” as the southern phrase is, amid the wildest laughter.49

The official convention record states that this demonstration lasted some thirty minutes, during which “there was noise, confusion, cheers, etc.”50 49

50

Boston Globe, July 9, 1896. A “break-down” was a “spirited, noisy dance, usually a shuffle, as those performed by [N]egroes.” A Standard Dictionary of the English Language (London: Funk & Wagnalls, 1895), p. 234. Official Proceedings, p. 167.

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The delegates from the great States of New York and Pennsylvania were conspicuously silent in this demonstration. They sat in their seats and looked on with gravity, if not with dismay, at what was going on. Newspapers, bits of yellow paper, flags, hats, and handkerchiefs flew into the air. The St. Louis Bland club band attempted to play “Dixie,” but all that could be heard was the symphonious sound of the bass drum. The rest of the band, if there was any, could not be heard. One enthusiastic delegate from Montana was seen dancing a hornpipe on his chair and swinging his hands wildly in the air like an Indian of his native Territory dancing the snake dance.

The standards bearing the names of the state delegations were “wrenched from the bolts which held them to the floor” and swung wildly in the air. In the far southwestern corner of the hall, “nearly a quarter of a mile” from the podium by the reckoning of one correspondent, a “Montana miners’ band was blowing all the power of its lungs into the brass horns” but was inaudible because of the din.51 The tables had been turned and this “time it was the gold leaders who sat mute, with clouded brows.” Although Altgeld’s expression remained grim, the other silver leaders were “beaming. Staid, solemn Cockrell, of Missouri, wore a smile nothing short of beatific; Ben Tillman had a happy, defiant air.” As he had done during the gold demonstration, Chairman Daniel again attempted to restore order. But his apparently half-hearted efforts “were utterly ineffectual . . . and he smiled with full resignation upon the result.” After this demonstration finally ended, Daniel submitted the unamended majority report to the convention, and this was passed by a voice vote.52 The Michigan gold men were unseated and control of the state’s delegation now passed from gold to silver. While Altgeld had not renewed his point of order, it would not have made any difference to the outcome. Permanent Organization of the Convention Now that a permanent roll had been approved, the convention could perfect its organization. By this time, the silver delegates controlled a majority of the delegations from the states and territories and, thus, a majority of the members on each of the committees handling convention affairs.53 Thus, when the 51 52

53

This was probably the brass band belonging to Bland’s marching club. The allusion to “Montana miners” suggested the source of funds for the Missouri candidate’s campaign. Voice votes are weighted by the volume of sound, and the volume of sound can be a product of the passion and energy of those who shout. The silver men were very tired at this point and appear to have responded relatively weakly to the chairman’s request for the “Yeas.” The gold men, however, were both passionate and rested. They produced “such a quantity of sound” on the nay side of the question that Daniel “seemed for a moment puzzled, but finally announced: ‘The ayes, by the sound, seem to have it.’” Then realizing that a roll call would certainly support his determination, he then repeated “with more confidence,” “The ayes have it, and the report of the committee is adopted.” Chicago Tribune. Each state and territory selected one member to serve on each of the convention committees and, almost invariably, selected that member from the faction that controlled a majority of the delegation. Thus, when the silver wing came into control of a majority of these delegations, it also, almost automatically, came into control of each of the convention committees.

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Committee on Permanent Organization was recognized and made its report, it named silver men for most of the permanent convention posts. An honor guard of delegates then escorted Senator Stephen White of California to the podium where he received the gavel from Daniel.54 The transfer was greeted with cheers. The convention now had a permanent chairman who, as it happened, had already presided over most of the day’s proceedings. White’s first act was to make an address accepting his responsibilities. However, the senator recognized that this had been a very long day, and his first words were “I will detain you with no extended speech.” This drew applause from both factions and White remarked, “I see I am getting popular already.” When White finished, General William Clark, the Montana delegate, rose from his seat on the floor and held aloft a gavel of solid silver, offering it to White “on behalf of the people of Butte City, the greatest mining camp on the face of this globe.” After White had accepted “this elegant donation,” Senator Jones announced that the Committee on Resolutions would meet tomorrow at 9:30 a.m. in a room just off the convention floor. The “heated and excited” spectators and delegates interpreted this announcement as a sign that convention would soon adjourn. People in the galleries began to move out with a rush and corresponding movement was started on the floor. The means of exit from the building are so utterly insufficient that trouble might have followed but that the sergeant-at-arms, raising his big voice, commanded his deputies to “Stop these men.”

When order had been restored, the convention adjourned until 10 o’clock the next morning.55 Conclusion Rules and procedures are the fundamental constituents of formal institutions because they assign prerogatives and responsibilities to those occupying positions of authority. Those prerogatives and responsibilities are both absolute (in the sense that someone occupying a particular position can authoritatively decide) and relative (in the sense that an individual’s decision may be qualified by the participation of others, as in a committee, or subject to revision or rejection later on in a decision-making process). All of this is very familiar and obvious. What is not so clear, however, is how formal institutions erected on rules and procedure generate a shared political culture of tradition, meaning, and display of passion. In part, formal institutions generate a shared political culture by transforming what the participants themselves bring to the institution. For example, people in the United States in the late nineteenth century shared a language, 54 55

The embittered gold men cried out “Nay!” when Daniel asked for a voice vote on the appointment of this honor guard. Chicago Tribune. Much of this account of convention proceedings, including quotations, has drawn on the Atlanta Constitution, Boston Globe, Chicago Tribune, Detroit Free Press, and New York Times.

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a history, national institutions, and many other aspects of a society almost continental in size. Even local institutions, such as the rites and legalities of voting in elections or the structure of state party organizations, were so similar as to be immediately recognizable as “American” when juxtaposed against a foreign counterpart. For these reasons, the Democrats who assembled in Chicago in July 1896 already shared a political culture that was remarkably broad and deep. This shared culture provided the raw material with which individuals and groups worked when they assumed postures and displayed passion. But this shared culture was only raw material. The way in which preferences were pursued and passion was displayed was also shaped – we might say refined – by the way in which others received those strategies and acts. There were two aspects to this reception that should be emphasized. First, while Democrats, like other Americans, shared a political culture, there were profound regional and class differences that divided them. Some of those differences, of course, gave rise to the policy conflict over the monetary standard, thus creating the situation in which compromise was impossible between the silver and gold wings of the party. The way in which those differences gave rise to policy positions favoring silver or gold belong to the realm of political economy, as opposed to political culture. However, the way in which these positions gave rise to strategies and tactics was often cultural in nature. Once we set aside the rules and procedures as fixed realities of the decision-making process (e.g., that the silver faction needed a majority of the votes on the Committee on Resolutions in order to report a silver platform to the convention), the way in which things are done, in which preferences are made known, and in which passion is displayed are predominantly cultural in form. And here the eastern, metropolitan wing of the party was very different from the much more rural, parochial branches in the South and West. The gold wing exploited some of those differences by displaying its class rank and cosmopolitan manners. The gold faction was led by men who belonged to the nation’s social as well as political elite. The furnishings in Whitney’s hotel suites, for example, coolly displayed the vast wealth and accumulated taste of generations of economic dominance; politics, for such men, was almost always an avocation. There was, of course, Tammany Hall and its counterparts in other urban centers, the necessary lower-class auxiliary of working-class immigrants and Catholics who provided the votes. But the elite dominated the style and organization of the eastern delegations. And the general theme was cool detachment and polish. The silver wing also had its elite, and some of its members, such as John McLean, were wealthy men who were viewed as part of the eastern establishment even though they were politically allied with the periphery. In fact, as in McLean’s case, mere similarity in social style and prestige made such men suspect in the eyes of the rest of the silver faction. Most of the silver men, although sophisticated and experienced politicians, knew how to appreciate the symbolic meaning of the “break-down” the Kentucky delegates danced at the rear

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of the hall during the victory celebration at the end of the Michigan contest. Or the “snake dance” the Montana delegate performed while pirouetting on his chair at about the same time. The southern and western men displayed their passion in this way because they knew it taunted the cultural pretensions of their eastern brethren. Such performances do not appear in the accounts of the state conventions because, in those contexts, they would have seemed uncouth and crude. But within the confines of the Coliseum in Chicago they affirmed identities and underscored divisions in ways that made them powerful symbols. The second aspect shaping the reception of the shared culture of the delegates was the very ephemerality of the convention as an institution. National party conventions appeared only once every four years and usually lasted less than a week. In addition, only a tiny minority of all the delegates at any convention had previously attended another.56 Their immersion in the distinct culture of the national party-in-convention was like a baptism during a church revival, a profound experience that, once the tents were taken down and the penitents had moved on, left nothing much behind. And they usually did not come back. Here, too, there were exceptions. For example, the party-in-Congress was an enduring site constituted by specific folkways, traditions, and practices. The Senate, in particular, was rich in these constitutive elements of political culture because the members tended to serve longer than in the House. Thus, when senators came to a national convention, even for the first time, they brought with them relationships and practices that composed almost a sub-culture within the national convention. Reporters recognized this sub-culture when they described the “senatorial clique” that they imagined, fairly accurately as it turned out, ran the procedural mechanics of the silver program. These reporters also presumed such a congressional culture when they postulated ties between Senator Hill and the silver leaders that might keep the latter from “embarrassing” the New York senator in the struggle over the temporary chairmanship. But in that case, the reporters were mistaken. Whatever collegiality meant to the senators as a group was simply overwhelmed by the need to affirm individual commitments to silver. Their constituencies demanded it. Members of Congress aside, the ephemerality of the national convention meant that the interaction of the gold and silver wings rested on symbols and actions that would be understood almost universally throughout the United States. Both sides clapped, stood on their chairs, shouted, stomped their feet, and threw hats and anything else they could find into the air. All of these were inarticulate expressions of passion that took on meaning from the procedural 56

In the six Democratic national conventions held between 1880 and 1900, the average proportion of delegates who had served in the previous convention four years earlier was 10.3 percent. The veterans in the eastern gold state delegations (those supporting gold in 1896) averaged 12.9 percent during that period; the silver states averaged 8.7 percent. The only year in which the proportion of silver state veterans was larger than the gold state veterans was 1900, after the great party debacle in the 1896 general election decimated the eastern wing. Computed from membership lists contained in the various editions of the Official Proceedings of the Democratic National Convention.

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context. New York casts seventy-two votes for the Michigan gold men and the hard-money faction explodes in response. Daniel announces the vote totals from the same roll call and the silver side of the hall erupts. The procedural structure became the fundament upon which emotion played back and forth throughout the hall. And for that reason, this fundament became an opportunistic playing field for those who knew how to use it. How they did this and what they worked with is the subject of the next chapter. That part of the ritual backbone leading up to and including the adoption of the platform was dominated by conflict between the gold and silver factions. The Michigan contest, while it had its own particular nuances and incidents, was merely one episode in the struggle leading up to the platform. The fight over the monetary plank, which would take place the next day, would be the ultimate, defining test of strength between the two factions. Even so, both the gold and silver men were already looking beyond the platform. For their part, the gold men knew they had no more arrows in their quiver. They were now in an end game in which they knew they would be playing alone. The silver men, on the other hand, were celebrating their victories. Standing in the rotunda of the Auditorium the evening after his installation as permanent chairman, Senator White “was the pole star in a constellation of admiring friends.” One of them asked the new chairman how long the convention would last. The senator replied, “We are going to have a hard pull, boys. I look for a long struggle on the nominations and the presidential candidate is the most uncertain of all. I am doubtful if any of the now prominent candidates will be in at the finish and the dark horse may come from anywhere.”57 Already looking past the platform, White did not recognize that the platform debate could be the pasture where dark horses roam. 57

Boston Globe (Extra), July 9, 1896.

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6 Display of Passion

In very formal settings, displays of passion are strongly constrained by ritual proprieties. Roll calls in a convention, for example, are thoroughly structured by parliamentary rules. These rules identify who can vote, when they can vote, and what will be the relative weight assigned to their vote. Once delegates have voted, the rules apply an exact calculus that determines the outcome. In other settings, people display sentiment much more spontaneously, as in the collective displays created by mass demonstrations and riots. Such displays are not formally recognized or structured by an institution.1 For convenience, let us agree to call displays of sentiment that are strongly constrained by formal ritual institutionally recognized preferences and label displays that lay outside institutional forms demonstrative acts. Institutionally recognized preferences are usually “flat” in that the way in which an individual or group displays sentiment does not affect the manner in which the institution calculates the outcome.2 For example, in a legislative roll 1

2

The older literature on crowd behavior and the more recent literature on social movements almost always focuses on events outside formal, highly ritualized political settings. For example, Kurt Lang and Gladys Engel Lang defined “crowds” as “a multitude engaged in a lynching, riot, strike violence, or revivalistic orgy. The term ‘crowd behavior’ usually suggests images of destructiveness, looting, violence, and disorder.” While they concede that an “audience” can be a considered “a kind of crowd . . . at an earlier stage before conventional controls have given way,” there is little recognition of the influence of formal rituals on demonstrative acts. Collective Dynamics (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1961), pp. 111, 115. Similarly, in their recent interpretive synthesis of the social movement literature, Charles Tilly and Sidney Tarrow focus on protests, street demonstrations, and “news events” staged by interested groups. While these all have a distant resemblance to the kinds of activities that took place within the 1896 convention, the absence of formal ritual as a structuring frame is critically absent. Contentious Politics (Boulder, Colo. Paradigm, 2007). As Richard Hall notes, voting in most situations is “flat” in the sense that a vote does not reflect the intensity of a preference (aside from the weak contrast with abstention). “Empiricism and Progress in Positive Theories of Legislative Institutions,” in Kenneth A. Shepsle and Barry R. Weingast, eds., Positive Theories of Congressional Institutions (Ann Arbor: University of

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call members may stand perfectly still or wildly gesticulate as they cast their vote. However they cast their vote, the calculus will treat it as the same act. There are thus three characteristics associated with the display of institutionally recognized preferences: they are strongly constrained by ritual formalities; they enter into a calculus that processes them into a collectively recognized decision; and the intensity with which they are displayed has no effect on how the calculus processes the response.3 Demonstrative acts are of an entirely different nature. For one thing, such acts draw meaning from the intensity with which they are expressed. In fact, the public manifestation of passion is the purpose of a demonstrative act, and as a consequence, the resulting displays are obviously not “flat” in terms of their impact. Those who shout louder and wave their arms more wildly contribute more to a display than others. And when comparing two collective demonstrations involving equivalent numbers of people, the one that is more frenetic evidences more passion. Demonstrative acts usually lie outside institutionally recognized forms and are thus irrelevant to the formal procedures through which institutions make decisions. In many cases, they actually take on their meaning from the fact that they violate formal rituals in ways that should be, in theory at least, suppressed. For example, the collective demonstrations made during the formal proceedings of the Democratic National Convention in 1896 transgressed against the “regular order.” For that reason, the convention chairman and sergeant-at-arms attempted to “restore order” by suppressing demonstrations in the galleries or on the convention floor. Seen from this perspective, demonstrative acts have a parasitic relationship with formal procedures in that they require the institutional structure as a fundament against which to display sentiment. This is a one-way relation in that institutionally recognized preferences need almost nothing beyond simple, dispassionate signals for their own display.4

3

4

Michigan Press, 1995), p. 293. As Greg Wawro and Eric Schickler point out, a rare exception was the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Senate where the filibuster implicitly rewarded intensity. Filibuster: Obstruction and Lawmaking in the U.S. Senate (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2006), pp. 30–31. Many other social transactions exhibit these characteristics as well. Imagine, for example, someone who goes into a bookstore, selects a book that he or she wishes to purchase, proceeds to the checkout stand, lays the book and a credit card on the counter, receives and signs the slip handed to him by the clerk, takes back the book and credit card, and leaves the store. The transaction is so heavily ritualized that all of these actions can occur without either the buyer or the clerk uttering a word. Even if they exchanged comments that indicated sentiment in some way, their conversation would have no impact on the transaction, as long the ritually required forms were observed. A national party convention provides an almost ideal setting in which demonstrative acts and formal ritual can interact with one another. Jury trials provide roughly parallel situations in that they combine the ritual formalities of legal procedure, the emotional content of the proceedings, and the material settings in which jurors hear evidence and deliberate. While there are similarities between a courtroom and conventions as political sites, the literature on juries puts much more stress on the pragmatic manipulation of the setting by lawyers (the small number of actors and spectators is crucial here), along with recognition that public demonstrations of passion will be

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When a member’s name is announced during a roll call, for example, a simple “yea” or “nay” is all the member needs to say in order for his or her preference to be duly recognized and recorded. There is nothing in the nature of this signal that requires a demonstrative act as a backdrop for interpretation or a context for production. In contrast, demonstrative acts must be thrown up against an institutional order. In fact, the more formal the institutional order as a backdrop, the more dramatic becomes the demonstration. For instance, the intensity of the passion evidenced in demonstrations during the 1896 Democratic convention was highly correlated with the degree of formality of the parliamentary process in which they occurred. One of these demonstrations erupted when the New York delegation announced that it would cast its seventy-two votes against the Michigan silver contestants, and the gold faction immediately launched into a chaotic, spontaneous cacophony of sound and movement that completely overpowered the calling of the roll. Because roll calls constitute the highly ritualized process through which preferences are institutionally recognized and thus translated into collective decisions, they are among the most formal of all parliamentary rituals. Delegates may not engage in debate or otherwise interrupt the calling of the roll, and the announcement of votes is similarly restricted to an unembellished description of the numbers cast. It was the utter formality of the roll call procedure, including the calling out of “New York!” when the clerk requested that the state delegation announce its vote, that made the cue so effective as a spark for the gold demonstration. And it was the high formality of the parliamentary moment that made the demonstration so effective as a display of the intensity with which the gold men held to their cause.5 Finally, demonstrative acts “decide” nothing. Because they are not institutionalized, demonstrative acts do not produce decisions; although they display

5

effectively suppressed. See, for example, David Ball, Theatre Tips and Strategies for Jury Trials (Chicago: National Institute for Trial Advocacy, 2003). Before the adoption of the Australian ballot, the American polling place was also similar to political conventions in that it contained formal rituals through which a vote was accepted (or rejected), displays of passion (usually as expressions of ethno-cultural identities), and a material setting that structured the interaction between these displays and the ritual proprieties of voting. Richard Franklin Bensel, The American Ballot Box in the Mid-Nineteenth Century (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), esp. chapter 2. A more distant parallel also appears in the implicitly ritualized demonstrations in the nation’s capital (many of them known as a “March on Washington”) in which the code of conduct enforced by the police, the display of passion by demonstrators, and the built structure of the city itself combine in such a way as to mimic settings in which formal decisions are actually made. See, for example, Daniel Kryder, “Organizing for Disorder: Civil Unrest, Police Control, and the Invention of Washington, D.C.,” in Stephen Skowronek and Matthew Glassman, eds., Formative Acts: American Politics in the Making (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), pp. 105–25. Imagine, for a moment, that someone had called out “New York!” from the galleries in the morning before the convention had opened. The shout would probably have been received as a curious and anomalous incident, lacking the supporting context that would have made it meaningful to those who were within the hall at the time. It is in this sense that demonstrative acts are parasitic on formal institutional procedures.

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sentiment and preferences, they cannot enter into a formal calculus through which a decision can be made and collectively recognized. And this observation begs an obvious question. If demonstrative acts are not directly linked to institutional decisions, why do they occur? Put another way, if demonstrative acts do not instrumentally affect the outcome of an institutional decision (e.g., in the way responses to a roll call determine a decision), why do people engage in them? There are a number of reasons. First, people demonstratively display preferences in order to shape expectations with respect to a formal decision that will be made later. For example, when delegates and spectators in the convention hall cheered the Iowa delegates as they marched onto the floor carrying a banner depicting Horace Boies, they were displaying sentiment favorable to that candidate. Such displays enhance the prominence of the candidate in the race for the nomination and thus the respect with which they are regarded as a serious contender. These are so important that the most salient characteristic of a “well-organized” campaign is often the staged production of such displays.6 One form of production is to simply fund the display itself. The Bland campaign, for example, brought hundreds of men to Chicago in marching clubs. These men moved through the streets, hotel corridors, and the convention hall yelling and singing for their employer. As demonstrations of sentiment for the Missouri candidate, they were a mixed bag. On the one hand, although most were paid something, these men probably worked for very little. If Bland had not been popular in Missouri and Kansas, the states from which the largest contingents came, his campaign could not have recruited them. So, in that sense, these hirelings demonstrated his popular appeal back home. On the other hand, however little the marching clubs might have cost, someone had to foot the bill. Because Bland himself was not wealthy, the large size of the campaign demonstrations evidenced that someone else (who was wealthy) considered the Missouri man a serious candidate who, in addition, held views that the donors shared. In some respects, it did not matter what these bands and clubs did as long as they were very visible and very noisy. And some of the displays they performed would have offended all but the most tolerant artistic sensibilities. 6

Susanne Lohmann has discussed the theoretical implications of situations in which signaling is individually costly, individuals face a “free rider problem,” and demonstrations are intended to influence the perceptions of leaders (leading them to update their “expectation of the state of the world”). “A Signaling Model of Informative and Manipulative Political Action,” American Political Science Review 87, no. 2 (1993): 319–33. Her theoretical frame cannot be applied to this convention, however, because, once spectators and delegates were inside the hall, signaling was not costly (for many of them, just the opposite – it would have been emotionally costly to remain quiet), any free-rider effect was very small (because opportunities for participation were warmly anticipated and embraced), and the audience for the demonstrations was often their opponents (not their own leaders). However, both the gold and silver factions were trying to influence each other’s expectations as to the shape of the future.

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Another form of production is to create situations in which demonstrations favoring a candidate can occur. For example, if the Iowa delegation had straggled onto the convention floor one or two at time without the large blue banner depicting Boies’s face, a demonstration on the part of the other delegates and spectators would not have occurred. The cue for that demonstration was finely orchestrated in that the entire delegation, festooned with appropriate symbols, marched onto the floor with almost military precision. Given the frequency with which such displays elicited demonstrations of sentiment, the various campaigns must have learned to time their entrance so as to maximize the opportunity for an effective display. The Boies men, for example, might have waited until the bands in the hall had finished a tune so as to come onto the floor during a period of relative quiet. Some men were so prominent that their unaccompanied entrance onto the floor was enough to spark a demonstration. While there is no evidence that they, too, staged their entry, we can easily imagine that they might have done so. Senator David Hill, for example, was easily recognized both in his own right and as the public face of the gold faction in the convention. Whether or not his entrances were staged, his appearance almost always elicited a friendly demonstration. Because demonstrations of gold sentiment were so important to his allies, they may have encouraged him to coordinate his entrance with an opportunity for an effective display for “the good of the cause.” While campaign organizations and the leaders of the silver and gold factions had instrumental reasons for eliciting demonstrative acts from the delegates and spectators, the question remains why the delegates and spectators bothered to respond. One reason, of course, is that they wanted the same thing that the campaigns and factions wanted. If a delegate or spectator wanted to enhance the prospects of Horace Boies for the nomination, for example, he would cheer the staged entry of the Iowa delegation onto the floor. If the delegate or spectator favored gold, he would join the applause that greeted Senator Hill’s bald pate and thick mustache. But these demonstrations were not merely opinion surveys conducted by way of noise and visual effects because they were much more than just a visual and aural sampling of sentiment in the convention hall. Most important, the sheer volume of sound and frenetic physical movement conveyed the intensity with which individuals and, by aggregation, groups clung to their preferences. I characterize the intensity with which people feel their opinions as “passion.” As previously discussed, formal institutions do not recognize passion as a quality when counting votes. Votes are in that sense flat, while demonstrations are topographically uneven (i.e., with people varying in the intensity of their display). And for that reason a passionate demonstration, as evidence of the relevant preferences, is somewhat orthogonally related to the outcome of a subsequent roll call. One important reason for the partial disconnect between demonstrative acts and institutionally recognized preferences is that they have different qualities in terms of time and scope.

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Institutionally recognized preferences are focused on a well-specified collective decision that must take place in a properly defined ritual situation.7 While we often try to infer something from the expression of institutionally recognized preferences with respect to the beliefs and commitments of the participants, the ritual situation rigidly constrains those preferences to the form of the choices presented to the participants. If the choice presented is between “blue” and “yellow,” a voter cannot cast a ballot for “green.” In fact, to say anything at all about a preference for green would be a violation of the ritual proprieties. Given these characteristics, the most important information revealed in a formal vote is usually the simple fact of the voter’s decision between the choices presented to him. Any attempt to read more into the expression of preferences than the simple casting of votes requires information as to the “intent” that motivates a choice. And in most situations involving the expression of institutionally recognized preferences, any expression of intent is simply banned because the ritual setting prohibits any act not directly and narrowly related to the casting of votes. As opportunities for conveying information as to intent, they are thus severely limited. We only know that, in this specific and highly constrained situation at this particular time, someone chose to vote “yea,” “nay,” or to abstain. We know nothing about how strongly they felt with respect to the choices presented them. And for that reason, we do not know how enduring their preference might be or how their relative intensity might affect their preferences on other issues.8 Institutionally recognized preferences are thus more or less limited to one time and one decision. In rather sharp contrast, demonstrative acts convey much more information with respect to both intent and intensity. The passion displayed in a demonstrative act, for example, is usually intended to suggest that an individual holds strong commitments that will persist through time and that may very well be linked to future decisions other than the one immediately at hand. For example, when the gold men yelled themselves hoarse after New York cast its seventy-two votes in the Michigan contest, their intent could not have been to affect the outcome of the roll call immediately at hand. They already knew that decision was lost. And although they were linking the Michigan contest to the coming struggle over the monetary plank in the party platform, they also knew they were going to lose that decision. Instead of expressing preferences on these issues, the passion they displayed was intended to suggest that the conflict over gold and silver was going to carry over into other, future decisions. These included what positions the gold men would take in the subsequent presidential election 7

8

For an analytical discussion of the manifold ways in which preferences and institutions are mutually constitutive, see Ira Katznelson, “Periodization and Preferences: Reflections on Purposive Action in Comparative Historical Social Science,” in James Mahoney and Dietrich Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis in the Social Sciences (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 270–301. Someone casting a vote may, of course, attempt to explain his or her choice or to express emotion while casting the ballot, but because these actions violate ritual forms, they are demonstrative acts (and not institutionally recognized preferences).

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and whether they would continue to associate with the Democratic party. This information was, to be sure, inarticulately expressed. Waving umbrellas, standing on chairs, and stomping feet certainly evidence passion, but in order to read anything else into the display, the observer has to rely on the context within which the demonstration occurs. In forming an interpretation, there was simply little to work with other than the physical exhibition. In sum, demonstrative acts communicate information with respect to the passionate commitment of the demonstrator. If we consider this to be a rationally motivated exchange between opposing sides, the passionate content implies a statement something like: if you (the other side) insist on imposing X, then we (as the side imposed on) will do Y. So the gold men demonstrated their passion as a means of indicating the dire consequences, from their perspective, of adopting a silver platform. But this interpretation overstates the individualistic quality of a demonstration. A passionate demonstration is not simply the sum of the individual acts; if it were, the gold men could have demonstrated individually, one at a time, and conveyed the same information to the silver faction. Let us briefly consider what the difference between a simultaneous collective display and serially consecutive individual demonstrative acts might be. One trivial difference would be time. If the hundreds of gold delegates and spectators had demonstrated individually, each of them for fifteen to twenty minutes, the event would have lasted hundreds of hours. For that reason alone, the silver leaders would have used their control of the procedural machinery and physical resources (e.g., the deputy sergeants-at-arms and police) to suppress the individual demonstrators. Here we should be reminded that demonstrative acts lie outside recognized and permissible ritual forms and, thus, are formally susceptible to suppression. If they had acted individually, the gold men would have been like lemmings marching off a cliff, each of them effectively suppressed in turn. This observation brings up the second and non-trivial difference. A sufficiently large collective demonstration places the display beyond the control of the presiding officer and other convention officials. Thus, one reason for preferring a collective demonstration is that it is difficult, if not impossible, to suppress. Another apparently non-trivial difference between the two kinds of demonstration is that serially consecutive individual acts would, we would guess, require explicit coordination so that one and just one gold man was demonstrating at any one time. And we would guess that each of their displays would thus become a performance, more or closely inspected as much for what the individual chose to do and how well they did it as for the larger message that the act was originally intended to communicate. The combination of these two qualities, coordination and individual personalization, would probably strip most of these demonstrations of the kind of spontaneously exhibited passion that, in fact, was what they were supposed to demonstrate. We might even conjecture that most of the gold men, delegates and spectators alike, would have refused to expose themselves in this way, even if the convention officials had not suppressed the performances. They would have been too embarrassed.

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From this perspective, a collective display dramatically reduces personal inhibition, allowing individuals to demonstrate passion more or less unselfconsciously. A collective display also generalizes the content of the demonstration by obfuscating most of the personal idiosyncracies otherwise associated with the individual acts. This consideration also tends to make participation in a collective display evidence of commitment within the faction as well as an exhibition of passion to the other side. Put another way, once the only issue motivating a display is the one on which the faction is constituted, people who wish to be identified with that faction must either join the demonstration or risk their standing within their group. The mechanism in both cases is primarily local. For example, those gold men who served in large, hard-money delegations (such as New York) were much less inhibited than those in small delegations surrounded by the silver faction (such as Connecticut). They were also much more vulnerable to surveillance in that, if they did not demonstrate with their colleagues, they would have been immediately identified as laggards. For that reason, peer pressure to join in demonstrations was stronger within larger delegations that were committed to one side or the other on the monetary question. On the other hand, gold men isolated in large silver delegations, such as Ohio, would have been both much more inhibited by the presence of their fellow delegates and much less likely to be observed by comrades in their own faction. As a consequence, their displays were probably much more subdued. In short, although the collective impact of a demonstration was general, the micro-foundations of its emergence were unevenly distributed throughout the convention hall. These two effects, reduced inhibition and peer pressure, account for much of the release of sentiment that drives a passionate demonstration. In fact, such demonstrations often come to “feed on themselves” as individual acts lower inhibitions and increase peer pressure. Many of the demonstrations during the 1896 convention, including the gold eruption during the Michigan contest, exhibited such reinforcing trajectories, a vigorous start followed by a steadily increasing volume of sound and physical movement. Because participation in a demonstration is not limited to the voting delegates, the interpretation of a display is often complicated. In the 1896 Democratic National Convention, for example, spectators vastly outnumbered delegates and, as explained below, were far more visible to delegates than the delegates were to each other. Furthermore, they were, if anything, much less inhibited in expressing their preferences than were the delegates. In sum, spectators were more numerous, more visible, and more demonstratively active. But they could not vote and were largely self-selected in the sense that the spectators wanted to be in the hall and either had the money to buy a ticket or were given admission by someone who had access to tickets. Unlike the delegates who had been elected by their respective state delegations and thus represented the members of their state party, the spectators essentially represented no one but themselves.9 9

Although there are few clues as to the composition of the galleries, most of the spectators were probably drawn from the city of Chicago.

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When they demonstrated, spectators were probably motivated by some of the same considerations that moved delegates: a desire to shape the decisions made by the convention and an attempt to signal the future consequences if they were to lose.10 However, the local context within which they acted was very different. Other than the friends and associates who came with them to the Coliseum, most people in the galleries did not know each other and would not meet again after they went home. This meant that the social preconditions that either heighten inhibition or underpin peer pressure were largely absent. We might thus expect that spectators might be quite a bit more independent in their expression of preferences than were delegates, and, in fact, displays in the galleries were quite a bit more varied in form. They may have been more frequent (in the sense that the average spectator participated more often than the average delegate) because spectators had nothing to contribute to the shaping of convention decisions but their voice and physical movements. Thus, personal displays in the galleries may have been, in part, attempts to compensate for the lack of a formal vote. In any case, we can readily explain why many spectators engaged in demonstrations. What is more difficult to explain is why the delegates paid any attention to those displays. After all, it was unclear what demonstrations in the galleries might indicate in terms of party prospects or future developments. Part of the explanation for why the participation of spectators was taken seriously was that their involvement furthered the interests and designs of whichever side they supported. Noise was noise and frenetic movement was frenetic movement, and, thus, the general impression made by a demonstration was undoubtedly enhanced by activity in the galleries. Another part of the answer is that, however unrepresentative they might have been as a sampling of the national party’s rank and file, the spectators were still Democrats and, almost certainly, more active and experienced members of the party than the average Democrat. So there was at least some relevant information communicated by their displays. Reporters, for example, routinely cited these displays as persuasive evidence that the party was deeply divided by the monetary issue with people passionately committed to their respective positions. These, then, were some of the qualities and motivations underpinning collective demonstrations in the convention hall. In the rest of this chapter, I describe other forms of display and the reasons why particular groups chose one over another. I also consider the varying impact of different sites on the content of displays and the form they assumed. And, finally, I suggest some of the ways in which these sites became a “medium” through which passion and intention was communicated to others. I begin by describing the sites in which displays were made. 10

Not all displays of sentiment are sincere, of course. In some instances, delegates actually provoked reactions through false displays in order to examine the response. For example, on the train to Chicago, one of the Georgia delegates would lean out the window and cheer for “Tillman and Teller” as the train slowed to pass through villages and towns. As the reporter for the Atlanta Constitution wrote, “He wanted to see how they would take it. ‘I’m feeling the people,’ he says.” July 6, 1896.

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Sites Demonstrations of passion do not require a physical site. Letters, for example, can communicate intensely felt emotion without requiring that the writer occupy a particular physical position relative to that of the recipient. Similarly, oral communications can effectively communicate passion without the recipient knowing just where the speaker might be. For the same reason, individuals can demonstrate passion through visual and oral transmissions in which neither the sender nor the recipient knows the location of the other. All of these, however, are individual demonstrations of passion. Collective demonstrations are very different in that they must originate in a shared understanding of context and purpose, a shared understanding that can emerge only when individuals simultaneously recognize an opportunity to express passion and realize that others are reacting to the same opportunity. For that shared understanding to emerge, these individuals must share a physical site in which they may view and hear one another. Only then can a spontaneous demonstration erupt. The most important of all the sites in Chicago for such demonstrations was the Coliseum, where the convention was held. The Coliseum as a Physical Site When the Democrats gathered in Chicago in 1896, the Coliseum was only a couple of months old.11 Located at 63rd Street and Stoney Island, at what had once been the entrance to the fairgrounds of the 1892 Columbian Exposition, the Coliseum was billed as the “Largest Permanent Convention Hall in the World.” Some 700 feet long by 300 feet wide, the interior encompassed about five acres. Its walls were brick, while the trusses, girders, and columns supporting the roof were steel. Along all four sides were regularly spaced openings, each of them fifteen feet in width and filled with glass. These windows, along with tiered sections in the roof that ran the length of the building, admitted natural light.12 For the convention, the hall had been divided into two sections by a canvas wall composed of gigantic flags.13 In the smaller of these were located a large restaurant, telephone booths, refreshment stands, and a typewriter office.14 Although this section took up almost a third of the space in the Coliseum, none of the newspaper reporters seems to have filed a story emanating from this space; from their perspective, at least, we can surmise that almost nothing of interest occurred in this area. 11

12 13

14

Although intended to host national party conventions regularly, the 1896 Democratic National Convention was the only one ever held in the Coliseum; the building was destroyed by fire on December 24, 1897. Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, (Extra), July 7, 1896. One of these flags was one hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. From the roof of the hall six more flags were hung, each of them eighty feet long. In fact there were flags everywhere, totaling one hundred in number with none of them less than twelve feet in length. In addition, 20,000 yards of red, white, and blue bunting was strung throughout the hall and the coat of arms of every state and territory was displayed on the walls. New York Times, July 4, 1896. Boston Globe, July 8, 1896.

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The larger portion of the hall had been fitted out for the public sessions of the convention. This space was roughly 400 feet long by 250 wide (see Fig. 6.1). The dais was constructed at the center of one of the long sides of the building, facing west. At the rear of this platform, running along the wall, was a large section in which 700 seats were reserved for members of the national party committee and other dignitaries. In front of this section was the podium where the presiding officer and those who addressed the convention took up their positions. Slightly lower than the podium, stretching out on either side in front of the section reserved for the committee and honored guests, were 192 seats set apart for reporters. Another 240 seats were set aside for reporters in areas flanking the north and south ends of the convention floor. The convention floor, 125 by 50 feet, was divided into five sections by aisles and reserved for delegates. Each state was assigned its own area with the spaces arranged alphabetically. In the far right of the five sections, Alabama was seated at the front, nearest the podium. In back of that state was the Arkansas delegation, followed by California, Colorado, Connecticut, and so on until the Illinois delegation was reached. Then the seating arrangement jumped the aisle, placing Indiana at the rear of the second section with Iowa just in front and so on until Massachusetts occupied the position nearest the podium. The small contingents from the territories and the District of Columbia were given spaces at the very rear of the delegate sections (see Fig. 6.2).15 Excluding the aisles, each delegate had about six square feet of space, most of which was occupied by his chair. It was crowded on the convention floor.16 Despite the close quarters, the distance from the podium to the seat occupied by the most remote delegate was still 80 feet. Just to the rear of these sections, the seating arrangements were reproduced again for the alternates. Altogether 1,860 delegates and alternates occupied the level rectangular space facing the podium. One of the consequences attending this arrangement was that the gold and silver delegations were intermixed on the convention floor. While the far right section toward the north end of the hall was predominantly composed of silver delegations, the Connecticut and Delaware gold men occupied the center rows of the column. New Jersey and New Hampshire were similarly marooned in the center column, while the gold men in the huge New York and Pennsylvania delegations dominated the column just to the south. Observers looking down on the convention floor could, of course, locate each of the state delegations

15

16

Because the roll of the states proceeded alphabetically and, thus, up and down the rows on the floor of the convention, it was easy to follow the progress of the roll call spatially just by looking from one state standard to the next. In effect, spectators and reporters could “look ahead” to the next delegation even before the clerk called out the state’s name. In addition to reporting the overall dimensions of the space reserved for delegates, the Atlanta Constitution also stated that an aisle eight feet wide completely encompassed the area and that the four aisles between the columns were four feet wide. June 30, 1896. Also see Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896.

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figure 6.1. “The Chicago Coliseum, as arranged for the Democratic Convention, the largest permanent convention hall in the world. Size of building, 300 × 700. Seating capacity, 15,000.” Source: Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896.

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OREGON

OHIO

NEW YORK

MONTANA

PLATFORM

MICHIGAN

MINNESOTA

MISSISSIPPI

MISSOURI

NEBRASKA

NEW HAMPSHIRE

NEVADA

NEW JERSEY

NORTH CAROLINA

DIST. OF COLUMBIA

MASSACHUSETTS

MARYLAND

MAINE

LOUISIANA

KENTUCKY

KANSAS

IOWA

INDIANA

NEW MEXICO

ALASKA

ILLINOIS

FLORIDA

ALABAMA

ARKANSAS

CALIFORNIA

COLORADO

CONNECTICUT

DELAWARE

GEORGIA

IDAHO

ARIZONA

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figure 6.2. “Seating arrangement of delegations.” Source: Edward B. Dickinson, Official Proceedings of the 1896 Democratic National Convention (Logansport, Ind.: Wilson, Humphreys, 1896), front matter.

RHODE ISLAND

SOUTH CAROLINA

SOUTH DAKOTA

TENNESSEE

TEXAS

VERMONT

VIRGINIA

WEST VIRGINIA

WASHINGTON

WISCONSIN

NORTH DAKOTA

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UTAH

WYOMING

INDIAN TERR.

OKLAHOMA

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by finding its standard.17 When the silver and gold factions alternated their displays of sympathy for their respective leaders and principles, these observers noted the checkered pattern the seating arrangement produced. When the silver men stood and cheered, the gold men usually sat on their hands, and vice versa. This meant that, in some instances, these partisans were taking their cues as much from their opponents as their allies. For example, the Connecticut and Delaware gold men, almost surrounded by silver delegations from Colorado, Florida, and Georgia, were much more isolated from their allies than most of the other gold contingents. For them, displaying support for the cause was not so much an act of solidarity as an act of defiance because the immediate audience for their enthusiasm was primarily composed of their archenemies. Another consequence was that those delegations at the front of each column found it much easier to interact with those addressing the convention from the podium than did those to the rear of the delegate space. For example, Michigan was seated in the front row of the middle column, squarely in front of the podium. During debate over the unseating of the gold men in that delegation, Michigan’s proximity to the speakers produced a number of demonstrative responses (described in chapter 5). These were more or less public dialogues that would have been much more difficult to mount if the delegation had been located at the rear of the column. All of these arrangements gave the reporters the best position from which to observe the proceedings. For instance, many of them could look over their shoulders at whomever might be addressing the convention. Those nearest the podium could literally watch a speaker turn the pages of his text (as they did when Senator Jones was compelled to turn the annotated pages of the platform sideways in order to report late amendments). They also had ringside seats as they monitored the movements of individual delegates between the state delegations or recorded the displays of sentiment attending demonstrations for either gold or silver. Because the reporters were higher up, they were also in a position to spot possibly significant consultations between party leaders.18 The space reserved for delegates was surrounded on three sides by tiered galleries for public spectators that gradually ascended until they were higher than the podium or even the highest point in that area reserved for honored guests. The most remote corners in this “wilderness of seats” were almost 400 feet from the dais. Filling to capacity the 15,000 chairs that seemed to rise endlessly in “gentle terraces” from the convention floor, spectators outnumbered 17 18

The signs displayed the names of the states vertically on three sides of a triangle. Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1896. Although the delegate section was off-limits to anyone but an accredited delegate, some of the accounts filed by reporters indicate that at least some correspondents found their way onto the convention floor. Other accounts appear to contain second-hand information that helped the reporters interpret what they could see visually. Because the barrier between the sections reserved for delegates and that set aside for reporters was fairly narrow, direct communication between delegates and reporters was probably quite common during the proceedings.

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everyone else in the hall (including delegates, alternates, honored guests, and reporters) by about five to one.19 They were also in an asymmetric position with respect to the delegates in terms of public displays. Because of their tiered seats, spectators could easily view, albeit from a distance, both the delegates and other spectators throughout the hall (see Figs. 6.3 and 6.4). They were also easily seen by the delegates and these other spectators. But the delegates themselves had a better view of most of the spectators than they had of each other. This meant that, during a demonstration, the delegates could more readily watch those spectators who were throwing their hats and newspapers into the air than they could monitor their colleagues on the floor who might or might not be doing the same thing. If we consider these displays as signals that encourage others to join in their collective expression, the physical arrangement of the convention hall begins to appear a little odd. When, as in the case of the demonstration following Bryan’s speech, a massive display of sentiment is clearly changing the preferences of the delegates and spectators as to their favorite for the nomination, the preferences of the delegates are the only ones that are materially relevant to the party’s decision, because the spectators cannot vote. So, from the perspective of the delegates (and the managers of the respective campaigns), it is the display of sentiment by other delegates that matters, not the exhibitions of the spectators. But the spectators so outnumbered the delegates and alternates that the noise they could generate simply overwhelmed anything the official participants might produce. In terms of visual display, this overwhelming advantage was of course augmented by the fact that delegates could more easily see spectators than each other. Thus, if the intention of the convention organizers had been to facilitate the emergence of a collective opinion among the delegates, they would have inverted the arrangement of seats and the ratio of spectators to delegates. Two thousand spectators would have sat in the flat space just in front of the podium, while fifteen thousand delegates and alternates occupied the tiered seats arranged in amphitheater style around the southern, northern, and western walls of the convention hall. That this inverted design was not even conceived as an alternative to the traditional arrangement is, of course, not surprising. The purpose of a large number of spectators was to raise money for the party (if they paid for their tickets), to reward party loyalists (if the spectators received their tickets from party members who used the tickets as a form of patronage), and to demonstrate the popular appeal of the party (by allowing thousands of interested spectators to be drawn into the proceedings). Thus, the ratio of spectators to delegates was traditionally quite large. That meant, in turn, that only a thin band of delegates would inhabit the far reaches of the convention hall if the arrangement were inverted. Many of these delegates, in this era before microphones could bolster a speaker’s voice, would not have been able to hear the proceedings in this outer band up under the rafters. And because the proceedings were of greater 19

Detroit Free Press, July 8, 1896.

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figure 6.3. “Interior of the Coliseum, where the National Democratic Convention will be held.” Another view of the convention hall, this time from the south. The podium, which had not been constructed when this picture was drawn, would be on the right side of the central flat area where delegates would sit. Flanking the podium on both sides would be the sections reserved for newspaper reporters. Note the very low wall that would separate reporters from delegates. Source: Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896.

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figure 6.4. The artist was standing at the far northwest corner of the hall, looking toward the podium, which is just to the left of the center of the picture. Judging from this sample of the audience, fewer than one-tenth of the spectators were women. Source: Boston Globe, July 10, 1896.

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significance to the delegates (who, after all, were supposed to listen closely to debates attending the major decisions facing the party), placing them in this outer band would have seriously impaired the deliberative aspect of the convention. In terms of mutual consultation and informal exchange of views between delegates, distributing them throughout the far precincts of the hall would have been counter-productive as well.20 For all these reasons, the convention hall was traditionally arranged with the delegates in the flat area nearest the podium and spectators rising above them in the outer precincts.21 We might imagine that the delegates would have recognized the limited relevance of demonstrations by spectators in the galleries and more or less ignored them. But they in fact were quite attentive to what went on in these outer precincts. That delegates paid attention is strongly suggested by the complaints of the silver men that the gold faction had “packed” the galleries during the opening days of the convention.22 Another indication that demonstrative acts by the spectators were taken seriously was the interaction between delegates and people in the galleries. For example, the New York delegates acted almost as “cheerleaders” in encouraging spectators during the Michigan demonstration. 20

21

22

A better design would have placed all the delegates, alternates, and spectators in tiered galleries rising directly from the podium. This arrangement would have allowed the delegates to monitor each other closely while retaining their proximity to the dais. If this had been the actual design of the hall, we might expect that the delegates would have paid much less attention to the demonstrative acts and noise-making of the spectators as they monitored their fellows in the other state delegations. However, few public halls are arranged in this manner because, in most cases (such as a public lecture or concert), it is unimportant whether the official participants or spectators can monitor each other. What is important is that the maximum number of people can see and hear what transpires on the podium or stage at the front of the hall. Even if the convention organizers had anticipated that a different design – one placing the podium in a deep well before both delegates and spectators – would have facilitated party deliberations in the 1896 convention, they could not have found a public arena that could have been adapted for that purpose. The Chicago Coliseum, for example, was the largest such arena in the world and, in the actual event, filled to capacity. Even the Coliseum could not have been arranged in this way without literally raising the roof of the building. Even in the nineteenth century, the outcome of most political conventions was known well in advance of the actual event, and displays of passion were more or less epiphenomenal to what the delegates decided. For that reason, it was probably more important to put the delegates themselves on display (arrayed before the spectators as actors in an ostensible democratic performance) than to facilitate interaction among the delegates themselves. Thus the traditional arrangement with a flat convention floor and the systematic deployment of the state delegations, each with their identifying signposts, was often simply a material set enabling a pageant depicting the national, encompassing, and popular underpinnings of the party’s right to rule. For its part, the Illinois delegation asked that it be permitted to appoint some of the doorkeepers. Sergeant-at-Arms Martin refused the request, saying that he “knew what they wanted them for.” Atlanta Constitution and Chicago Tribune, July 2, 1896. If the Illinois delegation could have appointed a sympathetic doorkeeper who would look the other way when their friends came through the door, they wouldn’t have needed tickets in order to pack the gallery with spectators sympathetic to silver.

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The silver men were probably right when they claimed that a majority of spectators favored gold. However, the preponderance of hard-money sentiment was a result of the way in which tickets were allocated, not the product of a dark conspiracy to pack the hall. For example, private individuals who had contributed money to the “guaranty fund” that defrayed convention expenses were awarded 1,500 tickets in return. All of these donors resided in Chicago and, because Chicago was a hotbed of gold sentiment and because wealthy people generally favored hard money regardless of where they lived, these contributors almost certainly favored gold.23 These men had paid $34,000 for 680 tickets, which they were now offering to the general public for $50 apiece. If they sold all of those tickets at that price, they would just break even. In addition, the contributors had loaned $6,000 to the Democratic National Committee to defray the remaining expenses for holding the convention. For repaying this loan, 820 tickets were set aside by the national committee. If these brought in somewhere between seven and eight dollars apiece, then the committee would be able to repay the loan; anything more than that would produce a surplus for the party. Tickets personally used by the guarantors or other contributors were very likely to strengthen the gold presence in the galleries. If the tickets allotted to the guarantors and sold to the public were priced at anything more than five dollars or so, the purchasers would probably be disproportionately gold supporters as well.24 As a result, almost 8 percent of the hall would have been filled with gold supporters as a result of this distribution alone. The outgoing Democratic National Committee had a less marked gold bias, but there too the hard-money faction would have enjoyed an edge. Because most of the national party officials both favored gold and controlled the hiring of convention employees, most of those employed inside the convention probably had gold leanings as well. The strength of this sentiment, however, might very well have been weak. Most newspapers in the United States favored gold, and, as a result, most correspondents and reporters were probably hard-money men as well. However, because there is little or no evidence that they personally joined in demonstrations, we might reasonably assume they had little impact on collective displays of sentiment. The Grand Army of the Republic, the association of Union veterans that was one of the most influential organizations in late nineteenthcentury national politics, was given five hundred tickets. Because the GAR was far stronger in northern and eastern regions dominated by gold sentiment, a small majority of the spectators admitted on their tickets may have favored hard money as well. Those admitted to the galleries because they purchased tickets 23

24

For the contributors to the guaranty fund, see Chicago Tribune, July 3, 1896. For occupations of the contributors, see Lakeside Annual Directory of the City of Chicago (Chicago: Chicago Directory Company, 1897). The fifty-dollar price appears to have held up through much of the period preceding the convention. For a report saying that “nothing can be done” with the hundreds of letters requesting a discount from this price, see Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. The New York Times, however, reported that on opening day scalpers just outside the Coliseum had a few tickets for sale at ten dollars apiece. July 8, 1896.

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from the party were probably disproportionately drawn from Chicago and, in addition, had both the money and time to attend the proceedings. There should have been a hard-money bias among them for these reasons, but we have no way of knowing how strong it might have been. The only category within which the silver men would have had an edge would have been in the distribution of tickets to the delegates. There they probably held a 2-to-1 edge, the same size as the majority they enjoyed on the convention floor. Excluding newspaper reporters and staff, a rough estimate of sentiment in the galleries might place the proportion of gold spectators at somewhere just over 50 percent. But this probably began to fall off after the opening day of the convention, so that by the time the platform was debated on the third day the silver men probably dominated the gallery. The Coliseum as a Ritual Site The purpose of holding the Democratic National Convention was, of course, to name a presidential ticket and to construct a party platform on which that ticket would stand. Even if a candidate had sewn up the nomination before the delegates gathered in Chicago and even if no issues had divided the party, the decisions through which a candidate was named and the platform was adopted would have been subject to highly ritualized procedures in which the formal criteria for recording votes and recognizing motions were precisely obeyed. That these decisions were, in fact, highly contested in no way lessened the ritualized manner in which they were made. One of the criteria that governed these rituals was that they be made in full view and with the full participation of the party delegates. That requirement presumed something like the convention hall as a necessary arena and, in turn, transformed the Coliseum into a ritual site for the conduct of the proceedings. Several kinds of activities took place within the hall when the convention was in session. The most formal were composed of the actions and decisions that the party would consider binding. These activities included the consideration of parliamentary motions that organized the convention and the votes through which the party named candidates and adopted the platform. These were highly ritualized. Slightly less formal in nature were the addresses made to the convention by speakers who had been recognized for that purpose. Some of these speeches nominated men as candidates for the presidential nomination, and others were made in support of particular planks in the party platform. These tended to be protected by the presiding officer in the sense that the chairman at least attempted to suppress disruptive acts. Impromptu addresses were not given the same degree of protection because maintaining ritual formalities when the speaker was merely filling time during a lull in the proceedings was not a high priority. Disruptions of these activities came in two forms. One of these involved the inadvertent commotion that arose when delegates and spectators were simply not interested in the proceedings. While irritating to whomever might be

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speaking at the time and annoying to the presiding officer, boredom does not normally reveal the passionate commitments of those who are simply not paying attention. If anything, restlessness reveals the absence of passion as delegates or spectators inadvertently manifest that they care little or nothing for the person or subject before the convention at that moment. These moments are only significant as a foil for those occasions in which the passionate demonstrations did erupt. The second kind of disruption took the form of “demonstrative acts” in which demonstrators, ritually empowered officials, and observers were all paying very close attention to the proceedings. Such acts are ritually enabled in the sense that they take on much of their meaning from the procedural context in which they are made. In fact, because they are usually inarticulate exhibitions of noise and physical movement, demonstrative acts require a ritual setting as a necessary backdrop for understanding their intent. As discussed earlier, demonstrative acts are thus parasitic on the ritual setting in which they take place. They are also formally prohibited by that ritual setting and should, if it lies within the power of the presiding officer to do so, be suppressed. And for that reason they demonstrate passion by the sheer willingness to transgress upon the ritual requirements of that setting, so much so that the intensity with which passion is exhibited is highly correlated with the degree of ritual formality in the setting in which the demonstration occurs. All of which means, as a matter of course, that the most intense demonstrations occurred within the convention hall during formal proceedings. There were many demonstrations during the 1896 Democratic National Convention. The most disruptive occurred during the most ritually protected and most substantively significant portions of the proceedings (see Table 6.1).25 For example, four of the most intense demonstrations occurred during the nomination of candidates or balloting on the nomination itself (see chapter 8). Four more took place during debate on the silver plank in the party platform (see chapter 7). One disrupted the balloting during the roll call deciding the contest over the Michigan delegation (see chapter 5). The last followed the

25

These ten demonstrations were selected after a close reading of the newspaper accounts and the official convention record, as well as contextual interpretation of what was described in those accounts. For example, newspaper correspondents often said something like, “Then occurred what was the most remarkable demonstration thus far in the convention.” This statement could be used to compare that demonstration with those that preceded it but, of course, said nothing about the relative intensity of demonstrations that came after that point in the proceedings. The most objective criteria might have been the amount of time consumed by a demonstration, because the intensity of the demonstration tended to be self-sustaining. Weak displays tended to peter out after a few minutes, while those in which the walls shook often repeatedly renewed themselves. However, the most intense demonstrations were, perhaps unsurprisingly, those in which reporters and other observers simply forgot to check their watches. Thus, while there is otherwise much agreement across observers on what transpired during a demonstration, there is often little agreement on how much time elapsed.

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William Jennings Bryan, after he extends his arms in the form of a crucifix At the conclusion of his address to the convention, Hal Lewis of Georgia finally names Bryan as a candidate Bryan takes the lead, outpolling Richard Bland for the first time during the balloting. This demonstration does not really end until after the convention celebrates his nomination following the fifth and final ballot Hill is approaching the podium as the first to speak in support of the minority gold plank The largest of all the state delegations, New York casts 72 votes in favor of seating the gold delegates in the Michigan contest Tillman provokes hisses from the gold delegates and cheers from the silver men, sometimes alternately and sometimes simultaneously A “Woman in White” in the spectator gallery frantically waves flags and cheers for Boies and subsequently parades through the delegate section Organized demonstration by the Bland campaign following a speech by Senator George Vest naming him as Missouri’s candidate Jones interrupts the proceedings in order to distance the silver men from Tillman’s speech, particularly with reference to “sectionalism” Formal announcement of the results of the balloting; Daniel, who was the silver candidate, defeated Hill, the favorite of the gold men

1) At the conclusion of Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech 2) After Bryan is placed in nomination as a candidate

180

and Sources: Compiled from descriptions of the convention proceedings in newspaper accounts. These are the ten occasions in which noise making and physical displays by delegates and spectators most disrupted the course of convention deliberations and are listed in declining order of their magnitude.

∗ Notes

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4) Just before Senator David Hill spoke in the platform debate 5) After the New York delegation votes “no” on Michigan contest 6) Throughout Senator Ben Tillman’s speech in the platform debate 7) After Horace Boies is placed in nomination as a candidate 8) After Richard Bland is placed in nomination as a candidate 9) During Senator James Jones’s speech in the platform debate 10) The election of Senator John Daniel as temporary chairman

3) Announcement of the results of the fourth vote on nomination

Focal Point of Attention

When the Demonstration Took Place

table 6.1. The Ten Most Notable Demonstrations during the 1896 Democratic National Convention∗

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announcement of the election of Senator Daniel of Virginia as temporary chairman on the opening day of the convention (see chapter 3).26 In addition to the highly ritualized situations in which they occurred, all of these demonstrations involved displays of commitment to either one of the monetary metals or one of the presidential candidates. Only three demonstrations clearly favored gold: the one that accompanied Hill to the podium during the platform debate, the competing displays that almost continually disrupted Tillman’s speech, and the demonstration following New York’s vote in the Michigan contest. All ten demonstrations had the potential for changing the preferences of men on the other side of the question. But the accounts filed by reporters and the interviews given by delegates and spectators strongly suggest that seven of the ten changed very few votes. For example, when Bryan gave his “Cross of Gold” speech in support of the silver plank in the party platform, he probably changed no more than two or three of the 300 or so gold votes then in the convention. But the three exceptions where preferences were clearly changed all involved Bryan as a potential candidate for the nomination. The eruption following the “Cross of Gold” speech is the most interesting of these because few, if any, delegates and spectators anticipated that Bryan’s performance would have that effect. The other two, one coming after his name was placed in nomination and another when he took the lead in the balloting, were much more driven by the intention of the participants; by then, they knew they wanted to demonstrate their emotional commitment to Bryan to the other delegates because that would strengthen his viability as a potential nominee. While few of these demonstrations actually changed preferences, they were still extremely rich in terms of what they communicated about the commitments of the participants.27 No one could have attended the proceedings in 26

27

Slightly less intense than those on this list was the extended disruption that accompanied B. W. Marston’s speech favoring Daniel’s election. Marston, it might be remembered, was the Louisiana delegate who returned to the water pitcher so often that the delegates and spectators began to jeer and hoot (see chapter 3). Although very disruptive, this display was almost devoid of passion; whatever they might have been exhibiting, the spectators and delegates were clearly not demonstrating emotional feeling toward a presidential candidate or a formal decision before the convention. The intent of the demonstration involving the “Woman in White” (see chapter 8) was also a little ambivalent. On the one hand, the demonstration occurred following a speech nominating Horace Boies as a presidential candidate, and the woman who sparked the demonstration was clearly an emotionally committed Boies partisan. The Boies campaign thus eagerly harnessed the display as an exhibition of enthusiasm for their man. However, the reporters persuasively attributed at least some of that enthusiasm to a “chivalrous,” if not chauvinistic, response to an attractive young woman who had become rather uninhibited in the heat of the moment. In that sense, the demonstration was rather irrelevant to the Iowa candidate’s prospects. While no one could have anticipated how many or what kind of demonstrations were going to erupt, the architect who supervised the physical construction of the hall rejected a shipment of some 900 chairs because they were so “frail” they “would not hold some of the stout delegates” if they should become “enthusiastic.” As he explained to a New York Times correspondent, “What I want . . . are solid, oak-bottomed chairs, that a three-hundred-pound man can jump on

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the Coliseum without becoming aware of the intense passions aroused by the struggle between silver and gold and that, as a consequence, the national party was irretrievably dividing along that fault line.28 In fact, because these demonstrations could have occurred nowhere else in time and space, the Coliseum was the best place an observer could gather this information. Hotels as Sites Although the Coliseum was far and away the most significant site for demonstrations, the hotels that put up delegates, spectators, and campaign boosters also became venues within which passion and commitment were on display. Despite the fact that the hotels in the center of Chicago’s business district were some seven miles from the convention hall, the vast majority of the delegates preferred to lodge there rather than in establishments much closer to the Coliseum. The fastest way to make the trip between the business district and the convention hall was on one of the express trains operated by the Illinois Central Railroad. This route normally took about twelve minutes and was preferred by most of the delegates and spectators.29 For those who traveled on the Alley elevated commuter train, the journey took about half an hour. The cable cars were even slower. Those who had the money and time to spare could rent a one-horse hansom cab or share a larger carriage.30 There were very important differences between the convention hall and the hotels as sites for demonstrations. The most important was that nothing was ritually decided in the hotels or the streets surrounding them. Although party committees met in some of the parlors and there constructed reports that were later presented to the convention, these panels were not capable of deciding anything for the party as a whole. Similarly, the gold and silver men plotted their respective strategies in restaurants and hotel rooms, but these plans were almost always executed in the convention. There were certainly rituals and practices in both committee meetings and party caucuses, but these seldom had the intensity that would later accompany proceedings on the convention floor. Nowhere was there a ritual foil against which a demonstration could passionately direct its protest. Another major difference was that the hotels and streets presented numerous venues in which people could gather, and so many and varied were these venues that none of them ever drew more than a fraction of those who otherwise attended the convention. That meant that, unlike the convention hall, none of

28

29 30

all day without weakening them.” July 4, 1896. For a picture of some of these chairs, including delegates standing on them as Bryan was carried back to the convention floor after his “Cross of Gold” speech, see Harper’s Weekly, July 11, 1896, p. 701. Seen from this perspective, the climactic day was clearly July 2 when the platform debate and speeches nominating the candidates sparked seven of the ten most disruptive demonstrations. The first, second, and fourth days of the convention, with only one apiece, were comparatively tame. New York Times, July 9, 1896. Boston Globe, (Extra), July 6, 8, 1896.

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the demonstrations that took place in the hotel district was ever immediately shared by more than small proportion of those they were intended to influence. To overcome this problem, those who wanted to mount demonstrations often moved their displays around the streets, pushed them into hotel lobbies, and invaded parlors where the individual states had made their headquarters. They would repeat their demonstrations over and over again in all these different places. And that meant they had none of the spontaneity of the mass eruptions that took place in the convention hall. In fact, they were so routinized that most were simply performances coordinated and subsidized by the campaigns associated with one of the presidential possibilities. Hotels as Headquarters Campaign organizations, state delegations, and monetary advocates also used hotels in order to construct stationary sites for their displays. These sites were almost invariably called “headquarters” even though they were more or less exclusively devoted to displays of sentiment (as opposed to central command of an activity). By a process both mysterious (because uncoordinated) and natural (because agglomeration had synergistic effects for both monetary factions), some of the major hotels emerged as centers for either silver or gold. The Sherman House, for example, was far and away the most important site for the silver men (see Table 6.2). Also aligned with silver was the Briggs House, although this hotel ran a distant second. On the gold side, the Auditorium was the center of activity, with the opulent Richelieu Hotel somewhat behind in importance.31 Presiding over both wings of the party was the vast and neutrally aligned Palmer House. The Palmer House was a truly magnificent building. Constructed between 1871 and 1873, the hotel boasted 708 rooms, which could accommodate up to 2,400 guests. Given the predilection of delegates and others attending the convention to double up in the rooms, the Palmer House may have held several hundred more people than this maximum during the convention. The building extended some 254 feet along State Street, 250 along Monroe, and 131 on Wabash. Faced with gray sandstone, the outside walls alone contained over 15,000,000 bricks. The main office was “wainscoted everywhere with Italian marble, studded with panels of remarkably rich rose brocatello marble.” The grand staircase was constructed of “Carrara marble, springing from the ground to the uppermost floor.” Each of the landings was composed of a block weighing more than two and a half tons. All of the parlors and common areas on the lower floors were “furnished with satin or velvet upholstery, Wilton or moquette carpets, and have elegantly carved mantels on which stand clocks of bronze, 31

The gold faction tended to select more luxurious and expensive hotels, while the silver men favored more modest but still quite respectable establishments. For descriptions of the hotels, see John J. Flinn, Chicago: A History, an Encyclopedia, and a Guide (Chicago: Flinn & Sheppard, 1891), pp. 318–19, 22–23. We might also note that the gold men probably selected the Auditorium because it housed a large theater used to stage the gold rally described in chapter 4.

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table 6.2. Hotel Accommodations for State Delegations and Campaign Headquarters State Delegation

Hotel

Alabama Arkansas California Colorado Connecticut Delaware Florida Georgia

Palmer House Sherman House Great Northern Palmer House Palmer House Auditorium Annex Sherman House Palmer House (slept at the Leland Hotel) Palmer House Sherman House Palmer House (Parlor N) Palmer House Leland Hotel Auditorium Annex Palmer House Palmer House Auditorium Wellington Palmer House Palmer House Palmer House Auditorium Annex Clifton House Palmer House Auditorium Annex Palmer House (Parlor S) and Auditorium Annex Auditorium Annex Palmer House Victoria Palmer House (Parlor D) Windsor Hotel Palmer House Palmer House Auditorium Annex Sherman House Palmer House Sherman House Palmer House Palmer House Palmer House Palmer House Palmer House Auditorium Annex Palmer House (Egyptian Parlor) Palmer House

Idaho Illinois Indiana Iowa Kansas Kentucky Louisiana Maine Maryland Massachusetts Michigan Minnesota Mississippi Missouri Nebraska New Hampshire New Jersey New York New York (Tammany) North Carolina North Dakota Ohio Oklahoma Oregon Pennsylvania Rhode Island South Carolina South Dakota Tennessee Texas Utah Vermont Virginia Washington West Virginia Wisconsin Wyoming

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Other Organizations

Hotel

Associated Press (and newspapermen generally) Boston Reform Club Claude Matthews Club of Indianapolis Cook County Gold Democrats Democratic Honest Money League Democratic National Committee Duckworth Club of Cincinnati Illinois Sound Money Democrats Illinois State Central Committee Indiana “Sound Money Democrats” Knights of Labor National Business Men’s League National Committee of the American Silver Party National Democratic Bimetallic League New York Reform Club Populist National Committee Richard Bland Marching Club of St. Louis Samuel Randall Club of Pittsburgh Samuel Randall Club of Philadelphia Young Men’s Kentucky Democratic Club

Great Northern Hotel Richelieu Hotel Victoria Hotel Richelieu Hotel Richelieu Hotel Palmer House Tremont House Palmer House (club room) Sherman House Palmer House Sherman House Richelieu Hotel Briggs House Sherman House Richelieu Hotel (?) Briggs House Southern Hotel Wellington Tremont Hotel Leland Hotel

Notes: Campagin sites: Bland campaign: Auditorium (main headquarters), Auditorium Annex (Club Room A), Sherman House, and Palmer House; Boies campaign: Palmer House (Iowa headquarters); Bryan campaign: Clifton House (Nebraska headquarters); Matthews campaign: Palmer House (Indiana headquarters); McLean campaign: Palmer House (Ohio headquarters); Pennoyer campaign: Palmer House (Oregon headquarters, Room 26). The Teller campaign never opened a headquarters. The Georgia delegation headquarters was in the Auditorium, while the delegation stayed at the Leland Hotel. The Auditorium and the Auditorium Annex were two separate buildings connected by a tunnel and operated by the same establishment. Reporters often distinguished between them when writing their accounts but in some cases apparently conflated both of them under the title “Auditorium.” Sources: Chicago Tribune, June 20, 25, 28, July 1, 3–6, 1896; New York Times, June 30, July 1, 2, 5, 6, 1896; Boston Globe, July 2–4, 6, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 6, 1896; Atlanta Constitution, June 23, 27, July 1, 4, 1896.

gilt, or ormolu, with other ornaments to match.” Connected to the hotel were a bathhouse and barber shop, which reputedly “surpass[ed] anything of the kind in the United States, if not the world.” Many of the delegates who lodged at the Palmer House would never again experience such luxurious surroundings (see Fig. 6.5).32 The headquarters for the campaigns were carefully constructed sets in which elaborate decorations and a well-furnished bar demonstrated financial backing. And because the very presence of people demonstrated favorable sentiment toward the candidate, every campaign wanted a crowded headquarters, even if 32

George E. Moran, Moran’s Dictionary of Chicago (Chicago: George E. Moran, 1897), pp. 157–58.

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figure 6.5. “Scene there before the meeting of the National Committee yesterday – in the crowd of silver men are seen such well-known leaders as Senator Jones of Arkansas, Senator Daniel of Virginia, Secretary of State “Buck” Hinrichsen of Illinois, Governor Altgeld of Illinois, Silver-Tongued Bailey of Texas, our own Pat Walsh, and other well-known workers in the silver cause.” Source: Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 1896.

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the people came there only because the refreshments were free. The most pretentious display was mounted by the Bland campaign, which opened its main headquarters in the Auditorium, placed a satellite headquarters across the street in the Auditorium Annex, and set up two more in the Sherman House and the Palmer House (see Fig. 6.6). No other campaign had more than one headquarters. The Boies, Matthews, and McLean organizations put their centers in the Palmer House, combining them in each case with the headquarters of their state delegation.33 Trailing presidential possibilities were located elsewhere. The Bryan campaign, such as it was, made its headquarters in Rooms 6 and 7 of the Clifton House, which were also occupied by his Nebraska delegation. On the outside wall of the hotel was a sign designating the Clifton as the “Nebraska Democratic Headquarters.” Inside a “draped photograph” of Bryan hung over the hotel desk but was outnumbered by lithographs of Bland and Boies. The campaign headquarters for Governor Pennoyer of Oregon was even less imposing. Although located in the Palmer House and thus nearer the center of activity, Room 26 was discovered to be “deserted all day long” when a correspondent for the Chicago Tribune tried to locate the Oregon delegates who were directing his campaign. They had put up lithographs of the governor along the “south arch of the rotunda” in one of the main sections of the hotel, but there was nothing more to suggest that he was even a candidate.34 In addition to groups affiliated with one of the candidates, contingents of hard- and soft-money partisans also traveled to Chicago. For example, the New York Times reported that 250 members of the St. Louis Merchants’ Exchange planned to come to Chicago to protest against the anticipated endorsement of free silver. Commercial exchanges in Atlanta, Galveston, Houston, Kansas City, Memphis, Mobile, Omaha, and New Orleans also promised to send groups to the convention.35 The National Business Men’s League established a headquarters in the Richelieu Hotel in the expectation that three or four thousand of its members would appear as lobbyists for gold. An allied group, the Sound Money League, set up shop in the Palmer House. The gold delegates themselves gathered in one of the Palmer House Club Rooms, courtesy of the hard-money wing of the party in Chicago. But the most popular meeting place for the gold faction was probably the headquarters of the New York State delegation in the same hotel.36 Like New York, many of the state delegations set up their own headquarters. For the smaller states, these seem to have been little more than the central room of a suite in which the 33 34 35

36

For a picture of the entrance to the “Boies Head-Quarters,” with an electric sign beaming the former governor’s name, see Harper’s Weekly illustrations, July 11, 1896, p. 701. July 5, 1896. New York Times, June 26, 1896. All of these cities were in silver states, and the lobbying by their merchants had no effect whatsoever on the stand taken by their state delegations. In fact, aside from the announcement of their intention to attend the convention, newspaper stories never again mentioned these contingents of businessmen. Boston Globe, July 1, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 1, 4–6, 1896.

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figure 6.6. This picture was drawn four or five days before the convention opened and not much was happening. Source: Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1896.

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delegates slept. The larger states hired a parlor or, in some cases, several parlors for their receptions. In many cases, the decorations immediately communicated the preferences of the delegation. Colorado, for example, hung a “large canvas banner” on the outside wall of its headquarters declaring, “We will pay 100 cents in gold for 50-cent American standard silver dollars.”37 Some of the larger national newspapers also opened up offices in or close by the hotels. The New York Journal may have had the largest public presence in a storefront next to the Palmer House. Next door to the Journal was the public office of the Cincinnati Enquirer with “a large electric sign” adorning its storefront. Because the Enquirer was owned by John McLean, Ohio’s favorite son for the presidential nomination, its large public presence was probably motivated by political as well as commercial concerns. Smaller offices served the New York World at the Auditorium and the New York Herald at the Palmer House.38 By July 4, three days before the convention would open, traffic in the parlors was already so heavy that the hotels had put down canvas to protect their carpets, and “articles which promised to interfere with the movements of the crowd” were put into storage. By that time, banners decorated all of the great hotels with “every available wall space” plastered with lithographs of the leading candidates.39 In fact, with lithographs “decorating every nook and corner” of the Palmer House, the Bland and Boies campaigns were already fighting over prime locations. One of these was “the beak of the American eagle at the foot of the stairs overlooking the foyer,” from which each side wanted to hang a portrait of their favorite. After “a war of words” on the evening of July 1, the Bland men seem to have won that skirmish.40 The streets were used by marching clubs and bands to boost their candidates, but politically visible displays were usually limited to areas immediately adjacent to the leading hotels. The neighborhood surrounding the Coliseum was infrequently visited by these organized demonstrations because delegates and spectators usually moved directly from their trains to the hall without tarrying on the streets. However, the Coliseum was located in a prohibition district, and thirsty delegates and spectators could buy only “weak lemonade and other mild drinks” inside the convention hall.41 Those who wanted stronger liquids were 37

38 39

40 41

The gold men maintained that free silver would reduce the value of the American dollar to the equivalent of fifty cents against gold by forcing the United States off the gold standard. The exchange rather impishly offered on this banner implied that, when no one came to exchange silver dollars for gold, people so preferred silver that they would never trade it for the yellow metal. Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. Boston Globe, July 5, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. The first lithographs in Chicago were put up by the Boies campaign in the Palmer House on June 27. Chicago Tribune, June 28, 1896. Boston Globe, July 3, 1896. For other altercations, see Chicago Tribune, July 2, 3, 1896. Smoking was also prohibited, although this was probably to reduce the fire hazard as opposed to health concerns. Some 250 policemen were assigned the task of preserving order in the hall, including enforcement of this prohibition. New York Times, July 5, 1896.

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forced to go outside and patronize nearby “empty stores” misleadingly piled with boxes reaching nearly to the ceiling. A man stands on the street in front of each store and whispers to each passer-by that there is a bar inside. Behind the barricade can be found liquid refreshment that is not always cool, but it is wet.

The Chicago police tolerated these “blind pigs” and business was brisk.42 Targets of Displays The way in which sentiment was displayed depended on the nature of the decision that demonstrators were trying to influence, on the resources they had at their command, and on their role within the ritualized proceedings taking place in the convention hall. The most important policy decision facing the convention, for example, was adoption of the monetary plank in the national party platform. In that case, the certainty that silver would prevail did not prevent the delegates from displaying their preferences at almost every opportunity. During the convention deliberations on the selection of a temporary and then a permanent chairman, the decisions on contesting delegations, and adoption of a platform, the delegates cheered, stomped their feet, clapped, and waved umbrellas and hats whenever their monetary preference was mentioned. On the soft-money side, the phrase “16 to 1” or references to the “Dollar of the Daddies” usually sparked a demonstration. For the gold faction, the most common cues were Senator David Hill of New York and the casting of votes by the New York State delegation. For example, cries of “Hill! Hill!” filled the hall whenever a break in the proceedings permitted impromptu speeches by leading Democrats. However, once the platform had been decided and the convention had moved on to the selection of nominee, spontaneous demonstrations in support of one or the other of the metals almost entirely ceased. There was a striking asymmetry between the symbols to which the silver and gold factions responded. The silver men primarily relied on explicit references to their favored policy, and the connection between the symbol and their attitude was often direct and unmistakable. The gold men, however, favored personalized representations of their favored policy, particularly the ubiquitous shouts of “Hill!” Because no one ever cried out “Gold!” in the convention hall or hotel corridors, whereas many called out the New York senator’s name, there seemed to be an almost unconscious but universal recognition that “Hill” was the verbal symbol to be used to reference the yellow metal. We could attribute this symbolic shift from policy to person to instrumental motivations, in that Senator Hill was more far more popular among the silver delegates than the policy he advocated. Thus the gold faction, in crying out his name, merely put its best symbolic foot forward. But this interpretation would 42

New York Times, July 8, 9, 1896.

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probably require a collective decision on the part of the gold faction; otherwise, some of the hard-money men would still have yelled out “gold.” If we include the sociological setting in which displays were made, most particularly the counter-demonstrations of the silver faction to a gold symbol, we can detect something a little different at work. When gold attitudes were displayed in an unvarnished form, the usual reaction of the silver men was to hiss, boo, and otherwise attack the symbolization. However, Senator Hill was almost immune to such counter-demonstrations. Given that his stature in the party rested on many things, only one of which was his support of the gold standard, the silver men did not publicly attack him. Thus, the gold men probably learned rapidly that “Hill!” was a way to demonstrate gold attitudes such that the silver men would not respond.43 Trial and error thus selected “Hill!” over “Gold!” as the hard-money faction’s favorite symbol.44 The other important decision facing the convention was, of course, the selection of a presidential candidate. While few of the demonstrations for gold and silver involved demonstrators who were paid for their performances, the opposite was true of presidential campaigns. While spokesmen for the various candidates took advantage of spontaneous events that favored their man, they also were in the business of producing public displays of sentiment. Thousands upon thousands of men, for example, made the trek to Chicago in order to play in bands in the hotels and the convention hall, march about the streets as members of clubs, hang posters almost anywhere delegates might be expected to see them, and staff headquarters in which both loyalists and others sought refreshment and sociability. Many of these men were volunteers; many more were paid for their work. In between these two extremes was a third, perhaps the largest category of unpaid men for whom part or all of their expenses were defrayed; these men received a free or partially compensated trip to Chicago in return for which they were expected to support the candidate actively.45 The outside observer had little way of knowing into which category the men carrying on these activities fell. In addition to their transportation and room and board, many of these men wore clothing paid for by the respective campaigns. For example, the Bland campaign brought nine hundred men from St. Louis who were outfitted in “light crash suits,” matching white caps “with a blue band around it bearing the word Bland stamped in silver letters,” “Congo walking sticks,” and “red, white, and blue badges with Bland medallions” that hung from the shoulder. They became a more than familiar sight and sound, particularly their rendition 43

44

45

In the reverse case, trial and error probably selected “16 to 1” over, for example, “Altgeld” on the silver side because the gold men, particularly among the spectators in the galleries, would not have been at all inhibited from attacking the Illinois governor. Lynn Hunt offers a similar interpretation of the spontaneous emergence of political symbols in her Politics, Culture, and Class in the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), chapter 2. For example, Bland clubs paid their own transportation, but the campaign negotiated a discount of about a third with the railroads. Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896.

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of “Dixie,” which “rang throughout the hotels, broke in upon caucuses, echoed over all the streets and invaded the convention.”46 The Bland campaign had by far the largest organization in Chicago. With thousands of men organized into marching clubs and brass bands, the campaign clearly demonstrated that Bland was personally very popular in his home state and had also attracted substantial financial backing for his candidacy.47 John McLean also brought “several thousand men” from Ohio “to shout for democracy” and support his candidacy.48 For its part, the Boies campaign on July 3 announced that somewhere between eight and ten thousand Iowa boosters were expected to be in Chicago before the convention started.49 Beyond demonstrating general viability (in the sense that someone with a large organization should be considered a serious candidate for the nomination), most delegates probably discounted, perhaps heavily, the public displays put on by bands and marching clubs. Like buttons and posters, they were part of the “hoopla” of a convention. Once perfunctorily noted and enjoyed, they become a mere backdrop to the more serious work of evaluating the attractiveness of the various candidates for the nomination. Much more significant were those displays in which the demonstrator actually had a vote (i.e., a delegate) and the preferences that were displayed were unlikely to change. With respect to these criteria, the most reliable demonstrations were those in which the delegate was bound by the instructions of a state delegation. Such preferences were extremely likely to be translated into votes for the candidate, particularly during the early balloting. However, such instructions did not mean that the bound delegates personally favored the candidate. When the Texas convention pledged the delegation to Bland, for example, former Governor James Hogg, one of the at-large delegates, declared that the instructions “would have no more effect on the Chicago delegation than the sniffs of a sand-hill ’possum.”50 When the Texas delegation arrived in Chicago, Senator Horace Chilton said that the “instructions of the State convention were to vote for Mr. Bland in case we should find on our arrival here that he was the most available man. We have not yet canvassed the situation, but the

46 47

48 49

50

Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896. On the organization of the Missouri contingents sent to boost Bland at the convention, see Chicago Tribune, June 30, July 5, 6, 1896. The campaign expected 2,000 men from St. Louis, 600 from Kansas City, 300 from Springfield, and another 600 from the “Ozark Mountains,” for a total of 3,300 from Missouri alone. For even higher estimates of the number of men who would work for Bland, see the Boston Globe (Extra), July 1, 6, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 4, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1896. Although this estimate was probably known to be much too large even when it was announced, Boies did have a lot of supporters in Chicago during the convention. For the organization and transportation of Boies boosters, see Chicago Tribune, June 30, July 3, 5, 1896. This was apparently a paraphrase of Hogg’s statement. Chicago Tribune, June 25, 1896.

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probabilities are that the delegation will support him.” And so Texas did, up until the last ballot that gave Bryan the nomination.51 Pivotal Delegations and Leaders With a torrent of information coming in, much of it of dubious quality and the remainder often uselessly vague, most observers focused on a few large state delegations as harbingers of convention sentiment. From this perspective, the most important delegation was Illinois, controlled by Governor John Peter Altgeld. With forty-eight delegates, Illinois was the largest contingent committed to silver and thus loomed as the critical delegation in the race for the nomination. The pivotal position of the state was enhanced by the fact that Altgeld was foreign-born, having emigrated from Germany when he was an infant. Because he was ineligible, he could harbor no presidential ambitions himself and was thus a free agent. For these reasons, any early commitment by Illinois to one of the candidates would probably be interpreted both as an objective “reading” of the likelihood that they would be nominated and a major step in that direction in terms of total votes. As a consequence, Altgeld’s every move was closely monitored by the campaign organizations, delegates, and newspaper reporters (see Fig. 6.7). On July 3, for example, the Boston Globe reported mutually contradictory rumors that Altgeld favored Boies, Bland, Stevenson, and Teller, respectively.52 However, three days later a caucus of the Illinois delegation ended this speculation by committing all of its forty-eight votes, under the unit rule, to Bland. This endorsement led one reporter to write that “the wave which is rapidly setting in the direction of the old free coinage advocate” was so strong that “it will require something of a cyclone to disturb him.”53 However, the Illinois endorsement may have marked the high point of the Bland boom, because it made little headway after that. The other pivotal state delegation was Ohio, which, with forty-six votes, was only slightly smaller. Led by John McLean and also pledged under the unit rule to his presidential candidacy, Ohio was not as free to play the field as Illinois. However, most observers felt that McLean’s support for the nomination was more or less confined to his home state delegation and that McLean himself was well aware that his prospects were limited. A very wealthy man and a long-time supporter of silver, McLean was widely viewed as someone who could easily balance the ticket for almost any of the other silver candidates. His money would help to bankroll the campaign, and Ohio, along with Illinois, promised to be one of the pivotal states in the general election. In this 51 52 53

Hogg, however, continued to protest the endorsement. Chicago Tribune, June 25, July 6, 7, 1896. July 4, 1896. Also see the July 3 issue. Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. For a brief account of the way in which Illinois made this endorsement, also see chapter 8.

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figure 6.7. Many observers expected Governor John Altgeld of Illinois, here depicted as an Oriental despot, to be the kingmaker of the convention. The leading silver candidates for the nomination are paying homage to the governor, but he is mesmerized by free silver slogans he has inhaled from a hooka. Source: Boston Globe (Extra), July 3, 1986. Originally published in the Chicago Times-Herald.

scenario, Ohio’s votes were widely viewed as openly negotiable; in return for the vice-presidential nomination for McLean, Ohio’s votes would put the eventual nominee over the top.54 Because McLean could negotiate such an arrangement only once, he was expected to wait until the tide toward one of the candidates had firmly set. For that reason, the Ohio delegation did not produce useful signals of convention sentiment, despite its pivotal role. Until McLean was ready to pounce, his delegates would and did remain nominally loyal to his presidential candidacy. 54


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Individual Delegates Much less reliable, although often more sincere, were the public expressions of support given by individual delegates. As they arrived in Chicago, delegates were often debriefed by reporters as to their own and their delegation’s attitudes toward the presidential possibilities. For example, E. D. Matts arrived in Chicago from Montana more than a week before the convention was to begin and promptly declared that, although his delegation was not instructed, he “thought” Montana would support Bland. Bland was also his personal favorite “because, in his opinion, the bolting Republicans who want Teller, the Populists, and the Silver League people will be more likely to indorse him than any other Democrat.”55 As displays of sentiment, badges may have been slightly more reliable than interviews with the press. When a delegate put on a badge, this was a clear indication of at least a favorable attitude toward and often a firm preference for a candidate. Because the delegates themselves all wore official convention badges that allowed them into the hall, the combination of delegate and candidate insignia easily identified votes for one of the possibilities once the roll calls began. For this reason, one of the first acts after a state declared for a particular candidate was the distribution of candidate badges to members of the delegation. Such distributions, for example, occurred immediately following the endorsement of Bland in the Illinois caucus and on the convention floor when the Georgia delegation swung over to Bryan. All the major campaign organizations distributed badges for their favorite. The Boies campaign put out a button with the words “Boies, silver and prosperity” encircling his portrait and a “little beetle with 16 to 1 on one wing and a portrait of Boies on the other.” The Bland organization welded a pin to a silver dollar, symbolizing both a declaration for silver and an endorsement of their candidate.56 Another Bland badge simply said “Silver Dick.” An informal survey of campaign badges worn by delegates and spectators in the Coliseum on opening day reported that the Bland insignia were most abundant, with Boies and Pattison buttons common. Matthews, Blackburn, and McLean buttons were scarce.57 Badges indicating support for silver or gold were also worn. One of the most common of these was constructed out of “a piece of aluminum the size of a silver dollar” bearing the inscription, “Free silver, 16 to 1, unlimited.”58 The Utah delegation wore a particularly pretty badge in which the chief design element was a star made of silver that had been mined in the state. Emblazoned 55 56

57

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Chicago Tribune, June 29, 1896. Chicago Tribune, June 29, July 3, 5–7, 1896; Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 7, 8, 11, 1896; New York Times, July 4, 1896. Most of the silver dollars then in circulation had been minted under the Bland-Allison Act of 1878. New York Times, July 8, 1896. The Bland campaign expected to distribute some twenty thousand buttons and badges of all kinds during the convention. Boston Globe, July 3, (Extra), July 7, 1896. Detroit Free Press, July 6, 7, 1896.

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in gold on the star was the number “45,” symbolizing Utah’s admission as the forty-fifth state; the gold also came from Utah.59 However, because the distribution of preferences with respect to the monetary standard were both publicly known and fixed, all these badges were more or less superfluous to the business before the convention. For example, observers already knew that Utah delegates favored silver, badge or no badge. Definitely superfluous were badges identifying political factions that predated any of the disputes at the convention. The most ornate might have been one produced by Tammany Hall for the several hundred men who traveled to Chicago. At the top was a “gold-rimmed bar” on which “Tammany” was inscribed. Hanging from the bar was a miniature American flag and, from the flag, a portrait of the Delaware chief from whom the organization took its name. On the reverse of the portrait appeared a star, the emblem associated with the New York Democratic party, surrounded by “Chicago, July 7, 1896.” Veterans of national political conventions considered the Tammany badges the prettiest they had ever seen, and their attractiveness, combined with the high visibility of the New York delegation in Chicago, created a secondary market in which “enterprising dealers” asked as much $2.50 apiece.60 The Gold Faction Although many of the displays mounted by the gold and silver men were similar, there were some differences. Very few gold men, for example, appear to have worn gold badges or buttons at the convention. Although their infrequency was never explained, one of the reasons must have been that they were so outnumbered by the silver faction that an attempt at mass display must have seemed counter-productive; gold buttons and badges would only have demonstrated just how small a minority they really were. A corollary reason motivating at least some of the gold delegates was the ostracism by silver men that a gold display might have provoked. In practice, a public display of gold sentiment often made a man a target for those who would “convert” him, and reporters recounted many instances in which silver men accosted gold men, ostensibly to engage them in debate. The gold faction also did not wear badges or buttons supporting one of the presidential candidates. The one (and important) exception was the Pennsylvania delegation, whose sixty-four members were pledged by their state convention to former Governor Robert Pattison. The reason that most gold men did not wear campaign buttons was that no candidate pledged to gold would, they contended, run on a silver platform. Because the silver plank was all but certain 59 60

New York Times, July 5, 1896. New York Times, July 7, 12, 1896. Although they were passionately contested within the convention hall, some decisions and issues did not generate much symbolic display outside the specific proceedings in which they were taken up. For example, no one wore buttons or badges displaying preferences with respect to the election of a temporary chairman or one of the sides in the contest over seating the Michigan delegation.

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to be adopted, otherwise plausible gold candidates withdrew from contention. Thus Senator Hill and William Whitney of New York, along with former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts, took themselves out of contention even before they arrived in Chicago. Their withdrawal made the Pennsylvania delegation stick out like a sore thumb. The gold faction did put on one collective display that the silver men never mounted: a mass rally (see chapter 4). Held in the main theater of the Auditorium Hotel, this rally was easily accessible to almost all the convention delegates. However, one of the most interesting aspects of this demonstration was that almost no silver men attended (excepting those who went to heckle the speakers). The primary purposes of the rally was to raise the morale of the gold men and to demonstrate the high standing and prestige of the faction’s leaders. Raising morale increased the solidarity of the faction, a quality that would be necessary when the struggle with the silver men began within the convention hall. For this purpose, an exclusively gold audience was probably an asset. However, a demonstration that much of the national party elite was fervently committed to gold would have been better performed in front of the silver men. As it was, most silver men read about the rally in newspapers. What the silver men could see for themselves were the fervent demonstrations the gold men mounted on the convention floor. And there the two factions met head-on, matching demonstrations again and again. The last gold demonstration, however, was utterly silent as the gold men sat mute on the convention floor during the presidential nomination. The only sounds they uttered came from the leaders of the delegations as they announced the refusal of their states to participate in the voting. This was a demonstration the silver men could not match because, if they had, they could not have nominated a presidential candidate. Someone had to vote. By this time, many of the gold delegates were not even in the Coliseum, and the seats surrounding their state signs were often empty (see chapter 8). This was the final stage in the desperate demonstrations of the gold men, the stage in which many of the individual delegates announced to the world that they were compelled to bolt the ticket and the platform. There were no bands, no marching clubs, and no headquarters for them, only reporters who avidly sought them out in order to dutifully record their bitter pronouncements. The sites for these protests were thus confined to newspaper print. Populists and Silver Republicans Once they had nailed down the platform and nominated their ticket, silver Democrats realized that the best they could hope for was the neutrality of the gold faction. Even nominal endorsements of the national party nominees on a silver platform appeared out of reach, while at least some public defections to McKinley and the Republicans seemed inevitable. To make up for these losses and perhaps make sizable additions to the party, silver Democrats hoped to attract both Populists and silver Republicans to their ticket. In fact, because

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there appeared to be no way in which the silver wing could placate the gold faction (and thus reunite the party), a major third-party effort in the presidential contest by either the Populists or silver Republicans would doom a silver Democrat. As a result, both Populists and silver Republicans held a practical veto over the various candidates; to nominate someone who would be unacceptable to either group would be to lose the election before the campaign began. Silver Republicans were led by a coterie of western senators accustomed to office holding and the pragmatic realities of incumbency. They were also more narrowly committed to free silver as an issue than were the Populists or even the Democrats themselves. In fact, to stand with McKinley and gold would have destroyed their party in the mountain states of the West. A third-party insurgency against silver Democrats, the Populists, and a regular organization remnant of their own party would have been even more suicidal. For these reasons, fusion with the silver Democrats on the presidential ticket on almost any terms was the only way these Republicans would retain their seats, and the silver Republican leadership made it known that almost any silver Democratic nominee would receive their endorsement. Although there was some uncertainty concerning how easily they could deliver rank-and-file voters to the silver cause, most Democrats assumed that their party nominee would easily carry the silver Republican states. Much more problematic were the Populists whose political agenda was much more varied, whose leaders were much less pragmatically adjusted to office holding and incumbency, and whose rank and file were comparatively obstreperous. The Populists had drawn a million votes in the 1892 presidential contest and had emerged in the 1894 midterm elections as a major, in some cases the dominant, party organization in most states outside the manufacturing belt. However, unlike the silver Republicans for whom the choice was fusion or political death, endorsement of a Democratic presidential nominee was viewed as suicidal by many Populists. This was particularly the case for the southern wing of the party where fusion with Republicans at the state and local level was the only way to remain competitive with Democrats. Republican organizations in the South, ostracized by white voters because of their increasing reliance on a black electorate, could no longer hope to win many elections on their own. Fusion with the Populists had given them enough leverage to participate actively in politics with some hope of gaining office, particularly in states such as Alabama and North Carolina. But, as in 1892, fusion had depended on the fact that both the Democratic and Republican presidential nominees had been gold advocates. Southern Republicans might tolerate fusion with a Populist presidential nominee and would even, in many cases, vote for one, particularly in states where their own party’s candidate stood no chance of victory. However, southern Republicans would not bolt their party for a Democratic presidential nominee, no matter how devoted to silver; to do so would be to sacrifice any hope of presidential patronage if the Republicans carried the national election. And presidential

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patronage, given the poor prospects of elected office in the region, had become the life-blood of southern Republican organizations. So, for southern Populists who were engaged in rather bitter class warfare with their Democratic overlords, endorsement of a silver Democratic presidential candidate was anathema, not because they did not support silver but because fusion on the national ticket would fatally impair their often close cooperation with southern Republicans.61 For all these reasons, the Populists held a much more effective veto over the Democratic presidential nomination than did the silver Republicans. The problem, seen from the perspective of the silver Democrats, was that no one was sure who could speak for those Populists who would entertain fusion. The fragmented nature of the party’s leadership and the hostility of many rankand-file Populists to fusion on any terms meant that there was simply no one with whom the silver Democrats could bargain. That a Populist endorsement of the Democratic nominee was essential to victory was assumed by almost every silver Democrat at the convention; however, aside from Senator Teller of Colorado, just who might be acceptable to the Populists was very much in doubt. Spokesmen for some of the more plausible choices openly claimed Populist support as they argued their cases; delegates backing less plausible alternatives simply kept quiet.62 The many Populist leaders who attended the convention were very visible. Some of them, along with prominent silver Republicans, even sat among the honored guests of the party just behind the podium. However, both Populist and silver Republican leaders never joined in the demonstrations launched by the silver men on the convention floor or in the galleries. The leaders were emissaries for their respective party organizations, and beyond making known their views by way of the newspaper interviews and personal conversation with their Democratic counterparts, their role precluded personal demonstrations of passion. The Populist and silver Republican leaders were like ambassadors from other nations, and their personal disposition befitted the calm, dispassionate diplomacy that that role required. Without a clear connection to the rank and file that they represented, that passion would not have meant much anyway. Democrats already knew that the silver Republicans and their supporters had nowhere else to go and thus more or less could be taken for granted. And the relationship of the Populist leaders to their rank and file was uncertain, 61

62

This analysis vastly over-simplifies a much more complex political reality. For example, some southern Populists who had become more popular than their party while serving in office welcomed an opportunity to return to the Democratic party because they anticipated that their personal prospects would be enhanced. For a succinct summary of Populist strategy toward the Republican and Democratic parties in the summer of 1896, including southern opposition to anything but a “middle-of-the-road” campaign, see John D. Hicks, The Populist Revolt: A History of the Farmers’ Alliance and the People’s Party (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1961), pp. 351–60. As the front-runner for the nomination, Richard Bland could not afford to ignore rumors that he might not be acceptable to the Populists, and his spokesmen vigorously attempted to refute rumors to that effect. Chicago Tribune, July 3, 4, 6, 1896.

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both because the party was so deeply divided and because the party was less hierarchically structured than the mainstream organizations. Medium, Context, and Form As we have seen, displays of passion and preferences assume many different forms. Some of these have been summarized in Table 6.3. If we keep in mind that there are many exceptions, the variation in the medium, context, and form of displays can be connected to the intent of the demonstrator. Where the intent is to persuade an observer rationally to change his or her preferences, the degree of passion displayed is usually low, the level of articulation is high, and the demonstrator’s personal identity is closely connected to the demonstration (i.e., constitutes an additional element in the context of the display). It thus matters a great deal what is said and who says it, but the degree of passion is verbally described (as opposed to physically and aurally demonstrated). Because the meaning of what is said is so closely connected to the intent of the speaker, many of these displays are interactive in the sense that the observer has an opportunity to ask questions or comment. In fact, in a private negotiation, the two participants may be simultaneously displaying their preferences (as in the colloquial “putting their cards on the table”). There were, of course, an immense number of such conversations, negotiations, and newspaper interviews during the 1896 Democratic National Convention. Passion is a more important element in displays presented by sponsored bands and marching clubs. How much passion is demonstrated is closely correlated with how much of the costs of participation are born by the participants. On the one hand, if the participants are hired off the street and paid a wage, the degree of passion in their display will probably be low. On the other hand, the participants may be, in the full sense of the term, “volunteers.” In that case, the passionate component of their display may very well be quite high. In either case, these groups conduct orchestrated performances in which the message is only crudely articulated, if articulated at all. For example, when a band affiliated with one of the campaigns marched into the convention hall playing “Dixie,” the only way an observer would know which candidate was being boomed was by the insignia displayed on the uniforms. The intent of sponsored displays was to demonstrate the popularity and material resources of the candidate, not to persuade observers rationally to change their preferences. Passion is also more important in the delivery of speeches in ritual settings. The intensity varies quite a bit here as well. Some speakers will deliver their address in a monotone with little or no gesticulation. Others will pound their fists and raise their voices. In both cases, the speaker relies on rational argument and logical reasoning in an attempt to persuade listeners to change their preferences. To do this effectively, the style in which the speech is delivered is often as important as the content because the address must be visually and aurally interesting to the audience. Careful and complex analysis rarely holds the attention of many listeners. Speeches are also, at least in ritual form, exclusively

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table 6.3. Medium, Context, and Form of the Display of Preferences in 1896 Democratic National Convention Degree of Passion Exhibited

Medium within which Display Is Most Often Made

Context within which Display Is Made

Form in which Display Is Made

Low

Print (e.g., newspapers, leaflets); private conversation

Personal interviews with reporters; confidential negotiations

Complete sentences; closely reasoned logic; personal identification with the sentiment expressed

Medium

Speeches

Ritual settings

Sponsored bands and clubs

Orchestrated performances in public spaces

Monologues of complete sentences; logically ordered; personal identification with sentiment expressed Music, chants, coordinated physical routines; sentiment expressed with little or no articulation; meaning deduced from insignia or chanted slogans

Demonstrative acts

Ritual settings

High

Disruption of the ritual setting; shouts, yells, stomping, waving of arms, etc.; sentiment expressed with little or no articulation; meaning deduced from the context

individual performances. Only one person speaks and interruptions are ritually prohibited. They are thus unguided by questions posed by the listener. The most passionate demonstrations violate the formal rules in ritual settings because they take much of their meaning from their disruption of the procedural context. The degree of spontaneity in these displays is usually much higher than in those put on by sponsored bands and marching clubs. However, the level of articulation is similarly low, often lower than even the chants of marching clubs as they move through the streets. In fact, the degree to which these disruptions effectively demonstrate passion is closely correlated with their defiance of rational discussion and debate. In addition, the degree of spontaneity tends to be associated with their effectiveness, just as volunteers are more effective than hired labor in organizing bands and clubs. Taken alone, collective demonstrative acts in highly ritualized settings rank among the most inarticulate of all political statements. Even the individual’s personal identity is usually lost in the sea of waving arms, the rumble of stomping feet, and the onslaught of sound from many throats. While close observers of such a demonstration can

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identify individuals in this mass spontaneous disruption, the most important impact lies in its sheer size. These differing types of displays can be combined. As discussed earlier, two parties to a negotiation can simultaneously display preferences, interrogating each other as they discuss the issues and opportunities that lay before them. Here the interaction synergistically combines individuals who are more or less engaged in the same form of display. More antithetically, spectators and delegates can collectively disrupt a formal address by an individual in a ritual setting. While the speaker usually intends to persuade his listeners, the demonstrators may wish to express hostility to either the person or the argument of the speaker. As we will see in the next chapter, such an antithetical relation linked Senator Ben Tillman and his audience during the debate on the silver plank in the party platform. But far and away the most striking of all combinations is the one in which the speaker symbiotically unites with his listeners in order to produce a spontaneous yet highly meaningful display. In the 1896 Democratic National Convention William Jennings Bryan produced such a combination by turning an unrehearsed, unorganized audience into a demonstrative choir that flawlessly responded to his each and every invitation to “disrupt” his address. We are now ready to place that performance in its proper historical and analytical context.

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7 Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” Speech

Bryan had been asked to deliver one of the speeches supporting the silver plank approved by the Committee on Resolutions. When his turn to speak came, he had been recognized and introduced by the permanent chairman of the convention. He thus occupied an entirely legitimate position within the ritual order of the convention, and any disruption of his speech was subject to ritual suppression. However, the last thing in the world that Bryan desired was the suppression of the massive demonstrations that preceded, accompanied, and followed his address. To the contrary, he all but openly invited his listeners to create a riotous uproar that was entirely forbidden by the ritual formalities of the moment; if the chairman had wanted to suppress these demonstrations, they would have been subject to the most stern and serious censure an assembly can pronounce. In fact, the “Cross of Gold” speech drew much of its energy from this tension between a ritually authorized speaker and his ritually condemned respondents.1 This symbiosis between Bryan and his audience clearly rested on the characteristics of the moment, a moment created by the ritual backbone of the convention. If Bryan had delivered the same text at any other time, the effect would have been far less dramatic. Bryan himself realized that was the case and intentionally maneuvered so as to deliver the last speech during the platform debate. He also wrote and rewrote his address in order to better create the response he wished to elicit from his audience. As he spoke, he gave unmistakable cues to his listeners in his pauses and movements. Much like a conductor of an orchestra, he thus indicated the points at which his audience was to 1

If the delegates and spectators had not responded so passionately, Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech might not be remembered at all. As the Philadelphia Public Ledger noted at the time, “Those who read Bryan’s speech in cold print will wonder what the demonstration was all about. Divorced from the personality of the orator and the personnel of audience before which it was delivered, it contains little that is striking or novel either in matter or form.” July 10, 1896. Unless otherwise noted, all the dates referencing newspaper stories in the rest of this chapter are for July 10, 1896.

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respond, thereby unleashing the passions of the delegates and spectators. These cues were given to individuals but the demonstrations were collective, because the audience came to understand that Bryan’s signals were so eagerly embraced that no one who demonstrated would find himself alone. Fear of embarrassment, one of the most powerful inhibitions that can discourage demonstrative exhibitions, simply disappeared. In all these ways, Bryan was an active agent in the creation of the demonstrations that accompanied his speech. And this raises an important question: did the passion he elicited exist before he delivered his speech or was it created by the artful manipulation of the speaker? Put another way, should we interpret the audience’s passion as the release of pent-up emotion or an enchantment summoned by a talented demagogue? Where a skilled politician can change the preferences of those with whom he interacts, a gifted orator can create passion within his listeners where it did not previously exist. And the two capacities are not necessarily associated with one another. A gifted orator can create passion by increasing the intensity with which his listeners cling to their preferences without changing any of those preferences. Bryan may have done something very much like this, in that the silver delegates were much moved by his oratory but he may not have converted a single gold delegate to his cause. A skilled politician, on the other hand, may change preferences without altering their intensity.2 A rational argument that persuades the listener to recalibrate the costs and benefits of a position may, in fact, leave him less intensely committed to his new preference than he was to the old one. Before answering the question of whether passion can be created, we need to examine closely what exactly happened in the Coliseum on July 9, 1896. That is the purpose of this chapter, beginning with a review of the construction of the platform by the Committee on Resolutions, followed by the floor debate, the roll call votes, and a conclusion in which we return to the original question. Construction of the Party Platform Hoping to avoid conflict over other issues, many silverites had wished to restrict the platform to a single plank demanding the free coinage of silver.3 They contended that only such a platform could adequately stress the majority’s commitment to silver. In particular, they argued that the platform should sidestep the party’s traditional commitment to free trade. With an alliance with silver Republicans on offer, they proposed an hiatus in tariff politics so that western Republicans could ally with silver Democrats without pledging themselves to lower duties. In the end, the Committee on Resolutions decided to include many traditional, if not downright hoary, declarations in the platform, among them 2

3

In fact, the two activities may work at cross-purposes in that, on the one hand, increasing the intensity makes preferences harder to change, and, on the other, a prerequisite for changing at least some preferences is often to reduce their intensity. Boston Globe, July 5, 1896.

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one supporting lower tariff rates. Some of the more novel planks, even radical for the time, were intended to broaden the party’s appeal among industrial workers (e.g., declarations opposing “government by injunction as a new and highly dangerous form of oppression” and supporting jury trials when federal courts issued contempt citations).4 All of these were secondary to the monetary plank and sparked little dissent within the silver ranks.5 One of the issues that could have caused some friction within the silver faction concerned the desire of many silver men for an open repudiation of the Cleveland administration in the platform.6 Others preferred that the platform not say anything at all about Cleveland or his policies.7 Other planks were fairly noncontroversial, although the language sometimes gave the Committee on Resolutions trouble.8 In the end, the alignment of delegates on most other issues was very close to that dividing the convention on the monetary standard, and for that reason, the silver faction risked little in opening up the platform to the full array of topics with which these declarations were normally festooned. Deliberations in the Committee on Resolutions The Committee on Resolutions was assigned the task of drafting the platform and, like all the committees at this point in the proceedings, had a large silver majority. However, the gold men did not give up the fight, and the committee’s deliberations were often contentious. Because many of the state conventions had adopted silver planks that could serve as models for the national platform, the heart of the silver plank was fairly easy to write. As placed before the convention, that section read: “We demand the free and unlimited coinage of both silver and gold at the present legal ratio of 16 to 1 without waiting for the aid or consent of any other nation.”9 While the platform endorsements of a national income tax and criticism of the use of federal court injunctions in labor 4 5

6 7

8

9

Boston Globe (Extra), July 7, 1896. The gold wing, however, strongly opposed the declarations on injunctions and contempt citations both because of their potential for restricting judicial autonomy and their implied attack on Cleveland’s handling of the Pullman strike in 1894. Altgeld and Tillman were the leaders most often cited as supporting an open condemnation of the president. See, for example, Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896; Boston Globe, July 7, 1896. Almost all the silver men opposed any endorsement of the administration. One of the North Carolina delegates, for example, told the Boston Globe that he did not “know what will be done” concerning Cleveland but that he did “know there will be a lot of fun if the attempt is made to have his administration indorsed.” July 4, 1896. For deliberations on that part of the financial plank concerning the banking system, see the Atlanta Constitution, July 9, 10, 1896. For descriptions of discussions of woman’s suffrage, federal funding for Pacific railroads, and Cuban liberation as possible planks, see Chicago Tribune, July 2, 5, 7–10, 1896; Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 7, 1896. Edward B. Dickinson, Official Proceedings of the Democratic National Convention (Logansport, Ind.: Wilson, Humphreys, 1896), p. 251. Louis Koenig said that the language in this plank was “becoming as familiar as the oath of allegiance.” Bryan: A Political Biography of William Jennings Bryan (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1971), p. 188. For examples of silver planks adopted in the various states, see New York Times, June 29, 1896.

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disputes drew complaints from the gold men, these were also very popular with the silver delegates. Giving up the fight on these issues, the gold delegates chose to seriously challenge only two decisions by the committee on resolutions. One was the plank favoring the free coinage of silver. The other was the refusal of the silver majority to endorse the administration, usually routinely given if the party controlled the White House. As an alternative, the gold men offered an amendment praising Cleveland and his administration. When presented with a silver plank, the gold minority on the Committee on Resolutions dutifully filed a minority report, and the battle was joined. By agreement, two hours and forty minutes was allotted for debate, an hour and twenty minutes to each side. The opening and closing speeches were to be made by the majority, with the minority addresses sandwiched in between. Senator Benjamin “Pitchfork” Tillman of South Carolina would open the debate, followed by Senator Hill of New York, Senator William Vilas of Wisconsin, and former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts. Former Congressman William Jennings Bryan was to close with a speech supporting the majority report. Debate on the Platform The long commute from the hotels to the Coliseum combined with the fatigue of the first two days of the convention to produce quite a bit of straggling on the day of the platform debate. The weather, however, was superb, with clear skies and bright sunshine welcoming delegates and spectators. There were thousands of people already waiting to enter the building when the doors were opened at 9:30 a.m. At 10 o’clock, when the convention was to have been called to order, the seats on the rostrum at the front of the hall were filled with distinguished guests, but the space reserved for the delegates on the floor was almost empty. In the galleries, there were only a few empty seats “in the mighty field of faces.” Some of the first delegates to arrive were from the host state, Illinois, including Governor John Altgeld. Bland’s campaign manager, Governor William Stone of Missouri, was also on the floor. Other silverites who appeared about this time were Senator George Vest of Missouri and Governor Anselm McLaurin of Mississippi, who walked into the delegate section arm in arm. The South Carolina delegates also arrived early, led by Governor John Evans and Senator Tillman.10 Unlike previous sessions, the audience seldom applauded the appearance of these silver leaders. When Bryan appeared on the floor, one of the bands offered “Sift Sand, Sal” as a salute and then returned to a medley of Irish airs.11 Whitney came onto the 10 11

Boston Globe. One reporter had by this time taken a great dislike to Bryan, relaying to his paper’s readers that Bryan “was the largest man in the whole business [preceding the convention’s opening]. Words are inadequate to express the great depth of his self-respect, and, to use a platitude, he swelled around at a great rate.” This was, of course, prior to Bryan’s speech, and the reporter attributed Bryan’s pride-of-place to his victory over the Nebraska gold delegates on the previous day. Chicago Tribune.

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floor at 10:15, but most of the chairs reserved for the Empire State were still empty.12 Whitney was greeted by former Governor Roswell Flower and then went up the aisle to the Pennsylvania reservation to confer with William Harrity. Whitney and Harrity talked for about five minutes, after which Whitney said “that in his opinion no nomination would be made” that day, intimating that the protracted struggle over the platform would consume most of the day. Rumors regarding the tactics that the New York delegates would adopt over the next few days circulated through the hall. On the platform contest, the New York delegates would lead the gold wing of the party in full battle array, contesting the silver men at every point and concentrating all their now meager political resources. After losing on the platform, the New Yorkers proposed to abstain in the nomination contest and urged other gold delegates to do the same.13 At 10:25, several hundred Bland supporters “circled the galleries,” led by a band.14 About this time, Senator Hill went to the rostrum to talk with Senator White, the permanent chairman of the convention. Because they represented opposing viewpoints on the monetary question, this consultation was not over political strategy. Most likely, they discussed either when the convention would be called to order or the time that would be allotted for speakers for and against the silver plank. Shaking hands, they conferred for a couple of minutes. Hill then left, walking toward the room where the Committee on Resolutions was putting finishing touches on the platform that would be presented to the convention.15 At 10:32, the Duckworth Club paraded for McLean. About nine minutes later, delegates from Iowa entered the hall bearing the red and blue banner on which appeared the face of Horace Boies. Arriving at Iowa’s assigned place on the floor, the carrier clambered onto a chair and waved the banner to and fro, attempting to spark a demonstration from the audience. When this was met with indifference, he disassembled the flagstaff, put the eagle in his pocket, and sat down. As they had on previous days, reporters interpreted the tepid reaction of the spectators as a sign that the Iowa candidate’s support was shallow.16 The Opening of the Convention Senator White assumed his place at the podium at 10:40, forty minutes after the scheduled beginning of the day’s proceedings. While most of the chairs in the delegate section were still empty, thousands of spectators now thronged the galleries. White was colorfully dressed in a pink shirt and “gay blue” string tie but was very hoarse, so much so that his voice could barely rise above a whisper.17 At 10:45, vigorously pounding his gavel, he called the convention 12 13 14 15 16 17

Boston Globe (Extra), July 9, 1896. Ibid.; Chicago Tribune. Memphis Commercial Appeal. Chicago Tribune. Ibid., New York Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal, Atlanta Constitution, Boston Globe (Extra), July 9, 1896. Memphis Commercial Appeal.

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to order and the “indescribable buzz of thousands of voices gradually subsided [as] the delegates took their seats.”18 Once the convention had calmed down, White turned the gavel over to Congressman James Richardson of Tennessee. Tall, slender with a “scholarly stoop of the shoulders” and a black mustache, Richardson opened the proceedings while White took a seat to one side on the stage. As Martin’s troops gathered at the front of the hall, Richardson asked the sergeant-at-arms to clear the aisles. Martin then “made a stump speech to his employes, telling them to see that the delegates got seats and to put everybody else out of the hall.”19 Richardson introduced the minister who would lead the convention in prayer and asked the delegates and spectators to rise. Immediately after the prayer, Richardson announced that the Committee on Resolutions had completed their deliberations and called Senator Jones, the committee chair, to the podium to present the platform to the convention. Reading of the Platform With his thinning gray hair, strong features, and “fierce, silver mustache,” Senator Jones stood before the audience and adjusted his gold spectacles. Like Senator White, his voice was very weak; few in the hall could hear what he said. He would pause briefly at the end of every sentence and applause “of a very perfunctory character” would be given, even though most had not heard what he had read. So little time had elapsed between the end of the committee’s deliberations and this report to the convention that Jones had before him only a working draft of the platform, with handwritten insertions on scraps of telegram paper and in the margin of typed pages. As he read, he was compelled to turn the pages sideways to read additions to the text, inevitably breaking the rhythm of his speech and compounding the difficulty with which the audience could understand what he said. As a result, only a small cheer “not very loud or long” greeted the silver plank because most people in the hall simply had not heard him read the passage.20 Belatedly recognizing that the long-awaited pronouncement had just been made, one of the Texas delegates yelled out, “Read that free-coinage plank again.” Jones replied, “If the convention will be quiet I will read it as many times as they want to hear it.” When he again reached the words “16 to 1,” the silver delegates began to cheer wildly and a man in the southwest corner of the hall blew a blast from his horn. Although he was one of the leaders of the silver wing, this was too much for Jones and he pleaded for order.21 Although the plank denouncing “government by injunction” almost passed unnoticed because most of the crowd could not hear the senator, some of the 18

19 20 21

Ibid. A correspondent for the Boston Globe stated that rumors concerning a possible bolt by the New York delegation “on the first reasonable pretext” and the withdrawal of all gold candidates for the nomination were circulating the hall at this time. (Extra), July 9, 1896. Memphis Commercial Appeal, Chicago Tribune. At 11:01, the large Pennsylvania delegation finally came into the hall, increasing the disorder on the floor. Boston Globe (Extra), July 9, 1896. Chicago Tribune, New York Tribune.

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silver men did manage a cheer and a smile broke out on Governor Altgeld’s face. The gold delegates hissed.22 There was also a plank endorsing Cuban independence. As Jones read this plank, someone in the South Carolina delegation moved into the aisle just to the left of the podium, unfurled the flag of the Cuban revolutionaries, and began to wave its blue and white stripes and lone star on a red field. Even before Richardson demanded that the flag be removed, the premeditated attempt to spark a demonstration had fallen flat. After a short and rather embarrassing display, the flag was furled and stowed away.23 When he had finished, Jones turned over the reading of the minority report to the Reading Clerk, who reported the gold plank to the convention in a much stronger voice. The most important demand was, of course, the insistence that “all our paper and silver currency shall be kept absolutely at a parity with gold.” When the clerk reached that passage, the gold men applauded. Another of the recommendations was to commend “the honesty, economy, courage and fidelity of the present democratic national administration.” When this declaration was read, William Harrity “got up in his chair and waving his arms, started a demonstration” supporting the president. Former Secretary Whitney and the other New York delegates then stood and joined the cheering along with the Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and other sound-money delegations. Senator Hill, however, kept his seat. While the gold wing of the party saluted Cleveland, some of the silver delegates hissed while most “sat as dumb as oysters.”24 “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman Addresses the Convention After the clerk was done reading the minority amendments, Richardson announced that Senator Tillman would address the convention for fifty minutes and would also introduce an amendment of his own to the platform. When Richardson rhetorically asked, “Is Senator Tillman ready?” cries of “Tillman!” “Tillman!” broke out in the hall and “a roar of applause” erupted as “his short, thickset figure was seen emerging from the South Carolina delegation.” To the New York Tribune correspondent, Tillman’s “face seemed to be worn with fatigue,” as if he had “not been to bed early while in Chicago.” This reporter added that, while the senator had only one good eye, “that eye gleamed out in fiery fashion at the delegates and audience.” The correspondent for the Memphis Commercial Appeal described his “striking figure”: [N]o pretensions in dress, shabby-coated, wearing a heavy silver chain across his breast, he instantly drew the eyes of the 20,000 people present. . . . His thick-set, commanding 22

23 24

Chicago Tribune. This plank indirectly referred to the 1894 Pullman strike in Chicago in which Governor Altgeld had refused to suppress the workers. Citing an ostensible interference with the U.S. mail as his justification, President Cleveland had sent federal troops into the city to keep order. New York Tribune. Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune. One account reported that only a few New York delegates “stood and waved their hats,” while both Hill and Whitney remained seated. Memphis Commercial Appeal.

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form was full of defiance. His head, thrown back, was round and compact. The features, strong and powerful, were cast in a classical mold. The nose was straight, the lips thin and compressed, the jaw square and pugnacious, but the sunken cavity which marked his left eye gave to his face a sinister expression. It was a face [that], once seen, was never to be forgotten. On one lapel of his coat, he wore a Cuban flag, on the other a pitchfork. One moment the 20,000 people held their breath as they gazed. Then they broke forth. Cheers, mingled with hisses, rent the air.

Tillman had a “good, well modulated voice” and could be heard with ease throughout the hall.25 At 11:30 Tillman took his position behind a “reading desk” that had been hurriedly placed upon the stage. Then ensued what was, by far, the most divisive speech of the convention, an address that embarrassed the silver wing of the party as much as it enraged the hard-money faction. The South Carolina senator began by introducing himself “as I am, and not as the lying newspapers have taught you to think me.” This brought cheers and laughter from the silver delegates, including a cry of “Let them have it!” from the Kentucky delegation. Tillman then suggested that they would have a different impression of “the pitchfork man” after his address and intoned, “I come to you from the South – from the home of secession – from that State where the leaders of . . . ” The rest of this sentence was drowned by catcalls and hisses from all over the hall. The South Carolina senator “turned defiantly, and fiercely surveyed the vast congregation. Then, with a contemptuous toss of his head, he looked down at the silver delegates before him, his eye blazing, and said with a sneer: ‘There are only three things in the world that can hiss – a goose, a serpent, and a man.’” This brought loud cheers and laughter from silver men who apparently identified Tillman’s tormentors with waterfowl and demonic reptiles. However, many other passages in Tillman’s address appeared to confuse the audience and seem oddly couched even today. For example, right after his reference to things that hiss, he launched into a brief account of South Carolina’s historical role in American politics. Among other things, he said that “South Carolina in 1860 led the fight in the Democratic party which resulted in its disruption.” This puzzled his listeners in that, while ostensibly defending his state’s reputation and honor, he was also apparently saying that the breaking up of the national Democratic party just before the Civil War had been a good thing. This was certainly not party doctrine (which assigned responsibility for the Civil War to the Republican party and saw the division of the Democrats into two presidential tickets in 1860 as disastrous because it allowed the Republicans to elect Lincoln). And a breakup of the national party was also something that few delegates, whether gold or silver, actually desired in 1896. While compromise on the monetary standard was impossible, most silver men still hoped to minimize the damage a silver platform would cause. And here was Tillman lauding South Carolina for splitting the party in a similar crisis. 25

Even so, the Los Angeles Times reported, “Many delegates crowded the aisles and stood at the foot of the stage” so that they could study “intently the remarkable man before them.”

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The senator then said, “I do not know whether I can truly say I am a representative of the entire South or not.” This false ambivalence invited the delegates, particularly the southern delegates, to embrace him. And some of them did by yelling “Yes!” But others seemed to fear what he was going to say and either remained silent or shouted “No, No; I should hope not” or “No, never.” Returning to his historical theme, Tillman continued: When the war closed we [the South] were vassals, and the only party which offered us a helping hand or any sympathy was the Democracy. We had in necessity, therefore, been in subserviency to that wing or that end of the Democratic party in the North which controlled the electoral vote, and therefore New York has been the one predominant factor and dictator in National politics.

Here Tillman seemed to mix gratitude for northern Democratic assistance during Reconstruction with resentment because that assistance had had the effect of strengthening the role of the northern wing (particularly New York) in national politics. This theme became even more apparent in the next passage: While we look back and thank the Democracy of New York and Connecticut and New Jersey for their assistance and co-operation in the past, for the protecting aegis which they have extended over us, we have realized long since that we were but mere hewers of wood and drawers of water, tied in bondage, and all our substance being eaten out.

Tillman then attributed the emerging alliance between the West and the South within the national Democratic party to the recognition by “the Western people” that they shared the tributary position of the South. At this point, the senator made the most provocative declaration of the entire convention: Some of my friends from the South and elsewhere have said that this is not a sectional issue. I say it is a sectional issue.

A storm of hisses interlaced with shouts of “No! No!” broke out from all corners of the hall. Once again, this unmistakable demonstration of disapproval only made the senator more defiant. He replied: The truth is mighty and will prevail. Facts can neither be sneered out of existence nor obliterated by hisses. I present you some figures from the United States census, which will prove that it is a sectional issue and nothing else.

The senator proceeded to compare the land area, population, and wealth of the South with that of Pennsylvania. This disquisition might have passed as an undergraduate lecture on economic geography if he had not also insisted on presenting mathematical minutiae along with his description. For example, as he compared the relative growth of the region and the state between 1880 and 1890, Tillman announced that, to maintain parity, the South “should have gained” in “Capital, 1.54, multiplied by the population, 3.3, multiplied by territory, 12.5, giving an advantage of 31/2 times to 1.” Even in print, with the reader having the leisure to tease out just what Tillman meant to illustrate through this exercise, the mathematical manipulations remain inscrutable. To

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the delegates and spectators who were compelled to rely on what they heard and that only once, the senator’s exercise was simply gibberish. As Tillman uncharacteristically droned on, some of the delegates became restless and began to yell out “Time! Time!,” even though the senator had only consumed about twenty of his allotted fifty minutes. He was nearing the end of this portion of his speech when a band appeared in the vestibule at the southern end of the hall and began to play. The sergeant-at-arms ordered his lieutenants to “Stop that band!” and, after some delay, the band was removed from the hall. Attempting to calm the convention so that Tillman might continue, Richardson personally intervened: The delegates will please resume their seats. Gentlemen must be seated and cease conversation. There is too much noise in front of the Chair and the Sergeant-at-Arms will preserve order.

By the time he resumed, Tillman had recovered his composure. He explained that he believed the issue was “sectional” because it was an alignment pitting the eastern “money oligarchy” against the common people of all the nation’s sections. Although this failed to elicit demonstrations of approval from the audience, at least he was not hissed. Tillman then went on to note that Senator Hill had been backed as a presidential candidate by much of the South and West in the 1892 convention and was now opposed by those sections. When he asked, “Where is New York now?” cheers erupted among the silver delegations. When he then asked, “Where is New York’s leader?,” a silver delegate called out “In the soup,” provoking laughter among the silverites.26 Tillman then returned to his opening theme, once again denouncing the newspapers that “sneer at, and abuse and lie about us.” However, he had utterly exhausted the patience of his audience. Someone yelled out, “Oh, boil it down!,” and Tillman was subsequently interrupted by a “great uproar” and “hisses.” His response was not endearing: “The audience might just as well understand that I am going to have my say if I stand here until sundown.”27 In the midst of this confusion there were many calls for Hill. Because Hill was scheduled to be the next speaker, these calls could be interpreted both as requests that Tillman bring his address to a rapid conclusion and as an endorsement of the gold standard the New York senator was surely going to defend. Although their reasons differed, both silver and gold delegates probably wanted Tillman to cease speaking. For the silver wing, Tillman was an embarrassment both outside and inside the convention hall. Outside the convention hall, Tillman was seen as an uncouth, baleful, and demagogic force in the party who, left to 26

27

The New Yorkers, of course, were not applauding. During this “great tirade, Hill almost continuously wiped his glasses with his handkerchief. Flower chewed vigorously a cigar. Whitney sat sad, gloomy and peculiar. . . . The entire group of gold men . . . looked like boys scolded by a master, or defiants ready for a row.” Boston Globe. Other people in the hall simply went about other business. About this time, for example, a West Virginia delegate was telling a correspondent for the Boston Globe that “Illinois holds the key to the situation. The delegation, he says, is honeycombed with Stevenson.” (Extra), July 9, 1896.

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his own devices, would destroy the party’s electoral chances in those parts of the industrial East which the Democrats hoped to win in the coming election. The longer the senator spoke, the more damage he did. For example, his attacks on the nation’s newspapers, delivered right under the noses of their correspondents sitting just to his left and right, were certain to reap a whirlwind of bad publicity. Inside the hall, the silver delegates could not, as long as Tillman was speaking, demonstrate in favor of silver without endorsing Tillman himself. Because these delegates probably approved of much of what he was saying, they were loathe to join in the hissing and catcalls that issued from other parts of the hall. On the other hand, the silver wing could not give public voice to their monetary views while Tillman was speaking; after all, many of them were professional politicians who very well understood how to represent a position without crossing the line into extremism. Tillman was clearly either oblivious to the existence of this line or just did not care where he roamed. So when gold men called out for Hill as a way of cutting short Tillman’s turn at the podium, the silver delegates were forced to choose between applauding Tillman’s excesses or doing nothing in response to the gold demonstrations. As his speech went on, more and more of the silver delegates fell into a frustrated funk, simply wishing that Tillman would stop so that they could find some way to repair the damage he had inflicted. Even so, they repeatedly, if perfunctorily, applauded lines that appeared to represent mainstream silver sentiment. As a result, the audience was almost continuously active during his address, although much of what they offered up reflected badly on the speaker. For the gold delegates, Tillman was so personally menacing that they could not distance themselves from the performance. If they had remained more objective, baiting the senator would have been a very effective way of destroying whatever support he might otherwise have given the silver cause. For those gold delegates who had already decided that they were not going to support either the platform or the party ticket, leading Tillman into a vitriolic wallow of self-pity would have partially justified the apostasy they were clearly contemplating during the upcoming campaign. However, while some baiting apparently occurred during Tillman’s speech, most of the interaction with the audience was provoked by the senator himself, with the gold delegates spontaneously and emotionally reacting to what he said. For the other gold delegates, those who had not yet decided whether or not to bolt the party, Tillman’s speech was almost as much a disaster as it was for the silver delegates because the spectacle he created threatened to drastically limit their options. Even in good years, when party unity was comparatively high, the best the northern wing could hope for from their southern colleagues was that they keep quiet (else northern Republicans hang what southern Democrats said like an albatross around their necks). And this was the worst of years for northern Democrats. Their southern colleagues were not only displacing them as the pivotal force in the national party but were doing so in a profoundly unequivocal manner. In that sense, Tillman alone provided abundant campaign ammunition for Republicans to use against those eastern and midwestern Democrats

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who chose to remain loyal. Like their silver brethren, these Democrats wanted Tillman to cease and desist for the sake of the party. Tillman himself appears to have only wanted respect from his audience. His complaints about the image the press had painted of him, his forays into statistical comparisons of the nation’s regions, and, as we will see below, his quotation from Lord Byron’s poetry all evidence a profound insecurity with respect to his public persona. He had planned his address as a demonstration of the acumen and gravitas of a seasoned statesman. But from the very beginning, he had betrayed himself. His wounds were so deep that he could not refrain from exposing them to his audience. When he attempted to demonstrate his economic expertise and knowledge of classical texts, he overreached himself in a way that was only partially disguised by the fact that most of his audience could not figure out what he was trying to say. Following the disruption that accompanied his second assault on the newspapers, for example, he meandered for a bit while attempting to depict an apparent inconsistency between Senator Hill’s new public role as Cleveland’s defender and his unalloyed hostility to the president in the national convention held just four years earlier. Then, in a vain attempt to drive his point home, Tillman compared Hill’s position as Cleveland’s “sponsor and apologist” to that of Milton in these lines from Byron: If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues, Milton appealed to the Avenger Time. If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs, And makes the word “Miltonic” mean “sublime,” He deigned not to lay his soul in songs, Nor turn his very talent to a crime; He did not loathe the sire to laud the son, But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.

Whatever Tillman meant to illustrate by giving these lines to his audience was perfectly opaque to his listeners. This foray falling flat, he turned once more to political economy and explored the causes of the current economic depression, laying responsibility at the feet of “the financial system.” The South Carolina senator had intended all of this as an extended preamble for the resolution he then offered: We denounce the administration of President Cleveland as undemocratic and tyrannical and as a departure from those principles which are cherished by all liberty-loving Americans. The veto power has been used to thwart the will of the people as expressed by their representatives in congress. The appointive power has been used to subsidize the press, to debauch congress and to overawe and control citizens in the free exercise of their constitutional rights as voters. A plutocratic despotism is thus sought to be established on the ruins of the republic. We repudiate the construction placed on the financial plank of the last democratic national convention by President Cleveland and Secretary Carlisle as contrary to the plain meaning of English words and as being an act of bad faith, deserving the severest censure. The issue of bonds in time of peace with which to buy gold to redeem coin obligations payable in silver or gold at the option of the government and the use of

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the proceeds to defray the ordinary expenses of the government, are both unlawful and usurpations of authority deserving impeachment.

This extraordinary indictment of an administration in the national convention of its own party was simultaneously applauded and hissed. Even the silver men were a little put off by Tillman’s condemnation. Although many, if not most, of them would have privately described the Cleveland administration in terms even more horrific than these, a public declaration by the party was widely considered to be politically unwise. The disruption was so pronounced that Tillman was forced to halt after “undemocratic and tyrannical” because the words had “ignited a great blaze of hisses and counter-flame of cheers.” The latter, however, “could not equal the hisses and the entire reading of the resolution was fiercely hissed.” At the end, after he had read the words “deserving impeachment,” the Coliseum “broke into a perfect storm of mingled hisses and cheers.” To this, Tillman responded enigmatically, “Now, one more word, Mr. President, and I will relieve these howlers who have been brought in here on tickets given to them, many of them, of the disagreeable duty or obligation to listen to me.”28 He closed with warm praise for the platform the convention was about to adopt and pledged that any nominee who ran on that platform would receive “every vote South of the Potomac.” This rather ordinary ending to what was a most extraordinary address brought forth another smattering of cheers and applause.29 Senator Jones Briefly Addresses the Convention As Tillman returned to his seat in the South Carolina delegation, Senator Jones approached the podium. His voice was still weak but had recovered a little during Tillman’s speech. He “held his hand out for silence” and “noise fell away before his strong presence.” With the audience quiet, he could be clearly heard.30 Senator Jones began by announcing that he had not intended “to open my mouth as to this platform. I believe it means what it says and says what it means; that it did not require one word of explanation.” But when Tillman called the monetary issue “a sectional question,” Jones felt he had to respond: I am a Southern man, was born in the South and carried a musket as a private soldier during the war. There is not one thing connected with the upbuilding and good of that section of the country for which I am not willing to lay down my life. But above the South and above section, I love the whole of this country.

His words were “met with the greatest of applause from all the delegates, the Southerners as well as those from north of the Mason and Dixon line. The delegates arose from their seats and shouted and cheered. Flags were waved and hats were thrown high in the air.” When Jones concluded his brief response 28 29 30

Tillman was implying that many of the spectators in the galleries were hard-money supporters to whom someone in the party leadership had given tickets. Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, New York Times. Memphis Commercial Appeal.

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to Tillman with the statement “I utterly repudiate the charge that this question is sectional,” the “galleries yelled wildly, and the rafters . . . shook.”31 Even the gold delegations from New York, Massachusetts, and other eastern states showed strong approval for “this rejection of the extreme Tillman sentiment.”32 The correspondent for the New York Tribune stated that Tillman’s speech, particularly the passage labeling the monetary issue as “sectional,” had “displeased some of the silver leaders.” This had led Senator Jones to ask Senator Hill, the next speaker who would present the case for gold, for five minutes in order to respond to Tillman. Hill was in effect subsidizing with his time an internecine dispute within the silver ranks as the silver leaders attempted to repair at least some of the damage the South Carolina senator had wrought. Senator Hill Addresses the Convention From the gold standpoint, this repudiation of the lead address in defense of the silver plank was a splendid way to introduce the chief spokesman for their side. As Senator Hill left his place in the New York delegation and walked to the dais, the hard-money portion of the crowd launched into a long and noisy demonstration that was in part a personal tribute to Hill and in part a poignant celebration of their own lost cause. The gold men stood on chairs and waved hats, fans and handkerchiefs. Mr. Whitney arose with the rest and the sight of his erect figure brought many to their feet. The galleries seemed to rise as a man, and the waving sea of hats, newspapers and everything at hand that could be made conspicuous rose and fell all over the hall.

A correspondent for the New York Times reported, “Even some of the silver men forgot themselves and cheered.” When he reached the podium and grasped Richardson’s welcoming hand, “the applause deepened to a hurricane of sound.” The attempt by the chairman to still the tumult was unavailing; and although most of the delegates resumed their seats after several minutes of cheering, the galleries would not be quiet and yelled and shouted with hearty good will. All this time the object of the demonstration stood calm and cool facing his enthusiastic friends. He showed no feeling and glanced straight ahead.33

Dressed in a black suit with a Prince Albert coat, black and white necktie, and a New York party badge attached to his lapel, Hill was impeccably attired for the performance he was about to give. Glancing about the vast hall, he smiled and bowed as if he thought this recognition of his reception would suffice to stop the demonstration. But the sound-money men of the convention meant to make their admiration of the New Yorker manifest. 31 32

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Chicago Tribune. Memphis Commercial Appeal. Silver leaders were extremely sensitive to the charge, which Tillman more or less openly embraced, that the silver plank was intended as reparation for southern losses during and after the Civil War. Atlanta Constitution.

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The New York Times went on to say that there was a roar which for three minutes drowned the feeble attempts of the chairman to restore order. The galleries vied with the pit in efforts to raise the roof. The banners hanging from the ceiling were set in action by the tremendous sound waves. When the first lull came Mr. Hill was about to speak, but a fresh outbreak in the north galleries compelled him to desist. The second period of the demonstration lasted four minutes. Before it ended the Chairman and the Sergeant-at-Arms were employing their energies in attempting to still the tumult. As well might they have tried to roll back the waves of Lake Michigan. The moment the convention appeared to be ready to permit Mr. Hill to speak, ex-State Treasurer Elliot Danforth of New York leaped upon a chair and proposed three cheers for Hill. The entire New York delegation rose to the cry. Up sprang the Pennsylvanians, the Jerseymen, the sound money Wolverines, the New Englanders, and the gold men from Minnesota. Hundreds of the silverites joined them. The galleries again caught the infection. Women stood up and waved handkerchiefs and fans; men threw their hats into the air and shouted. Carried away by the excitement, the leader of a country band in the south gallery connected with the Bland Club started his men to playing “Yankee Doodle.” The melody did not penetrate a rod beyond the instruments, so deafening was the sound of the ten thousand voices.

When order was restored, Hill began to speak, slowly and distinctly enunciating his words. His voice was unusually weak that day but the convention was so attentive he was heard throughout the hall. If, he said, he were to introduce himself to the convention as had Senator Tillman, he would start by stating, “I am a Democrat; but I am not a revolutionist.” This brought cheers from the gold delegates. Hill then went on to say that it would be “a waste of time” to assume that the convention was “so ignorant as not to know that it was his State [of South Carolina] that attempted to break up the Democratic party in 1860.” This too brought cheers. He then flatly declared that “New York makes no apology to South Carolina for her Democracy.” Cheers and applause followed once more. Posing both as a defender of the honor of his home state and a firm opponent of those who would divide the party, the senator rhetorically asked, “Need I remind this Democratic National Convention that it is in the great State of New York and in its great city where the wealth that he [Tillman] inveighs against is situated, and that it is that great city that never but once in its history that I recall, ever gave a Republican majority. While other cities throughout the country have failed to respond, New York has ever been the Gibraltar of Democracy.” At this point he was interrupted by “loud applause and cries of ‘Good! Good!’” Hill then moved directly to the point at hand. He first restated the position of the minority of the Committee on Resolutions, that they favored maintenance of the gold standard until an international agreement fixing the relative values of gold and silver had been ratified. As everyone in the audience already realized, such an agreement had been proposed for decades without any discernible progress toward ratification having been made. For that reason, few listeners

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believed his position to be anything less than an unequivocal endorsement of the gold standard. Now referring to the free and unlimited coinage of silver, Hill lectured that the issue dividing the party is not a question of patriotism. It is not a question of courage. It is not a question of loyalty. It is not a question of valor. The majority platform speaks of the subject as though it were simply a question as to whether we were a brave enough people to enter upon this experiment. It is a question of business. It is a question of finance. It is a question of economics. It is not a question, which men, ever so brave, can solve, as a matter of bravery.

Although this issue alone was enough to divide the party irrevocably, the New York senator went on to criticize the majority for setting a fixed ratio between the metals (at 16 to 1), for failing to commit the United States to maintaining that parity (at whatever ratio was set), and for failing to mention that other nations also maintained a gold standard (in addition to the British). These and other aspects of the monetary issue consumed approximately half of his speech. While the delegates and spectators listened attentively, there was little in the way of applause or other demonstrations of sentiment. Hill then turned his attention to other planks in the platform, condemning the majority for supporting legal tender greenbacks, for favoring a federal income tax and condemning the U.S. Supreme Court for ruling that tax unconstitutional, for implying that pliant members should be added to the Supreme Court so that the income tax ruling might be overturned, and for denouncing the issuance of bonds that had enabled Cleveland to defend the gold standard. In a few instances, his criticism struck home. When Hill labeled legal tender greenbacks a “suicidal policy,” the audience applauded and one person approvingly cried out, “That is the stuff.” Hill was also applauded when he asked, “Why was it wise to assail the Supreme Court of your country?” This applause became even louder when he stated that he opposed packing the Court with new appointees, saying, “I will not follow any such revolutionary step as that.” Toward the end of his speech, Hill returned to the monetary issue but this time emphasized the political implications of an endorsement of silver. I oppose this platform because I think it makes our success more difficult. I want the grand old party with which I have been associated from my boyhood, to win. . . . Do not attempt to drive old Democrats out of the party, who have grown gray in its service, to make room for a lot of Republicans and Populists and political nondescripts who will not vote your ticket at the polls. Do not attempt to trade off the vote of New Jersey, that never failed to give us its electoral vote, and take the experiment of some State out West that has always given its vote to the Republican ticket. I tell you that no matter who your candidate may be in this Convention, with possibly one exception, your Populist friends, upon whom you are relying for support in the West and South, will nominate their own ticket, in whole or in part, and your silver forces will be divided. Mark the prediction which I make.

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From out in the hall, a silver delegate yelled out “No, no!” Hill responded, Someone says “No!” Who are authorized to speak for the Populist party in a Democratic Convention? I saw upon this platform the other day an array of Populists – former Republicans – giving countenance and support to this movement, men who never voted a Democratic ticket in their lives, and never expect to. They have organized this Populist party. They are the men who attempted to proscribe Democrats all over this Union. They are the men who were crying against us in the days that tried men’s souls – during the war.

Hill then aligned himself and the minority platform with “the good old principles of Jefferson, of Jackson, of Tilden, of hard money, of safe money.” When he finished his speech, the crowd erupted in a demonstration that almost equaled in intensity the one that accompanied him to the podium. The New York delegates “sprang into their chairs, and saluted him with a tremendous cheer, in which the gold men on the floor and most of the people in the galleries joined.” As he walked back to his seat, delegates “thronged the main aisle, waiting for an opportunity to shake him by the hand.” Among those pressing about him were Harrity, Whitney, and other gold leaders. Everyone had expected Hill to provide the most effective defense of the gold standard at the convention. From that perspective, his speech was more than adequate. But some aspects of his address appear to have reduced the overall impact of his effort. For example, Hill had stoutly reaffirmed his party loyalty in the third sentence when he said “South Carolina, with all its power, cannot drive me out of the Democratic party.” Because speculation concerning whether or not the New York senator would bolt the convention after adoption of the silver platform had hitherto cloaked the convention in great suspense, Hill’s declaration had revealed the answer at the outset and thus dispersed much of the interest his speech might otherwise have possessed. The most important public spokesman for the gold wing was now openly committed to the party even if it endorsed silver. The lack of suspense on that point reduced much of Hill’s address to complaints about silver’s lack of sympathy for the plight of the gold wing. At one point, for example, he complained that the “burdens you have imposed upon us in the Eastern States in the support of this platform relating to silver are all that can be reasonably borne.” He then went on to say that the other planks in the platform made things unbearably worse. But just to concede that the silver plank could be “borne” at all was to undercut much of the ground on which other hard-money men stood. A little later, in his closing words, he added, My friends, I thus speak more in sorrow than in anger. You know what this platform means to the East; you know that we who are identified with the fortunes of the party there must suffer the result.

This passage conceded the outcome of the struggle over the platform and thus further reduced the angst that the silverites might have otherwise felt. From another angle, Hill’s discussion of the other planks in the platform also watered down the salience of the silver plank. If the New York senator had really wanted

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to keep the politics of the platform in play, he would have delivered a simple address focusing exclusively on the monetary issue and veiling his own intentions if the silver plank were to be adopted. While the logic and clarity of his defense of the gold standard was as impeccable as his attire, Hill had in fact let the silver wing off the hook.34 Senator William Vilas of Wisconsin Addresses the Convention Before introducing the next speaker, Chairman Richardson reviewed the time remaining in the debate. Senator Tillman and Senator Hill had both consumed about fifty minutes, leaving thirty minutes for the other speakers on each side. Richardson then presented Senator William Vilas to the convention. Vilas had actually ascended the dais during the demonstration that followed Hill’s speech and had been waiting for some time for his turn to speak. As he stood on the podium, he looked “like a college professor, with an iron-gray beard and glasses” and wore “a formal black frock coat and black string tie,” which accentuated the likeness.35 When he was finally introduced, “the Wisconsin delegation mounted their chairs and gave him three hearty cheers” in which other delegates and spectators joined. Hill, however, was a hard act to follow, and although Vilas delivered an address that was “argumentative and logical,” his manner was “hardly magnetic.” Like many of his colleagues in the newspaper section, a correspondent for the Boston Globe watched the movements of the delegates on the convention floor. Whitney, Hill and Gov. Russell are now in conference. Whitney and Col. John R. Fellows [l]eave the hall. Russell and Hill still holding the pow-wow. . . . People are moving around, which causes more or less confusion, and [Vilas] can be heard by only the delegates, and probably not half of them. Ex-Gov. Hogg of Texas gets tired of it, and goes out. Senator Hill and ex-Lieut. Gov. Sheehan of the New York delegation in conference. Many of the delegates have begun reading the morning papers, while Vilas talks on.36

The delegates and spectators did not believe that this speech “would have anything to do with the result” of the platform struggle.37 As he neared the end of his speech, “cries of ‘Time’” from the audience may have led him to shorten his conclusion. Former Governor Russell Addresses the Convention Vilas was cheered as he returned to his seat, but the audience, already anticipating the next speaker, mingled their applause with yells for “Russell.” As the last of three orators for the minority, the young former governor represented the last opportunity for the gold faction to demonstrate approval for their cause, and “the idol of Massachusetts Democracy” was enthusiastically welcomed to 34 35 36 37

The Atlanta Constitution thought Hill’s speech “took a dignified position, without offending any one, and was given good attention. He won friends, but not votes.” Memphis Commercial Appeal. (Extra), July 9, 1896. Chicago Tribune. The New York Tribune called the speech “dull.”

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the dais. As he made his way through the throng at the base of the podium, his Massachusetts colleagues gave him “three ringing cheers . . . with the Boston men leading with an old-time Harvard yell . . . which went across the floor and up through the galleries.”38 Richardson crisply presented Russell to the convention. With his “cutaway coat . . . buttoned tightly across his breast,” he “laid a sheet of notes upon the table and passed his hand across his forehead before beginning, like a man who undertakes a task which he know to be futile and to which he summons little heart.”39 He began his speech with the observation: The time is past for debate upon the merits of this issue. I am conscious, painfully conscious, that the mind of this Convention is not and has not been open to argument and reason. [“Applause and cries of ‘That’s right. That’s right.’”]40 . . . There is but one thing left to us [the gold faction], and that is the voice of protest; and that voice, not in anger, not in bitterness, not questioning the sincerity, the honesty, of any Democrat – that voice I utter with a feeling of infinite sorrow.

Claiming the “right to speak . . . for the Democracy of my commonwealth,” Russell recounted the staunch record of Massachusetts in defense of party principles. He then said that the national convention in which they now sat was preparing to abandon those principles, adopting “a policy which many of us believe invites peril to our country and disaster to our party.” At this point, Russell invited the delegates and spectators to join him in protesting the apostasy of a member of the Massachusetts delegation, George Fred Williams.41 In the debates of this Convention I have heard one false note from the commonwealth of Massachusetts. I answer it, not in anger, but in sorrow, and I appeal to you, my associates of the Massachusetts delegation, do I not speak the true sentiment of my State [“Cries of ‘Yes, Yes,’ in the Massachusetts delegation”],42 and of our party, when I declare that they and we utter our earnest, emphatic and unflinching protest against this Democratic platform.43

At this point the Massachusetts contingent rose from their chairs and cheered. The other delegates from New England then “took up the cry and Russell’s 38

39

40 41 42 43

The Memphis Commercial Appeal went on to say: “No other man so young as Russell holds so high a place in the Democratic convention; few others have gained as high a measure of popularity in the whole party as he has gained.” The paper, however, also conferred on the “keen, high-strung young statesman” the title “Little Lord Fauntleroy.” Memphis Commercial Appeal. Russell would die in his sleep, probably of an heart ailment, only eight days after he gave his speech. He was thus probably not entirely well when he gave his speech, and his hand motion may have reflected his condition. Geoffrey Blodgett, The Gentle Reformers: Massachusetts Democrats in the Cleveland Era (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1966), p. 214. Chicago Tribune. After being elected as a Massachusetts delegate to the national convention, Williams had publicly endorsed free silver (see chapter 4). Chicago Tribune. Official Proceedings, p. 226.

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name sounded from all quarters of the hall.”44 Williams himself sat in the very first row of the Bay State’s reservation, which, in turn, was at the very front of the delegate section, just a little to the right of the podium from which Russell was speaking. Russell ended his short speech with a “word of prophecy.” When this storm has subsided, when the dark clouds of passion and prejudice have rolled away, and there comes after the turmoil of this Convention the sober, second thought of Democrats and of our people, then the protests we of the minority here make, will be hailed as the ark of the covenant of the faith where all Democrats, reunited, may go forth to fight for old principles and carry them to triumphant victory.

Although this conclusion also sparked a round of “great applause,” several of the newspapers noted a “pathetic strain” throughout Russell’s speech that had conceded the struggle over silver and gold even before the vote was taken. Like Hill, Russell’s personal popularity among the delegates and spectators was much greater than the cause they both espoused. The audience listened attentively to what they had to say, the gold faction could cheer them on without fear of embarrassment, and there were no catcalls or insults offered up from the floor or the galleries. Unlike Hill, Russell had not promised to remain loyal to the party, but, even there, his closing prophecy seemed to imply that he would be around to help the party recover from the disaster he predicted would take place in the election. And, like Hill, Russell was ruled out as a presidential prospect because of his stand on gold. These men gave fine speeches in defense of the yellow metal, but there was no suspense in them and nothing that would make the silver delegates change their minds. The “Cross of Gold” Speech The gold leaders had clearly won the debate thus far, even if they had failed to change any votes (see Table 7.1). Tillman’s speech had been a disaster that occasioned an apology and that apology came on the charity of the gold wing when Hill had yielded time to Senator Jones.45 Hill himself may have been ill during the convention and had faltered a little in his delivery. However, the gold delegates and spectators made up for his abnormally weak performance with their enthusiastic demonstrations before and after he spoke. Vilas had delivered a workmanlike, if forgettable, address and had not done any harm to the gold cause. And Russell, a popular favorite among all factions of the party, had given the crowd a moving evaluation of what the silver declaration meant to the eastern wing. 44 45

Memphis Commercial Appeal. Francis Butler Simkins concluded that Tillman’s speech “must be recorded as one of the great failures in the annals of American oratory,” Pitchfork Ben Tillman: South Carolinian (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1944), p. 337. And Stephen Kantrowitz described the fiasco as having “effectively destroyed his chances to become a national candidate.” Ben Tillman and the Reconstruction of White Supremacy (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), pp. 250–51.

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table 7.1. The Platform Debate in the Democratic National Convention, July 9, 1896 Central Theme of the Speech

Speaker

Position

Reaction of Audience

Senator Benjamin Tillman of South Carolina

Silver

Sectional resentment of South toward eastern gold states

Open hostility from the gold men and supporting demonstrations from the silver faction

Senator James Jones of Arkansas

Silver

Brief rebuttal of sectional sentiment in Tillman’s speech

Warm, enthusiastic reception from both gold and silver men

Senator David Hill of New York

Gold

Criticism of the silver plank and other issues in the majority platform

Strong demonstrations from the gold faction before, during, and after the speech; silence or display of personal respect from the silver men

Senator William Vilas of Wisconsin

Gold

General attack on the silver platform

Mild demonstrations of support from the gold faction; indifference from many, if not most, of the audience

Former Governor William Russell of Massachusetts

Gold

Emotional appeal to silver men to reject a platform that will severely damage eastern wing of the party

Close attention to remarks by all with strong support from the gold faction

Former Congressman William Jennings Bryan of Nebraska

Silver

General defense of the silver plank and attack on gold involving claims to equal status for lower classes and equal rights in controlling the financial system

Very strong demonstrations from the silver faction before, during, and after the speech; close attention and appreciative response from the gold men

Note and Source: The speakers are listed, top to bottom, in the order in which they addressed the convention. The entries in this chart are summaries of the text; the latter contains citations to source material.

It was now Bryan’s turn to speak. For years, Bryan had traveled around the country as one of the leading spokesmen for silver, and his itinerant lectures had made him well known among the silver delegates. Although the silver men knew they would win this fight, they nonetheless needed someone to tell them – and

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the gold men – why they must enshrine silver at the heart of the platform.46 The silver delegates were therefore more than ready to make Bryan look good in this, their final moment of truth. And unlike Hill, Bryan was in fine health, completely prepared to take full advantage of their offer.47 The gold demonstration following Russell’s performance was buried under the avalanche of cheers that welcomed the “Boy Orator of the Platte.” His Nebraska delegates frantically waved red bandanas as they sent him off to the podium.48 Cheer after cheer went up as Bryan of Nebraska, tall, smooth-faced, youthful-looking, leaped up the platform steps, two at a time, to close the debate. Banners waved from the free coinage delegations and handkerchiefs, newspapers, hats, fans and canes were brought into play by the enthusiastic crowd.49

The New York Tribune stated that this demonstration lasted ten minutes, during which the air was full of newspapers and hats. Four times the cheer seemed to have spent itself, and each time it rose again with the roll of an advancing wave. . . . Bryan stood with a smile playing on his face and an uplifted arm, waiting for silence.

The Detroit Free Press described Bryan as in face and figure a Roman on the stage. . . . He had a clean-cut firm mouth, a strong Roman nose and black hair brushed back from his forehead and falling over his collar in short curls [and he wore] a plain short alpaca coat, low-cut vest and a white lawn tie.

The demonstration that greeted Bryan finally faded away into a “breathless silence [in] which thousands peered forward” to catch his opening words. Into this deafening quiet he began to speak “clearly and deliberately.”50 Bryan started by subordinating his own pride to the interests of the silver cause: Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Convention: I would be presumptuous, indeed, to present myself against the distinguished gentlemen to whom you have listened if this were but a measuring of ability; but this is not a contest among persons. The humblest 46

47

48 49 50

The New York Times observed, “There never was a more propitious moment for such an orator than that which fell to Bryan. The minority had just been pleased and the majority had just been depressed and mortified by the appearance, as the champion of free silver, of Tillman. . . . After that came the shrewd, acute, lunge-like dissection by Senator Hill of the platform. . . . The minority had indicated its position. The majority felt exposed, crestfallen, and humiliated. And it was at that critical point that there appeared to give articulate expression to their inarticulate sentiments a man who had the air and manner of a freeman.” July 11, 1896. As the Atlanta Constitution described this moment, a “speech and it would be done. The silver platform would be engrafted upon party history. The terrific strain would end. An awed murmur filled the hall. It was a moment of history. The tall chairman lifted his gavel to stay the noise.” Chicago Tribune. Atlanta Constitution. The text of Bryan’s speech appears in Official Proceedings, pp. 226–35.

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citizen in all the land, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the whole hosts of error that they can bring.

As the Detroit Free Press reported, this opening passage “struck a keynote which sounded to the rafters.” The next line also drew loud applause. I come to speak to you in defense of a cause as holy as the cause of liberty – the cause of humanity.51

Having captured the attention of his audience and deftly placed himself at the head of the silver column without claiming personal honor or prestige, Bryan momentarily calmed the crowd by briefly reviewing the history of the silver movement. When this debate is concluded a motion will be made to lay upon the table the resolution offered in commendation of the Administration.52 I shall object to bringing this question down to a level of persons. The individual is but an atom; he is born, he acts, he dies but principles are eternal; and this has been a contest of principle. Never before in the history of this country has there been witnessed such a contest as that through which we have passed. Never before in the history of American politics has a great issue been fought out, as this issue has been, by the voters themselves. On the 4th of March, 1895, a few Democrats, most of them members of Congress, issued an address to the Democrats of the nation asserting that the money question was the paramount issue of the hour; asserting also the right of a majority of the Democratic party to control the position of the party on this paramount issue; concluding with the request that all believers in free coinage of silver in the Democratic party should organize and take charge of and control the policy of the Democratic party. Three months later, at Memphis, an organization was perfected, and the silver Democrats went forth openly and boldly and courageously proclaiming their belief and declaring that if successful they would crystalize in a platform the declaration that they had made; and then began the conflict with a zeal approaching the zeal which inspired the crusaders who followed Peter the Hermit. Our silver Democrats went forth from victory unto victory until they are assembled now, not to discuss, not to debate, but to enter up the judgment rendered by the plain people of this country.53 But in this contest, brother has been arrayed against brother, and father against father. The warmest ties of love and acquaintance and association have been disregarded. Old leaders have been cast aside when they refused to give expression to the sentiments of those whom they would lead, and new leaders have sprung up to give direction to this cause of freedom.54 Thus has the contest been waged, and we have assembled here under as binding and solemn instructions as were ever fastened upon the representatives of a people. We do not come as individuals. Why, as individuals we might have been glad to compliment the gentleman from New York [Senator Hill], but we knew that the people for whom we speak would never be willing to put him in a position where he could 51 52 53 54

“Loud applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal.

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thwart the will of the Democratic party.55 I say it was not a question of persons; it was a question of principle, and it is not with gladness, my friends, that we find ourselves brought into conflict with those who are now arrayed on the other side. The gentleman who just preceded me [Gov. Russell] spoke of the old State of Massachusetts. Let me assure him that not one person in all this Convention entertains the least hostility to the people of the State of Massachusetts.56

After denying that the silver wing bore any hostility toward the gold men, Bryan launched into the first of several passages that affirmed the honorable intentions and worthy standing of the common citizens whose cause the silver men espoused. But we stand here representing people who are the equals before the law of the largest cities in the State of Massachusetts.57 When you come before us and tell us that we shall disturb your business interests, we reply that you have disturbed our business interests by your action.58 We say to you that you have made too limited in its application the definition of business man. The man who is employed for wages is as much a business man as his employer.59 The attorney in a country town is as much a business man as the corporation counsel in a great metropolis. The merchant at the crossroads store is as much a business man as the merchant of New York. The farmer who goes forth in the morning and toils all day, begins in the spring and toils all summer, and by the application of brain and muscle to the natural resources of this country creates wealth, is as much a business man as the man who goes upon the Board of Trade and bets upon the price of grain.60

As he moved from the wage-earning laborer to the small town lawyer and then to a rural storekeeper, Bryan kept the comparison between the common man and the metropolitan elite before his listeners. As he reached the last of these three, the audience knew he was holding back “the farmer.” In the sentence that everyone knew was coming, he sympathetically painted the agrarian as the producer of wealth and denigrated the broker-businessman as a gambler who used the fruits of the soil as gambling chips. If the audience needed any more cues as to the demonstration he expected, Bryan made the sentence almost three times as long as the others. When he ended this fourth comparison, the hall exploded as the galleries became “a mass of white because of the handkerchiefs waving. The cheers were renewed again and again, and it was some minutes before Mr. Bryan could be heard.”61 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

“Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal, New York Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Applause.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Great applause and cheering.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Continued cheering.” Chicago Tribune. “Continued cheers.” Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. Chicago Tribune.

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His last comparison connected the conflict over silver and gold to the struggle for class equality. The miners who go a thousand feet into the earth or climb 2,000 feet upon the cliffs and bring forth from their hiding-places the precious metals to be poured in the channels of trade are as much business men as the few financial magnates who in a back room corner the money of the world.62

The Memphis Commercial Appeal reported that the “free silver delegates at this point broke forth in tremendous cheers, standing on chairs and waving their hats and banners frantically.” In the Chicago Tribune account, a “man in the gallery cried: ‘Go after them, Willie,’ and another, ‘Give it to them, Bill.’” Having claimed the status necessary to petition for justice, Bryan now made it clear that this petition was not to be denied. We come to speak for this broader class of business men. Ah, my friends, we say not one word against those who live upon the Atlantic coast; but those hardy pioneers who braved all the dangers of the wilderness, who have made the desert to blossom as the rose – those pioneers away out there, rearing their children near to nature’s heart, where they can mingle their voices with the voices of the birds – out there where they have erected school houses for the education of their young and churches where they praise their Creator, and cemeteries where sleep the ashes of their dead – are as deserving of the consideration of this party as any people in this country.63 It is for these that we speak. We do not come as aggressors. Our war is not a war of conquest. We are fighting in the defense of our homes, our families, and posterity.64 We have petitioned, and our petitions have been scorned. We have entreated and our entreaties have been disregarded. We have begged, and they have mocked when our calamity came. We beg no longer; we entreat no more; we petition no more. We defy them!

The Atlanta Constitution reported that this “denunciation, uttered in Mr. Bryan’s most dramatic manner, was followed by a scene of wild excitement and cheering, which lasted several minutes.” In the Chicago Tribune account, there was simply “great applause and confusion in the silver delegations.” From this point forward, Bryan was cheered at almost every pause in his delivery. As he worked his way through the platform, succinctly outlining positions on the income tax, national banks, and the federal courts, Bryan left the monetary standard to the last. The gentleman from Wisconsin has said that he fears a Robespierre. My friend, in this land of the free you need fear no tyrant who will spring up from among the people. What 62

63 64

“Great cheering.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “But greatest of all was the enthusiasm stirred by his comparisons of business men, culminating with the comparison of the business man who went down a thousand feet into a mine, and him who in a back room cornered the money of the world.” New York Tribune. “Great applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Loud applause.” Chicago Tribune.

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we need is an Andrew Jackson to stand as Jackson stood, against the encroachments of aggregated wealth.65 They tell us that this platform was made to catch votes. We reply to them that changing conditions make new issues; that the principles upon which rest Democracy are as everlasting as the hills; but that they must be applied to new conditions as they arise. Conditions have arisen and we are attempting to meet those conditions. They tell us that the income tax ought not to be brought in here, that it is a new idea. They criticise us for our criticisms of the Supreme Court of the United States. My friends, we have made no criticism. We have simply called attention to what you know. If you want criticisms read the dissenting opinions of the court. That will give you criticisms.66 They say we passed an unconstitutional law. I deny it. The income tax was not unconstitutional when it was passed. It was not unconstitutional when it went before the Supreme Court for the first time. It did not become unconstitutional until one judge changed his mind; and we cannot be expected to know when a judge will change his mind.67 The income tax is a just law. It simply intends to put the burdens of government justly upon the backs of the people. I am in favor of an income tax.68 When I find a man who is not willing to pay his share of the burden of the government which protects him I find a man who is unworthy to enjoy the blessings of a government like ours.69 He says that we are opposing the national bank currency. It is true. If you will read what Thomas Benton said you will find that he said that in searching history he could find but one parallel to Andrew Jackson. That was Cicero, who destroyed the conspiracies of Cataline and saved Rome. He did for Rome what Jackson did when he destroyed the bank conspiracy and saved America.70 We say in our platform that we believe that the right to coin money and issue money is a function of government. We believe it. We believe it is a part of sovereignty, and can no more with safety be delegated to private individuals than can the power to make penal statutes or levy laws for taxation.71 Mr. Jefferson, who was once regarded as good Democratic authority, seems to have a different opinion from the gentleman who has addressed us on the part of the minority. Those who are opposed to this proposition tell us that the issue of paper money is a function of the bank, and that the government ought to go out of the banking business. I stand with Jefferson, rather than with them, and tell them, as he did, that the issue of money is a function of the government, and that the banks should go out of the government business.72

At this point, the Detroit Free Press reported that Bryan “paused for a moment, as if to close, when from all sides came shouts of ‘Go on, go on.’” 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

“Great applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers and laughter.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Applause, and a voice, ‘Hit ’em again.’” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal, New York Tribune. “Loud cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers and laughter.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune.

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They complain about the plank which declares against the life tenure in office. They have tried to strain it to mean that which it does not mean. What we oppose in that plank is the life tenure that is being built up in Washington which establishes an officeholding class and excludes from participation in the benefits the humbler members of our society. I cannot dwell longer in my limited time upon these things.73 Let me call attention to two or three great things. The gentleman from New York says that he will propose an amendment providing that this change in our law shall not affect contracts which, according to the present laws, are made payable in gold.74 But if he means to say that we cannot change our monetary system without protecting those who have loaned money before the change was made, I want to ask him where, in law or in morals, he can find authority for not protecting the debtors when the act of 1873 was passed, when he now insists that we must protect the creditor. He says he also wants to amend this platform so as to provide that if we fail to maintain the parity within a year that we will then suspend the coinage of silver. We reply that when we advocate a thing which we believe will be successful we are not compelled to raise a doubt as to our own sincerity by trying to show what we will do if we are wrong. I ask him, if he will apply his logic to us, why he does not apply it to himself. He says that he wants this country to try to secure an international agreement. Why doesn’t he tell us what he is going to do if they fail to secure an international agreement?75 There is more reason for him to do that than for us to expect to fail to maintain the parity. They have tried for thirty years – thirty years – to secure an international agreement, and those are waiting for it most patiently who don’t want it at all.76

Bryan’s pronouncement elicited prolonged cheering and laughter. The Memphis Commercial Appeal stated that the “Chairman rapped for order, and a pause of considerable length ensued” before Bryan could again speak. Now, my friends, let me come to the great paramount issue. If they ask us here why it is that we say more on the money question than we say upon the tariff question, I reply that if protection has slain its thousands the gold standard has slain its tens of thousands.77 If they ask us why we did not embody all these things in our platform which we believe, we reply to them that when we have restored the money of the constitution all other necessary reforms will be possible, and that until that is done there is no reform that can be accomplished.78

At this point, Bryan launched his one attack on the Republicans. Why is that within three months such a change has come over the sentiments of the country? Three months ago, when it was confidently asserted that those who believed in the gold standard would frame our platforms and nominate our candidates, even the advocates of the gold standard did not think that we could elect a President; but they 73 74

75 76 77 78

“Cries of ‘Go on; go on.’” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. The Chicago Tribune reported, along with other changes in this passage, an additional sentence at this point: “Let me remind him that there is no intention of affecting those contracts which, according to the present laws, are made payable in gold.” “Applause.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Applause and laughter.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Cheering.” Chicago Tribune. “Cheers.” Memphis Commercial Appeal, New York Tribune.

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had good reasons for the suspicion, because there is scarcely a State here to-day asking for the gold standard that is not within the absolute control of the Republican party.79 But note the change. Mr. McKinley was nominated at St. Louis upon a platform that declared for the maintenance of the gold standard until it should be changed into bimetallism by an international agreement. Mr. McKinley was the most popular man among the Republicans and everybody three months ago in the Republican party prophesied his election. How is it to-day? Why, that man who used to boast that he looked like Napoleon,80 that man shudders to-day when he thinks that he was nominated on the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo.81

Here “the silver men showed their appreciation . . . by a yell and an uproar, which for twenty or thirty seconds prevented the speaker from proceeding. At length, when things calmed down a trifle, he resumed.”82 Not only that, but as he listens he can hear with ever-increasing distinctness the sound of the waves as they beat upon the lonely shores of St. Helena.83 Why this change? Ah, my friends, is not the change evident to any one who will look at the matter? It is because no private character, however pure, no personal popularity, however great, can protect from the avenging wrath of an indignant people the man who will either declare that he is in favor of fastening the gold standard upon this people, or who is willing to surrender the right of self-government and place legislative control in the hands of foreign potentates and powers.84 My friends, the prospect . . .

The delegates and spectators were still cheering his attack on the gold standard, so much so that the “continued cheering made it impossible” for him to proceed. When the “Chairman vainly and repeatedly rapped for order,” the audience only responded with more noise. Finally, Bryan, “raising his hand, obtained silence long enough to say that he had only ten minutes left, and he asked the audience to let him occupy that time.” Because of the repeated demonstrations, Bryan had long ago exhausted his allotted time so the “ten minutes left” was clearly specious. Even if it had been seriously meant, no silver chairman was going to enforce a time limit on this speaker. So what was Bryan doing here? One interpretation might have him calming down his listeners so they would have enough energy to put on the display he had planned for the end of his speech. If that is accurate, then he misjudged his audience in that his intended conventional condemnation of the gold standard elicited more passion than he expected – or, indeed, wanted. The silver delegates were now in an 79 80 81 82 83 84

“Loud cheering.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Laughter.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “Laughter and cheers.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune. “There was half a minute of derisive laughter, and the speaker continued.” Detroit Free Press. Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Great applause.” Detroit Free Press. “Cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal, New York Tribune.

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almost continuous uproar, so much so that Bryan was cheered indiscriminately regardless of what he might say. So he calmed them down.85 We go forth confident that we shall win. Why? Because upon the paramount issue in this campaign there is not a spot of ground upon which the enemy will dare to challenge battle. Why, if they tell us that the gold standard is a good thing, we point to their platform and tell them that their platform pledges the party to get rid of a gold standard and substitute bimetallism.86 If the gold standard is a good thing, why try to get rid of it?87 If the gold standard, and I might call your attention to the fact that some of the very people who are in this convention to-day and who tell you that we ought to declare in favor of international bimetallism and thereby declare that the gold standard is wrong, and that the principles of bimetallism are better – these very people four months ago were open and avowed advocates of the gold standard and telling us that we could not legislate two metals together, even with all the world.88 I want to suggest this truth, that if the gold standard is a good thing we ought to declare in favor of its retention and not in favor of abandoning it; and if the gold standard is a bad thing why should we wait until some other nations are willing to help us to let it go?89 Here is the line of battle. We care not upon which issue they force the fight. We are prepared to meet them on either issue or on both. If they tell us that the gold standard is the standard of civilization we reply to them that this, the most enlightened of all the nations of the earth, has never declared for a gold standard, and both the parties this year are declaring against it.90 If the gold standard is the standard of civilization, why, my friends, should we not have it? So if they come to meet us on that we can present the history of our nation. More than that. We can tell them this, that they will search the pages of history in vain to find a single instance in which the common people of any land have ever declared themselves in favor of a gold standard.91 They can find where the holders of fixed investments have. Mr. Carlisle said in 1878 that this was a struggle between the idle holders of idle capital and the struggling masses who produce the wealth and pay the taxes of the country; and my friends, it is simply a question that we shall decide upon which side shall the Democratic party fight? Upon the side of the idle holders of idle capital, or upon the side of the struggling masses? That is the question that the party must answer first; and then it must be answered by each individual hereafter. The sympathies of the Democratic party, as described by the platform, are on the side of the struggling masses, who have ever been the foundation of the Democratic party.92 There are two ideas of government. There are those who believe that if you just legislate to make the well-to-do prosperous that their prosperity will leak through on those below. The Democratic idea has been that if you legislate to make the masses 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92

Chicago Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Laughter and continued applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. A second account in the Tribune reported that this “sally brought down the convention again.” “Renewed applause and cheers.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal.

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prosperous their prosperity will find its way up and through every class that rests upon it.93 You come to us and tell us that the great cities are in favor of the gold standard. I tell you that the great cities rest upon these broad and fertile prairies. Burn down your cities and leave our farms and your cities will spring up again as if by magic. But destroy our farms and the grass will grow in the streets of every city in this country.

The last line in this paragraph brought forth “great applause” and “great cheering.”94 My friends, we shall declare that this nation is able to legislate for its own people on every question, without waiting for the aid or consent of any other nation on earth,95 and upon that issue we expect to carry every single State in this Union.96 I shall not slander the fair State of Massachusetts nor the State of New York by saying that when its citizens are confronted with the proposition, “Is this Nation able to attend to its own business?” – I will not slander either one by saying that the people of those States will declare our helpless impotency as a nation to attend to our own business. It is the issue of 1776 over again. Our ancestors, when but 3,000,000, had the courage to declare their political independence of every other nation upon earth. Shall we, their descendants, when we have grown to 70,000,000, declare that we are less independent than our forefathers? No, my friends, it will never be the judgement of this people. Therefore we care not upon what lines the battle is fought. If they say bimetallism is good, but we cannot have it till some nation helps us, we reply that, instead of having a gold standard because England has, we shall restore bimetallism, and then let England have bimetallism because the United States have [it].97

Now Bryan was ready for the demonstration whose fires he had been stoking throughout his speech. The final paragraph brought everything to a climax. If they dare to come out and in the open defend the gold standard as a good thing, we shall fight them to the uttermost, having behind us the producing masses of the Nation and the world. Having behind us the commercial interests and the laboring interests and all the toiling masses, we shall answer their demands for a gold standard by saying to them, you shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns.

As Bryan uttered the last phrase, he first raised his hands and then brought them down as if to place a “crown of thorns” upon his own head. Then came the closing line: You shall not crucify mankind on a cross of gold.98

As he said this, Bryan took one step back and stretched his arms in the form of a crucifix, symbolically offering his own person as sacrifice for the cause. 93 94 95 96 97 98

“Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal, New York Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune. “Great cheering.” New York Tribune. “Applause.” Chicago Tribune, Memphis Commercial Appeal. “Cheers.” New York Tribune. “Tremendous cheers.” Atlanta Constitution, New York Tribune.

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There was a silence, a pause while the delegates and spectators came to fully appreciate the image that had just been placed before them. For a moment after Bryan’s last words there was a fearful silence. Breathlessly the audience leaned forward, in excited attitude. . . . Then came a murmur of admiration. The murmur grew into whispers of approving comment; the whisperings swelled into a wave of vigorous hand-clapping; the hand-clapping burst into an uplifting of voices. From fifteen thousand throats thundered a tempest of hisses, tumults, tributes to the wonderful magnetism of the magnificent orator.99

In attempting to describe what came next, a Washington Post correspondent was almost at a loss for words: The scene which followed beggars description. Words may tell what actually happened, but words cannot impart the strange and curious magnetism which filled the atmosphere. Bedlam broke loose, delirium reigned supreme. In the spoken word of the orator thousands of men had heard the unexpressed sentiments and hopes of their own inmost souls. The great mass of humanity threw forth the fiery lava of its enthusiasm like Vesuvius in eruption . . . the stamping of the feet was as the roll of thunder among the echoing Alps, and the hurricane of sound almost caused the steel girders of the roof to tremble with its perceptible volume. Every man in the vast audience climbed upon his chair and, infected by the cyclonic frenzy of the moment, seemed absolutely oblivious to what he did or what he said. Words cannot picture the awful tumult, but the almost lunatical excitement was shown by the incident of one woman, who, standing upon a chair, shouted like a savage and danced like a savage.100

The Chicago Tribune reported that three-fourths of the delegates were now standing “upon their chairs,” waving “handkerchiefs, hats, umbrellas, and canes.” Immediately after Bryan had finished his speech, men had “rushed to the platform to offer congratulations,” and he now found it almost impossible to make his way back to the Nebraska delegation.101 Anticipating the difficulty, one policeman had positioned himself in front in order “to clear the way,” while another was ready to follow Bryan in order “to prevent the crowd closing in.” They were utterly overwhelmed as the “silver delegates fell over each other in their efforts to reach him. . . . Bryan found himself in the midst of a shouting, pushing mob, every man anxious to grasp his hand.” As the New York Times perceived, Bryan “was not at all averse to the proceedings.” He was subsequently 99 100

101

Atlanta Constitution, July 11, 1896. The power of this demonstration simply bewildered those who did not share the passions that moved the delegates and spectators. Seemingly “insensible to eloquence,” the Chicago policemen who had been detailed to keep order in the hall “stood in attitudes of fright, as if they felt the audience would turn on them.” Atlanta Constitution, July 11, 1896. Even though most of them worked for papers opposed to silver, some of the “veteran correspondents stood on their desks and shouted.” Atlanta Constitution. Chicago Tribune.

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lifted on the shoulders of several sturdy admirers, so that the people might look upon this new defender of the people. Bryan is heavy, and the men holding him grew tired; so he stepped upon a chair and beamed upon the assemblage. His reappearance above the sea of heads intensified the noise.102

The Philadelphia Public Ledger reported that Bryan, as he was carried down the center aisle “on the shoulders of his friends,” was “struggling to release himself from their enthusiastic embraces.” In the Washington Post version, the silver men began a ghost dance around the young Nebraskan, whom his colleagues had in the meantime lifted shoulder high to receive the plaudits of the admiring multitude. . . . [And then, as the] excitement grew more and more and more uncontrollable[, s]everal lusty men in the Nebraska crowd [again?] seized Bryan bodily and lifted him on their shoulders in the full view of the daft multitude. The yelling and frantic waving of every movable thing became wilder then ever.

Although these accounts are not at all clear, Bryan may have been hoisted onto his admirers’ shoulders more than once, the first time occurring when he was returning to his seat immediately after the speech and the second just as the procession of state standards was moving away from the Nebraska reservation. There may have even been a third occasion sometime before or in between these.103 What is clear is that Bryan was man-handled, albeit lovingly. Soon after Bryan had returned to the Nebraska reservation on the convention floor, the guidon which marked the location of the Nebraska delegation was seen to rise in the air, detached from the seat which supported it. For a moment it waved frantically alone. Then, above the struggling, cheering crowd in the aisle, the guidon of Texas was seen to advance toward the spot where frantic enthusiasts were clustering around the Nebraska delegation and its standard. Great outbursts of cheering greeted the movement. One by one, every State committed to free coinage, with the exception of Indiana, wrenched its guidon from its fastening and joined the cluster of waving standards congregated in the aisle around the Nebraska orator. The situation was one pervaded with hysteria and uncontrollable delirium.104

In the center of the convention floor, “amid the crowding mob which clung to his hand, ‘The Boy Orator of the Platte’ smiled, half-dazed, as though semiintoxicated.”105 Tennessee had followed Texas in the movement of signs and South Carolina was only a little behind.106 As the standards collected around the orator, a correspondent for the Chicago Tribune reported that, “some folks 102 103

104 105 106

New York Times. For example, the Memphis Commercial Appeal reported that a “dozen delegates rushed upon the stage and shouldered the half-dazed orator and bore him in triumph down the aisle.” If so, Bryan was carried off the podium even before he started back to the Nebraska reservation. Philadelphia Public Ledger. Washington Post. The Atlanta Constitution reported that Tennessee went first, then Texas. The Washington Post also said that Tennessee went first, then Texas, followed by a “swarthy, black-coated fellow from the Indian Territory.”

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said that Bryan was going to be the nominee of the convention for the head of the ticket, and that his speech had won the day for him.” By this time, the signs from all of the silver states had made the pilgrimage to the Nebraska delegation.107 The space around Bryan was now intolerably congested, and partly for that reason and partly because the energy in this demonstration was so intense that it demanded movement, the delegates began to march around the floor. South Carolina led the procession.108 The delegates ultimately made three or four circuits of the convention floor “in crazy parade,” with most of them “yelling like Comanches and dancing up and down like dervishes.”109 After about fourteen minutes had elapsed, the demonstration began to slightly decrease in intensity. The Nebraska delegates, however, made “an appeal for a fresh outburst” and the “walls again resounded to a perfect Niagara of sound” for another five minutes. Then the demonstration again began to wind down. After the demonstration began to fade, the delegates returned wearily to their seats and the “crowds sank back exhausted.” The New York Times gave the length of the demonstration as twenty-five minutes from the point that Bryan ceased speaking until the chairman was able to restore order.110 About that time the only silver delegate in the tiny Delaware delegation climbed back on his chair to lead three cheers for Bryan. As these also faded away, a shout came from the galleries, “What’s the matter with Bryan for president?”111 Bryan himself slumped in his chair on the convention floor, “completely exhausted” and “smothered with congratulations” from friends and strangers alike. Having delivered his speech in just the way he had planned, Bryan now did 107

108

109 110

111

“Only the standards of Connecticut, Delaware, Massachusetts, Maine, New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire, Vermont, South Dakota, Rhode Island and Pennsylvania were left standing [in their original places] when the demonstration was at its height.” Memphis Commercial Appeal. These were all gold states. However, if this report is accurate, then the signs of some of the gold states, such as Alaska, Maryland, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, must have been carried to Nebraska. The New York Times, however, stated that the signs of these four states had remained in their places while all the silver states had joined the demonstration. The New York Tribune was broadly consistent with the Times but reported that South Dakota joined the procession. The Philadelphia Public Ledger reported that all the silver states, with the exception of Indiana, uprooted their signs and carried them in the march, implying that the gold states remained in their places. From these slight inconsistencies we can see both how closely the reporters were paying attention to events on the convention floor and how chaotic the scene must have been. The New York Times gave a different version in which “the man carrying the Kentucky banner, a ponderous individual,” set off marching “up the main aisle.” The Detroit Free Press also thought Kentucky went first. Washington Post. Both the New York Tribune and the Philadelphia Public Ledger gave the length of the demonstration as fifteen minutes. The Atlanta Constitution reported eighteen minutes in its July 11 issue. The Los Angeles Times also said eighteen minutes. Some of these accounts reported that the chairman made weak attempts to restoring order but was personally pleased when they were ignored by the demonstrators. However, the chairman could not have stanched this eruption even if he had wanted to. Memphis Commercial Appeal.

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nothing more but serve as the object of veneration. As one “of his colleagues fanned him[,] the others of the delegation hung affectionately over him and wrung his hand.”112 Somewhere in the mass demonstration that was convulsing the convention hall, the transfer of sentiment from silver as a policy to Bryan as a presidential candidate took place.113 The demonstration was doing its work without him; in fact, the demonstration was doing its work without any direction at all.114 Although this was ostensibly a silver demonstration and Illinois was one of the stalwart silver states, Governor Altgeld prevented a delegate from dragging the Illinois standard from its mooring so that it could be carried to Nebraska. This might have been a Nebraska delegate, and before “he had gone ten feet,” Altgeld ordered him to return the standard. A short time after that Missouri’s sign was carried over to the Nebraska delegation and Altgeld then relented, saying, “Now you can take it. . . . Missouri is in the line, and I guess we can afford to join.” The governor then turned to the delegates who surrounded him and said, “That was the greatest speech ever made. I had rather be able to make that speech than be president. Common men are sometimes made Presidents, but it takes talent and brains to talk like that.”115 Later, “when the Illinois delegation . . . followed the Southern delegates around the hall shouting for Bryan, the Illinois boss looked savage.”116 As a correspondent for the New York Times wrote, “the demonstration . . . struck terror to the hearts of the Bland and Boies and McLean and Stevenson boomers.” Altgeld realized that this was no longer solely or even primarily a demonstration for silver and that transformation threatened his investment in Bland’s candidacy. Both the governor and Hinrichsen climbed onto their chairs, but they were not cheering Bryan. They were instead “keeping

112 113

114 115 116

Ibid. Detroit Free Press. As the Atlanta Constitution put it, “From floor to gallery the waves of applause swept, and back again from gallery to floor, and when the shouting, yelling, cheering masses fell back exhausted, William J. Bryan had been cast into the arena of presidential hope, as a full fledged candidate for his party’s nomination.” In the words of the New York Tribune, the “demonstration for Bryan was apparently spontaneous, but was largely in the nature of a boom springing into sudden life.” Los Angeles Times. Missouri, of course, was Bland’s home state and thus was implicitly giving its blessing on all the Bland states to join the demonstration. New York Tribune. When he carried the Illinois standard over to Nebraska, Hinrichsen was not thwarting Altgeld. They were both simply bowing to the inevitable; if they did not allow the sign to be moved, someone in their delegation was going to take it from them. Later, in an attempt to check the Bryan boom, Hinrichsen claimed that the demonstration had been for silver, not Bryan, and explained that he had gone “over to Nebraska with the Illinois colors, because everybody knew that Illinois was solid for Bland and could not be induced to desert him as long as there is a chance for his nomination. I am surprised that anybody should think for a moment that Illinois was participating in a personal demonstration in honor of Mr. Bryan.” For corroboration of Hinrichsen’s account, see Paolo E. Coletta, William Jennings Bryan, vol. 1: Political Evangelist, 1860–1908 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1964), p. 142.

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track of the weak places – one for Bland, the other for Bryan.”117 As the Philadelphia Public Ledger described the transformation, Men stood on their chairs and hugged each other. Flags, handkerchiefs and even newspapers were waved in rhythmic motion on floor and galleries. The waves of cheers swept across the great hall, dashed themselves against the walls and rolled back in echoing reverberations. There were cries “Nominate him,” “Nominate Bryan,” which increased the tempest of noise to a tornado of uproar.

The New York Tribune said that the demonstration even spread infectiously to the streets outside the Coliseum where the crowds “began cheering frantically for the Nebraskan. Bryan handkerchiefs were placed on sticks, and men were running up and down Sixty-third-st[reet] like Indians.” The Public Ledger reported that if a roll call on the nomination had been held at that moment, Bryan would have won in a landslide and thus been anointed “the Jackson of the Populist Democracy.” The Boston Globe agreed, saying that it was “evident that if the choosing of a president should be precipitated upon the convention at this moment there would be no thought among all the silver delegates of any other man.” The Atlanta Constitution chimed in, “Bryan’s great speech has turned an overwhelming tide in his favor, and had the vote been taken this evening, he would unquestionably have been nominated . . . for in the twinkling of an eye Bryan has forged to the front.” The New York Tribune reached the same conclusion: “If the demonstration meant anything beyond mere effervescent enthusiasm over a fine piece of oratory, it meant that Bryan at the close of that speech was the popular candidate for the nomination.” For its part, the Chicago Tribune thought “no name would have been heard on the silver side of the house except that of Bryan” if a vote had been taken following his speech. The Los Angeles Times simply said, “At the moment, if a vote could be taken, Bryan would be the nomination of this convention.” Now that he was clearly a serious presidential candidate, Bryan retired to his hotel room to await the result.118 The Calculated Enchantment of Passion In terms of ritual, Bryan’s speech was a formal defense of the silver plank. And it was in that role – a role in which Bryan had intentionally cloaked himself – that the silver delegates could unreservedly display enthusiasm for their cause. Going into the speech, most of the delegates had either committed themselves to or were leaning toward one of the other candidates for the nomination. Bryan himself had only a very small following (see chapter 8). Recognizing this, Bryan had opened his address by openly denying that he considered himself above the cause or even the equal of the gold and silver leaders who had preceded him in the debate. Thus disarming those who might otherwise have seen him as a threat 117 118

Reprinted from the Chicago Inter Ocean by the Atlanta Constitution, July 12, 1896. Coletta, William Jennings Bryan, vol. 1, pp. 142–43.

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to their favored candidate, he first released and then harnessed the tension that had been accumulating within the silver faction as the party moved toward open disruption over the platform. Bryan had anticipated that delivering the closing speech on the silver plank would be the best situation in which to exercise his oratorical talents and did his best to maneuver himself into that position. To play this role, he had to be, on the one hand, too prominent as a candidate to be considered for the posts of temporary or permanent chairman (for the first of these he was apparently disqualified in any case, because he was not yet an official delegate when that post was filled).119 On the other hand, he could not be so prominent as to preclude his delivering a major address before the convention.120 As a start, he intentionally discouraged early endorsements of his candidacy because these would have made him a visible presidential possibility. For example, in a private letter to Charles Thomas several months before the convention met, Bryan asked for the support of the Colorado delegation while noting that the Nebraska convention, at his own request, would not instruct its delegates for him. Because he would not officially be a candidate, Bryan continued, he could attend the convention as an ordinary delegate and “help to secure the right kind of a platform.”121 And when the North Carolina delegation appeared to be on the verge of endorsing Bryan on July 8, a message was sent to his supporters in the state caucus that “Mr. Bryan would prefer that his friends give Bland the North Carolina delegation on first ballot. He does not care to show Presidential strength that early in the fight.”122 Because Bryan could not become a member of the Committee on Resolutions until the Nebraska silver delegation had unseated the gold men, he joined the committee too late to play more than a minor role in the deliberations. He was, however, very well known for his oratorical ability, and when the time came to decide who would defend the silver plank, he was a natural choice.123 As Bryan himself reported, “Senator Jones sent for me and asked me to take charge of the 119

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For example, the Atlanta Constitution reported that on July 7, Bryan was in the room where the committee on permanent organization of the convention was meeting and that, whenever he stepped out, “there was continual talk . . . about making him the permanent presiding officer of the convention. At the suggestion of his friends, however, his name has not been presented for the reason that he might be a candidate for president before the convention.” July 8, 1896. William Jennings Bryan and Mary Baird Bryan, The Memoirs of William Jennings Bryan (Philadelphia: John C. Winston, 1925), p. 109. M. R. Werner, Bryan (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1929), p. 59. Chicago Tribune, July 9, 1896. At this morning caucus on July 8, a straw poll of the North Carolina delegation revealed one delegate for Teller, three for Boies, seven for Bland, and eleven for Bryan. Just after this poll, one of the Bryan men offered a resolution pledging the delegation to Bland on the first ballot with the apparent expectation that the state would go to Bryan on the second. Boston Globe, July 9, 1896. He was a natural choice in part because he was still not viewed as a serious presidential contender. If he had been, other campaigns would have objected to his speech as an opportunity conferring an unfair advantage on a competitor.

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debate.”124 Bryan offered Tillman more time if he would give the first speech. While he may have thought Tillman would undermine the silver cause, a more important factor was his desire to give the closing address. As it turned out, Tillman’s poor performance was icing on that cake. Clark Howell, editor of the Atlanta Constitution and one of the leaders of the Georgia delegation, was seated just in back of the podium as Tillman spoke. Howell was just as disappointed in the senator’s address as the rest of the silver faction but saw something else as well. Realizing that Tillman “had not met the expectations of the friends of silver,” Howell dashed off a note and sent one of the assistant sergeant-at-arms scurrying down to the Nebraska delegation in search of Bryan. Howell wrote, You have now the opportunity of your life in concluding the argument for the majority report. Make a big, broad, patriotic speech that will leave no taste of sectionalism in the mouth and which will give a sentiment that will touch a responsive chord in the heart of the whole country. You can now make the hit of your life.

Bryan immediately replied with a note of his own. You will not be disappointed. I have had little or no preparation, but I will speak the sentiment of my heart and I think you will be satisfied with it.125

Bryan, of course, was vastly misrepresenting the amount of work he had put into his speech. While some of what he was to say would be extemporaneous, Bryan had long anticipated and prepared for this very moment.126 In setting him up, “Pitchfork” Ben had done just fine. As for the speech itself, Bryan said, [I had] never addressed an audience which seemed to act in such perfect harmony; it reminded one of an immense chorus trained to sing in concert. The applause broke out simultaneously in all parts of the hall, and ended as simultaneously when the next sentence began. The intense interest depicted upon the faces before me presented a picture never to be forgotten.127 124

125 126

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William J. Bryan, The First Battle: A Story of the Campaign of 1896 (Chicago: W. B. Conkey, 1896), p. 206. Later in this memoir, Bryan said that an “opportunity to close such a debate had never come to me before, and I doubt if as good an opportunity had ever come to any other person during this generation. A large majority of the delegates were earnest advocates of free coinage at 16 to 1, the speeches of Senators Hill and Vilas and ex-Governor Russell had aroused much feeling, and our people were prepared to vigorously support an exponent of bimetallism” (p. 615). Also see Louis W. Koenig, Bryan: A Political Biography of William Jennings Bryan (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1975), pp. 189–90. Atlanta Constitution, July 11, 1896. Bryan had, in fact, memorized his text. The Boston Globe reported that when Bryan had finished his speech, he gathered “up the few papers to which he had not taken the trouble to refer.” However, the Chicago Tribune went too far when it described Bryan’s speech as a mere “repetition of those he has made dozens of times in Congress,” although most passages had in fact been delivered previously. For brief accounts of how the speech came to be written, see Bryan and Bryan, Memoirs, pp. 103–4; Coletta, William Jennings Bryan, vol. 1, p. 121. Bryan, First Battle, p. 615. The San Francisco Chronicle similarly reached for a musical metaphor when it reported that Bryan “expressed so perfectly the emotions and the thoughts of

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The close coordination of speaker and audience was spontaneous in that they had never rehearsed their respective roles. But, to a large extent, he had manufactured the setting in which they performed. One of the most important elements, for example, was the uninhibited displays of the delegates and spectators. Going into the speech, they did not regard Bryan as a serious presidential contender. His audience thus regarded him solely as the agent of their cause and their demonstrations were whole-hearted exhibitions of enthusiasm for silver. Tillman had unwittingly done his part as well. Because of him, the silver men were focused on demonstrating to the gold men that they had a champion as worthy as the best they could put forward. This made the gold men the intended recipient of the silver demonstrations and further reduced their inhibitions. Bryan thus recognized the situation in which he could best exercise his oratorical powers, worked instrumentally to place himself in that situation, and then performed magnificently. In all of this, Bryan displayed a very high level of political skill. But, in the end, much of what fell into place for the “Boy Orator of the Platte” was, in fact, well beyond his personal control. Louis Koenig observed, The superb “Cross of Gold” speech, one of the great political addresses of all time, had its indispensable place in an enterprise of many parts. Without it Bryan could not have won the nomination. But the address was more than a piece of soaring oratory. It was a part, a great part, to be sure, of an intricate strategy that young Bryan, scarcely old enough to be President, conceived and played out to win the nomination. As important as the brilliance of the oration was its timing. In the rush and confusion, in the unpredictability of convention developments, Bryan maintained a plan that looked toward his rendering of the address at just the right moment when he might maximize its magical effect in the interests of his nomination. Bryan was also the beneficiary of luck. Luck is a precious, essential commodity in politics. . . . in Chicago, at several critical moments, when other men’s actions were beyond reach of his influence, luck fairly cascaded upon him. In short, Bryan won the nomination by a perfect blend of oratorical brilliance, political finesse, and sheer luck.128

The night before he delivered his speech, Bryan was eating supper with his wife, Mary, and a friend in a restaurant on Dearborn Street. As they ate, they watched noisy processions of Bland and Boies men, accompanied by their bands and banners. Looking out the window, Bryan said, These people do not know it, but they will be cheering for me just this way by this time tomorrow night. I will make the greatest speech of my life tomorrow in reply to Senator Hill. . . . I will be at my best. Hill is the brains of the opposition, and when I have answered him, it will dawn on the convention that I am a pretty good man to lead the fight.

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the silver element that between him and them seemed to be the greatest sympathy and harmony. As he touched chord after chord they responded with magnificent outbursts of approval.” Bryan, p. 178.

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Mary turned to their dinner companion and asked, “Don’t you think that Mr. Bryan has a good chance to be nominated?” Before he could respond, Bryan stepped in, So that you both may sleep well tonight, I am going to tell you something. I am the only man who can be nominated. I am what they call “the logic of the situation.”129

And so he was – the product of logic and luck. Once Bryan had delivered his speech it was time to stop being coy. As he “held a levee at his place on the convention floor, delegates from all parts of the country [offered] congratulations.” Up to this point, Bryan had persistently “declined to permit himself to be formally placed in nomination.” Now, however, he said that “he would defer to the wishes of his friends” as the “chairmen of several State delegations heretofore counted for other candidates personally assured Bryan of their support.”130 Roll Calls on the Platform Planks and Adoption After order had been restored, Senator Hill formally requested a vote on the minority report. After a few more preliminaries during which the various amendments to the platform were sorted out, the delegates began at 3:15 p.m. to vote on the gold substitute for the silver plank. When Connecticut cast its twelve votes for the substitute, there was “loud applause,” which prompted the chairman to say, “The Chair hopes these votes will not be applauded; we will get along much more rapidly.” The roll call was periodically interrupted by challenges by individual delegates to the vote totals reported by delegation chairmen, but none of these occasioned anything more than minor delays. When totaled by the clerk, the vote revealed that the silver men had turned back the gold plank by better than two to one, 626 to 303. The silver men were much too tired to do anything other than produce a mild cheer. At 3:47 p.m., the roll call began on Hill’s amendment commending the Cleveland administration.131 The final tally showed 357 votes had been cast supporting the administration to 564 in opposition.132 When the clerk announced the vote, there was some applause but a number of hisses. The hisses grew in volume and were met again by the cheers of the free silver people, but the hissers would not keep still and voiced their displeasure for some little time. 129 130 131

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For this and other examples of Bryan’s optimism, which was often received with open skepticism by his listeners, see Koenig, Bryan, pp. 187, 191–92, 193–94. Los Angeles Times. The amendment read, “We commend the honesty, economy, courage and fidelity of the present Democratic National Administration.” As an endorsement of a friendly administration, this was about as minimalist as any ever proposed in a national convention. This amendment out-polled the gold plank by fifty-four votes. The Chicago Tribune attributed Cleveland’s better showing to “the fact that several silver Democrats were anxious to scrape up a few crumbs of patronage between now and next spring.”

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Well over 90 percent of the silver faction opposed the resolution, while every single gold delegate supported Cleveland.133 The convention subsequently rejected by voice votes two other amendments offered by Senator Hill. Tillman was then persuaded to withdraw his proposed condemnation of the Cleveland administration. Drawing “some little applause,” he declared, “No brave man strikes a fallen foe.”134 Because Hill’s amendment praising the Cleveland administration had been defeated, Tillman claimed that his own proposal had been approved in principle. Finally, at 4:37 p.m., the delegates reached the stage at which the party platform could be approved in its entirety. This roll call proceeded much faster than the others. After only ten minutes, the platform was declared adopted by a vote of 628 to 301 and the convention recessed until 8:00 p.m. In guiding their flock toward adoption of a silver platform, the silver leaders had made three tactical decisions: (1) the prior selection of temporary and permanent convention chairmen, (2) the move to disconnect the declaration for silver from the presidential nomination, and (3) the opening up of the platform to secondary issues. As shepherds of the preferences for silver that they knew the delegates held as they arrived in Chicago, the silver leaders guided their flock to the platform decision with, at most, six defections.135 On the way, the silver faction picked up nine delegates who had previously indicated gold preferences, more than compensating for their losses. Conclusion The Chicago Tribune reported that Bryan had lit “the spark which touched off the train of gun-powder.” He thus exploded the emotional tension that 133

134 135

For this roll call, see Official Proceedings, p. 247. Because the delegates voted by states, their individual positions are impossible to identify unless declared on the floor during the roll call. However, the internal evidence gathered from the roll call strongly suggests that every gold delegate voted for the amendment. For Tillman’s resolution and its withdrawal, as well as the text of the party platform as finally adopted, see Official Proceedings, pp. 208, 249, 250–56. A list of delegates to the convention, along with their declared or pledged positions on gold and silver, was published in the June 27 edition of the Chicago Tribune (see Table 3.1 in chapter 3). When the roll call on the platform was actually taken on July 9, some 98 percent of the 930 delegates voted as the Tribune had indicated almost two weeks earlier. Many of the apparent changes in sentiment, in fact, resulted from errors in information. On July 3, the Chicago Tribune correctly reported that the Alaska delegation in fact supported gold, not silver as the paper had previously described on June 27. The Alaska delegates had personally announced their preferences the previous day as they disembarked from steamers in Seattle on their way to Chicago. While this represented an error in the Tribune’s original report (an error probably due to lack of information on the Alaska convention), the monetary preferences of the delegation did not represent a defection from leadership of the silver faction. Most of the other changes in position were announced well before the convention opened (e.g., the defection of a handful of Massachusetts delegates from the gold plank). At most, Bryan persuaded fewer than half a dozen delegates to change positions; it is more probable that no delegate switched sides because of his speech.

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had built up within the silver faction as it endured Tillman’s oratorical fiasco and the self-righteous expositions of the gold speakers. As a result, the “Bryan boom, which only was inchoate the night before . . . suddenly seized upon the convention and carried everything before it.” That much was obvious, but how do we analytically explain what had happened? One part of the explanation falls in place when we recognize that the procedural backbone of the convention was the structural backdrop against which Bryan, as a self-promoting agent, made and executed his plans. He knew, for example, that there would be speeches in favor of silver during the platform debate and he wanted to deliver the last of them. The other structural feature we must recognize was the convention hall itself as a physical setting within which Bryan and his audience were arrayed.136 The speech Bryan delivered was flawless and had elicited just the response he wanted from the delegates and spectators.137 And here we must carefully distinguish several aspects of this response. The vast majority of the people in the convention hall were themselves, in one sense or another, purposeful actors. Even the spectators who cheered and stomped their feet to display support for their side of the struggle were instrumentally motivated. Although they could not vote, they could still support their side by engaging in collective displays. Because delegates could vote, their participation in such displays was even more instrumentally effective. Cheers and hisses are profoundly democratic acts. In a political setting devoid of drama, angst, and uncertainty, a political convention will traverse traditional rituals under the command of party leaders. It is the leaders who decide who may or may not address the convention, what will be in the platform, and so forth. It is the leaders whose movements and pronouncements are avidly monitored by the news media. And it is the leaders to whom the delegates turn for signals as to how to act or vote. But in a political setting riven with drama, angst, and uncertainty, political leaders lose much of their influence. They lose influence not because they themselves do not attempt to exert power over the proceedings but because the delegates themselves 136

137

See chapter 6. Koenig noted, “One of the most important elements shaping Bryan’s future welfare was the nature of the convention hall. Ideally suited for the extraordinary carrying power of his voice, it was far less friendly to politicians of ordinary vocal endowment. . . . In conditions of normal quiet, anyone with a good carrying voice could be heard by the farthest delegates. But a mere glance at the hall showed that it would never know anything like normal quiet.” Bryan, p. 182. Although he is more concerned with religious displays than secular rituals, there is still a sense in which Talal Asad’s notion of an “apt performance” can be applied to Bryan’s address. The convention was constructed out of highly ritualized stages in which the more or less imagined ideal of democracy was fulfilled by way of a secular liturgy. Bryan’s speech, although certainly improvised in many respects, observed all the liturgical requirements of that ritual moment, including the invocation of validating democratic principles. On the concept of “apt performance,” see Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and Islam (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. 62 and, on ritual generally, pp. 55–79.

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literally lose sight of the leaders as they engage in collective displays of sentiment. During the prolonged demonstration following Bryan’s speech, for example, party leaders were powerless to stop or otherwise influence the cheering. This is what reporters meant when they described the demonstration as “spontaneous.” And when the delegates stood on their chairs, threw newspapers into the air, and yelled themselves hoarse, each of their displays was the equal to any attempted by one of the leaders. In fact, most party leaders restrained their participation in order to maintain a dignity they felt should accompany their status. All of this meant that the least prestigious and influential delegate on the convention floor could merge into a collective display of sentiment in which his contribution and role was at least the equal of the most powerful leader. The cacophony of sound and motion profoundly leveled the playing field because individual contributions were impossible to distinguish within the demonstration. As purposeful individuals, the vast majority of the delegates must have had very modest ambitions within the convention. They knew they were not to have an opportunity to address their colleagues. And they knew that, even if they did have an opportunity, their lack of standing in the party would have meant that their fellow delegates would have probably ignored anything they tried to say. In fact, the background noise of the convention was great enough that delegates and spectators had to make a special effort to quiet themselves so that a speaker could be heard. They would not make that effort if the speaker had not previously earned a reputation, and, in turn, the speaker could not earn that reputation if few in the audience could hear him. But these delegates of modest reputations and limited ambitions did have their votes and their throats. And they realized that, collectively, they could determine outcomes. Bryan knew that he was not recognized by the leaders of the silver faction as a plausible candidate for the nomination. Furthermore, if he had been so recognized, most of them would have strongly opposed his candidacy. So the first task for Bryan was to take the convention out of their hands. He did this by eliciting a response from the delegates that was, in sheer volume and intensity, beyond the power of any leader to control. This response was initially focused on silver. The great mass of silver delegates was passionately committed to an “imagined collectivity” arising out of the silver movement within the Democrat party and the nation at large. They had been constantly told that this movement existed and they often credited their own presence in the convention to its support. But the convention itself was the first setting in which this silver movement, within the party, could be evidenced as a tangible force. Their passionate commitment to silver led these delegates to subordinate their personal autonomy with respect to the formation, expression, and realization of individual goals (which would have been out of reach anyway) in favor of collective demonstrations that, from one perspective, appeared to validate the existence of this movement and, from another perspective, created that movement, as a national force, on the floor of the convention.

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These collective demonstrations melded the individual delegates from the separate states and territories into a collective whose identity owed everything to the contest over silver. As long as it was the policy issue of silver that was before the convention, the silver leaders were able to direct the course of the convention without restraining or controlling the spontaneous display of emotion among delegates and spectators.138 Because these collective displays were perfectly consistent with the instrumental goals of the leaders in prosecuting the silver program at the convention, there was no reason to control them. In this way, the silver leaders had unwittingly created the very collectivity that Bryan wanted to make his own. By the third day of the convention, the silver delegates were veteran demonstrators whose instrumental reaction to appropriate opportunities was to collectively display their passionate commitment to the silver cause.139 And Bryan knew just how to create these appropriate opportunities in abundance. All of this created the precise moment that Bryan exploited in his “Cross of Gold” speech.140 When Bryan took the stage, the pump was more than primed, it was ready to explode. He presented himself as a selfless servant of the cause, a role he was allowed to play because the silver faction needed a superb oratorical performance in order to put on the fervent display needed to match the gold faction’s demonstrations. To level the playing field for the nomination, Bryan also wanted to create that fervent display. The magic, in the sense of an apparently agent-less collective response, arose when the silver faction melded its collective expression for silver into an affectionate appreciation of Bryan’s personal performance. We could call this charisma, following Weber, and attribute it to a conflation of man and cause. Whatever we label it, it occurred during the displays of enthusiasm that continually interrupted Bryan’s address and the prolonged demonstration that 138

139 140

As in most political settings, two kinds of leadership can be distinguished in the 1896 convention. The first we might term “entrepreneurial” and entails the detection and shepherding of followers who already hold preferences favoring the goals of the leaders. Most rational choice approaches stress this form of leadership as that normally encountered in legislative settings. See, for instance, Gregory Wawro, Legislative Entrepreneurship in the U.S. House of Representatives (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001). The second we might call “charismatic” and entails the changing of preferences among followers such that they come to favor the goals of a leader. In guiding the silver faction toward passage of a silver platform, the leaders were acting in an entrepreneurial role. And when Bryan delivered his “Cross of Gold” speech, he too was posing as an entrepreneurial leader whose role was to facilitate the translation of pre-existing preferences favoring silver into votes for the silver plank. However, although effectively disguised, Bryan’s intention was also to change the preferences of the delegates charismatically with respect to the presidential nomination. He thus played out both types of leadership roles at the same time. As had the gold faction, which, as a reciprocal to the silver faction, learned to cheer its own symbols and honored leaders. The key and closing image, that of a crucified Bryan posing as the common man, was an unmistakable metaphor that was immediately interpretable by everyone in the Coliseum that day. But this symbol drew on Christ’s martyrdom only because it was so thoroughly embedded in the popular culture the delegates and spectators shared. The metaphor was otherwise thoroughly, even profanely, secular.

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followed his conclusion. Bryan had almost no formal campaign organization at this point and what he had was almost entirely limited to the small Nebraska delegation. When delegates stood and cheered, they were no hirelings scattered about the convention floor to give them cues. And they could not have spontaneously coordinated their own actions by signaling one another. Most delegates could not even see one another on the flat plain of the convention floor. Even if they could have seen one another, they would not have known what to signal because they came to support Bryan for the nomination through (by means of) the demonstration itself. Their preferences for the nomination formed within an ostensibly neutral declaration of passion for the silver cause. Hundreds upon hundreds of delegates and thousands upon thousands of spectators rose en masse and cheered. Each of their cheers was certainly an act that an individual chose to make. But what they collectively created was much more and much less than the sum of these individual acts. As the newspaper correspondents reported, the floor and rafters were physically shaken by the demonstration. Each of the delegates and spectators could physically feel the emotional reaction of the others. And, of course, the noise was deafening. This vibrating spectacle of sound produced sensory perceptions that had no focus in terms of individuals. Without a focus, the participants had to imagine what the other delegates and spectators were intending as they stomped and cheered. At first and perhaps until the end of Bryan’s speech, this intention was almost purely an expression of silver sentiment. But somewhere in the demonstration following the speech the delegates and spectators began to impose another interpretation on this sentiment, one that conferred a special honor on Bryan as the man who had created the occasion for this demonstration. Given the absence of a consensus choice for presidential candidate, the transformation of this honor into the shaping of a preference for Bryan as the nominee was fairly simple (and what Bryan had intended to have happen all along). But these shifts were made without explicit communication between individual delegates and spectators. Such communication was simply impossible unless you shouted something to your nearest neighbor on the convention floor. Even then, what a person might have shouted would have been truncated in form and, in many instances, necessarily repeated in order to be understood. In some sense, each individual was an observer with respect to this demonstration, absorbing information from the others. In another sense, each individual was a participant whose personal identity was drowned in the collective display. Their agency, such as it was, could be pursued only through this collective and the possibilities they came to imagine unfolded within that collective. Many of the delegates probably reacted to this demonstration by referring to their own emotional and rational selves. In that sense, Bryan’s speech was interpreted as moving the sentiment of other delegates because delegates felt themselves moved. And because the demonstration was so clearly beyond the ability of anyone to concoct or manipulate there was little reason to question the sincerity of the emotions so obviously on display. And, again through empathy, they would also interpret such passion as a dramatic alteration in the

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strategic calculus involving the presidential race because other delegates, like themselves, might be strongly inclined to join what they expected to become the Bryan bandwagon. Thus, Bryan first leveled the playing field by taking the convention out of the hands of the silver leaders and then allowed the delegates to convert themselves to his candidacy through the sheer passion with which they demonstrated devotion to their common cause. The awkward element in all this, from the perspective of Bryan and his newly won supporters, was that his speech and this demonstration occurred well before the voting could begin on the nomination. In fact, when the demonstration ended, the platform had still not been formally adopted and several more hours were consumed in “three long and dreary roll calls” that first defeated the minority report on gold, turned back an amendment that would have endorsed the Cleveland administration, and finally approved the platform in its entirety. By that point, the delegates and spectators were much less excited than they had been at the end of Bryan’s speech. Still, the campaign managers for the other candidates were sufficiently concerned that they lobbied and lobbied successfully for a recess. The convention met again in the evening, heard speeches formally offering candidates for the nomination (including several for Bryan), and then, once more at the behest of other campaign managers, adjourned.

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8 The Nomination Contest

The race for the presidential nomination had several phases. As the race began, the nation’s newspapers started to report sentiment for or against the leading possibilities. Many of these stories were based on interviews with local Democratic notables who were attending their respective state party conventions. While some would become delegates to the national convention where their own preferences would become important, most interviews focused on how the various candidates might fare in their states in the general election. Other accounts reported the resources available to particular campaigns and plans for their deployment at the convention. Bland and Boies were the clear leaders in this first stage, with John McLean of Ohio and Claude Matthews of Indiana trailing behind. The race began to heat up when the delegates started to arrive in Chicago and the presidential campaigns began to mount visible displays in the form of headquarters, marching clubs, bands, and posters. While the size of this deployment also confirmed or disproved previous reports, the sentiment of the delegates became an important factor at this stage. Individual delegates indicated their preferences by wearing the badges of their favorites or endorsing them in interviews with the press. State delegations did the same thing, either announcing the distribution of preferences among their members or formally pledging their support to one of the candidates. In a very important sense, the event horizon of the contest contracted from the nation at large to the city of Chicago with most attention concentrated on those venues where the delegates ate, slept, and deliberated. In practical terms, the hotels were the only sites of interest until the convention actually convened. Once the convention began, events within the Coliseum opened a new phase in the nomination contest. Campaign bands still played in hotel lobbies and the headquarters still gave out food and drink, but the delegates were now closely monitoring the preferences of their colleagues. Within the convention hall, the delegates collectively witnessed demonstrations favoring one or another of the 248

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candidates, and, for that reason, these displays became a common basis for evaluating sentiment among their colleagues. In many ways, the campaigns were more or less on an equal footing within the convention hall. On a few occasions a marching club favoring one of the candidates would move through the Coliseum, usually before the convention was called to order. And the Bland campaign usually stationed one or two bands in the galleries for the entertainment of spectators and delegates. However, the ritual nature of the proceedings in the convention forbade the deployment of most organizational resources and thus dramatically leveled the playing field between well-endowed campaigns and those funded on a shoestring. Both the shared nature of the displays and the relative absence of campaign organizations meant that delegates could much more easily monitor the strength of the respective candidates than they could in the hotels. As described in the last chapter, Bryan brilliantly exploited the latent potential of this phase in order to turn his “Cross of Gold” speech into a demonstration for his otherwise impoverished and previously slighted presidential candidacy. The final phase put the interpretations placed on these demonstrations to the test in the roll calls that would award the nomination to one of the contenders. These roll calls had their own distinctive displays as the state delegations cast their votes. Some delegations abandoned one candidate for another between roll calls or, less often, within a single roll call. Others remained loyal to one contender throughout the voting. And most of the gold delegates did not vote at all. Many of these acts were accompanied by brief declarations by the delegation chairman or individual delegates. Their announcements were often cheered, hissed, or cheered and hissed at the same time. There were bitter disputes over the qualifications of delegates who were casting votes, the accuracy of the tally reported by the delegation chairman, and the interpretation of convention rules. And toward the end, there were massive demonstrations on the convention floor as Bryan’s vote totals climbed toward the magic number needed for the nomination. This was the phase in which demonstrative acts merged seamlessly into institutionally recognized preferences, and it was filled with passion. Most of the events and activities associated with the pre-convention phases of the nomination contest have already been described in earlier chapters and are only briefly treated here. In this chapter, the candidates are described, including their relationship to each other and to the major factions within the convention. Then, relying on projections of candidate strength on the first roll call, the evolution of the race is laid out. One of the most interesting aspects of this evolution is that those projections were simply abandoned after Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech, leaving correspondents and leading Democrats unwilling to hazard anything but the haziest of predictions as to what would happen the following day. Bryan’s campaign, such as it was, is then briefly examined, after which the nominating speeches and roll calls are taken up. The focus, as always, is on how demonstrative acts influenced the formation and execution of institutionally recognized preferences.

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Candidates and “Booms” As the delegates monitored sentiment toward the various presidential possibilities, they concentrated their attention on those who had become candidates. While becoming a recognized candidate was thus an important goal of any campaign, the criteria for achieving that status was not completely within the control of an ambitious politician. At some point or another, all of the presidential possibilities were made the object of a “boom” in which someone publicly touted that man as a potential nominee. In the two-week period before the convention opened, for example, two dozen men were reported in the press to have been “boomed” (see Table 8.1). Most of these men never became even minor contenders for the nomination. In fact, most delegates may have never known either who they were or that they had had a “boom.” A typical example of a still-born “boom” was one launched by Judge J. M. Washburn for Wharton Barker, a Philadelphia banker and newspaper editor. On June 24, Washburn was reported to be “making arrangements” with Senator Blackburn of Kentucky to sponsor a “big silver meeting of young men” in New York City, and at that time “the Barker boom will be pushed along with a rush.” In an interview, the judge said, “Mr. Barker is the very man that answers to the peculiar exigencies of the greatest crisis of the nation, in which is again before the people the great struggle for independence from the domination of English feudalism in the form of moneyed aristocracy.”1 Blackburn, of course, was nursing his own boom for the nomination and was a much more visible and likely prospect than Barker was. Why the Kentucky senator might be interested in sponsoring a campaign rally for the Philadelphia banker was never explained, and Barker’s boom was never heard from again. In addition to those who were mentioned but once or twice in the newspapers and then forgotten, there were candidates whose backing was limited to their home state delegation with little or no hope of support from other quarters. The most prominent candidate in this group was Senator Benjamin Tillman of South Carolina, whose organization tightly controlled the Palmetto State and its eighteen delegates. However, Tillman’s unsavory reputation among his party colleagues from the rest of the country and in the national press doomed his prospects even before his campaign ever got off the ground. Harboring no illusions, Tillman used his candidacy to demonstrate his political strength at home and to bargain over concessions on platform issues. Rumor had him favorably disposed toward Bland as the convention opened, but there was nothing firm to back this up.2 Ranking just above Tillman as a presidential possibility when the convention opened was William Jennings Bryan of Nebraska. Born in Salem, Illinois, on March 19, 1860, Bryan was just a year beyond the constitutional minimum for 1 2

Atlanta Constitution, June 24, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896.

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table 8.1. Presidential Booms Candidate

Description

Newspaper(s)

Wharton Barker

Banker and editor of the Philadelphia American

Robert L. Taylor Augustus H. Garland Arthur Gorman A. M. Craig

Former governor of Tennessee Former U.S. Attorney General Senator from Maryland Chief Justice of Illinois Supreme Court Retired U.S. Army General

Atlanta Constitution, June 24; Chicago Tribune, July 3, 5; New York Times, June 30 Atlanta Constitution, June 27 Detroit Free Press, July 4 Chicago Tribune, June 26 Detroit Free Press, July 7

John Schofield

Joseph Sibley James Campbell William Whitney William Russell David B. Hill Benjamin Tillman Sylvester Pennoyer William R. Morrison

David Turpie William J. Bryan Adlai Stevenson Robert Pattison Henry Teller Stephen White John McLean Claude Matthews Horace Boies Richard Bland

Former congressman from Pennsylvania Former governor of Ohio Former Secretary of the Navy Former governor of Massachusetts Senator from New York Senator from South Carolina Former governor of Oregon Member of the Interstate Commerce Commission and former congressman from Illinois Senator from Indiana Former congressman from Nebraska Vice-President of the United States Former governor of Pennsylvania Republican senator from Colorado Senator from California Editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer Governor of Indiana Former governor of Iowa Former congressman from Missouri

Boston Globe (Extra), July 3; Chicago Tribune, July 3; Detroit Free Press, July 4 Chicago Tribune, July 6; Detroit Free Press, July 7 Chicago Tribune, June 21; Detroit Free Press, July 7 Several reports Chicago Tribune, June 27; Boston Globe, July 7 Boston Globe, July 7; Detroit Free Press, July 7 Several reports Several reports Chicago Tribune, June 27, July 4; New York Times, June 20

Boston Globe, July 7 Several reports Many reports Many reports Many reports Several reports Many reports Many reports Many reports Many reports

Notes and Sources: A “boom” was an attempt to advertise a man as a presidential possibility in the hopes that others would be attracted to his candidacy. All of the men in this chart had booms in the sense that one or more newspapers carried an account of such an attempt. They have been ranked from the weakest (Barker) to the strongest (Bland) in terms of likelihood of actually winning the nomination when the convention opened. The newspaper issues in which their booms were mentioned are provided for those who were rarely cited as presidential possibilities. More frequent references (roughly five to ten occasions between June 22 and July 7, 1896) have been labeled “several reports.” Those with even more frequent references have been labeled “many reports.” The newspapers included in this sample were the Atlanta Constitution, Boston Globe, Chicago Tribune, Detroit Free Press, and New York Times.

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the presidency. After college and law school, he moved to Lincoln, Nebraska, forming a partnership with one of his former classmates. In 1890, he entered politics, running for the House in the second congressional district. After winning that election, he served two terms, earning a reputation as an orator. His “first great oratorical success” in national politics came on March 31, 1893, when he delivered a speech on the tariff to his House colleagues. Later that year, he actively opposed President Cleveland’s successful effort to repeal the Sherman Silver Purchase Act. In 1894, he stood for one of the Senate seats from Nebraska but was buried, along with many other prominent northern Democrats, in the Republican landslide that year. He then accepted the editorship of the Omaha World-Herald and commenced two years of “lecturing on financial topics in every state in the union” that both further refined his oratory and developed his reputation as a leading advocate for silver.3 Bryan attended the Republican National Convention in St. Louis as a correspondent for his Omaha paper. His conversations with Republicans from the western silver states raised the eyebrows of other reporters, and he was asked to describe what they had discussed. Bryan was coy: “I have nothing to say now except that these gentlemen and I will be found next November voting the same ticket.” Two weeks later, Bryan claimed that Populists considered him to be the “most acceptable” Democratic candidate. And on the morning of July 9, just before the “Cross of Gold” speech, a long article on Bryan stated that southern delegates wanted a nominee the Populists would support but were rather cold toward Teller. Populist leaders had, the paper reported, assured them that Bryan would be “acceptable” to their party.4 One of the more irrepressible booms belonged to Vice-President Adlai Stevenson. Although he was serving in the Cleveland administration, Stevenson was reported, probably accurately, to support free silver.5 But out of loyalty to the administration, he had kept his silver sympathies to himself. This became a serious problem in that the many silver delegates demanded that the nominee possess a long, unequivocal record supporting free coinage.6 Stevenson attempted to respond to that demand by sending a telegram to one of his supporters at the convention in which he recalled that they had attended a “silver meeting” in Springfield, Illinois, “in the early summer of 1878” and that his (Stevenson’s) “election to congress in the following November was the result of my advocacy of the remonetization of silver.” However, this recitation of events almost two decades old was just not as persuasive as the silver record compiled by the other silver candidates.7 3

4 5 6 7

Atlanta Constitution, July 11, 12, 1896. For more on Bryan’s early life and his activities just before the convention, see Michael Kazin, A Godly Hero: The Life of William Jennings Bryan (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006), pp. 3–53. Chicago Tribune, June 15, 29, July 9, 1896. Richard Franklin Bensel, The Political Economy of American Industrialization, 1877–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 367n. New York Times, July 7, 1896. Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896.

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As a result, the vice-president’s prospects were primarily tied to his alleged appeal to moderates among the gold men. Caught between a rock and a hard place, his attempts to bolster his silver credentials tended to depress his standing as a compromise candidate. And then there was the home state difficulty. Stevenson hailed from Illinois, and Altgeld had no intention of committing his fortyeight delegates to the vice-president. Without the backing of his home state, Stevenson lacked a headquarters and organization. When he passed through the Palmer House on July 1, the vice-president “failed to create even a flutter of interest.” Many people called on him, but “their missions were more social than political [and] most of his callers were identified with the gold standard element of the Illinois democracy.” His meetings with the Illinois gold men were probably worse than useless because they had been beaten by Altgeld and had no members in the state delegation.8 Still, the prospect of a deadlocked convention and possibility that a cohesive gold bloc might play a balance of power role in the race kept the Stevenson boom alive up until voting began. The 1896 Democratic convention was unusual in that one of the acknowledged presidential possibilities, Senator Teller of Colorado, was formally affiliated with the Republican party.9 Teller had two assets that kept him in contention until the very end. First, he was widely considered the “brainiest and broadest” of the possibilities. His standing as a principled statesman, reinforced by the manner in which he left the Republican convention in St. Louis, would lend luster to a movement otherwise regarded as bereft of political heavyweights.10 Second, Populists and Silver Republicans unquestionably preferred him to any of the Democrats in the race, and their support was vital if a silver nominee was to make up very heavy losses among eastern gold Democrats.11 On June 21, a conference of “twenty-six leading Populists” meeting in St. Louis issued a statement “calling attention to Mr. Teller’s merits and availability as a candidate.”12 This endorsement left no doubt that, in their 8 9

10 11

12

Atlanta Constitution, July 2, 1896. For silver delegate suspicions of a gold connection to Stevenson, see July 7, 1896. This was unusual but not unprecedented. Horace Greeley, a flamboyantly irregular Republican, had been nominated by the Democrats as their presidential candidate in 1872. His unsuccessful campaign was frequently cited by those opposed to Teller. See, for example, Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. Senator Fred Dubois, for example, said, “I do not believe that a straight democratic nominee will be acceptable to the free silver republicans and populists of this country. . . . If the Chicago convention nominates one, the silver convention in St. Louis will place an independent candidate in the field.’” Boston Globe, July 1, 1896. In St. Louis, Herman E. Taubeneck, chairman of the Populist Party, warned that his organization would not “indorse Mr. Bland if he is nominated at the Chicago convention. . . . If the democrats cannot meet us half way on a man like Senator Teller, then the party is responsible for the division of the silver forces in the coming campaign.’” Boston Globe, July 2, 1896. More generally, see Robert F. Durden, The Climax of Populism: The Election of 1896 (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1981), pp. 18–20. New York Times, June 22, 1896. As on most matters related to party strategy, the Populists were divided. For example, Senator William Peffer of Kansas denounced this declaration as “a mistake,” labeling it “wholly unauthorized” and “treacherous.” New York Times, June 26, 1896.

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opinion, Senator Teller had burned his bridges when he bolted the recently concluded Republican National Convention.13 For Populists, much of Senator Teller’s appeal lie in the immense chasm that had opened up between him and his former party. For silver Republicans, Teller’s appeal lay in the fact that they shared the same side of that chasm. But, burned bridges or not, Teller’s Republican identity was also a liability in at least three respects. First, his Democratic competitors could, naturally enough, contend that the nomination should be kept within the party. This they did vigorously, even as many silver Democrats welcomed signs of Teller’s availability. Teller was further disadvantaged in that his most prominent spokesmen at the convention were other silver Republicans who, as members of the opposing party, were both denied direct participation in the convention proceedings and were personally known to only a few of the delegates. Finally, the nomination of a Republican would have provided an excuse for the gold faction to bolt the convention openly and rally around their own candidate, presenting that candidate to the electorate as the “regular” Democratic party nominee. While the silverites were quite aware that the gold delegates were so hostile to the platform that most of them, at best, would sit out the election, a formal bolt under cover of party regularity would have deepened the split dramatically. In the final analysis, these liabilities were less important than what became the primary question for most delegates: whether or not the party could win the general election by nominating one of its own. While most delegates were not supremely confident of victory, they were satisfied that the party stood a fair chance of success with a Democrat at the head of the ticket. As that perspective became the majority view in the convention, Teller’s candidacy faded. Thus, Teller’s chances tended to vary inversely with optimism about the election; when victory looked likely, his stock went down and vice versa. Here, as with Stevenson, a deadlocked convention seemed to be the only scenario in which he might walk away with the prize. John McLean of Ohio was far and away the wealthiest man in the race for the nomination. Owner-editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer, proprietor of the gas works in Washington, D.C., and possessor of substantial real estate interests in both of these cities, he was said to have a “barrel” that could provide much of the funding for a national campaign.14 That barrel was his chief asset. McLean had also been endorsed by his home state of Ohio, which had forty-six delegates, the second largest silver contingent in the nation. In addition, he enjoyed the support of the District of Columbia, although its six delegates were rather insignificant. McLean’s major liability was the flip side of 13

14

Teller endorsed Bryan without hesitation after he won the nomination. Duane A. Smith, Henry M. Teller: Colorado’s Grand Old Man (Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 2002), p. 201. Atlanta Constitution, July 8, 1896. For a short political biography, see Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896.

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his major asset; his wealth conferred interests and social connections that were viewed as too close to the eastern gold establishment.15 While McLean was not quite seen as a stalking-horse for the gold men, there was some apprehension that those interests and connections would lead him to equivocate on the party’s commitment to silver if he were elected. Like Stevenson and Teller, McLean needed a deadlocked convention. But many observers believed that McLean was in the presidential race just to keep his Ohio delegation intact (by voting for him as their favorite son) until the moment was right. Then Ohio would plunk down for that candidate who was just short of nomination, putting him over the top and asking for the vicepresidential spot as the price. Because vice-presidential nominees often funded presidential campaigns, this scenario seemed plausible, even all but inevitable, to many observers.16 Governor Claude Matthews of Indiana was considered a more plausible possibility than McLean, at least before the convention actually opened. His major assets were his home state delegation of Indiana, which, despite deep splits over silver, was still impressively cohesive, and his apparent moderation on most of the issues facing the party, including money. Like McLean, he also represented one of the crucial states for party victory in November. The anticipated defection of the gold wing raised the stakes for the party in Ohio and Indiana because additions in the West would probably not compensate for the loss of New York and other states in the East. Ohio would nicely fill the void, but the Republicans knew this as well and McKinley’s nomination made a victory by favorite son McLean all the less likely. Indiana had only about half as many electoral votes, but with Matthews at the head of the ticket, chances of a Democratic victory there were probably better than in Ohio with McLean.17 The Indiana governor’s fatal liability was the flip side of his major asset: his moderation made his commitment to silver deeply suspect among most silver delegates. And the Matthews campaign reinforced that image by making more or less open overtures to the gold faction.18 When these overtures became known (and that was soon after they were made), the Matthews boom simply collapsed. Even a deadlocked convention did not appear to be enough to revive it.19 15 16 17 18

19

Boston Globe, July 5, (Extra), July 6, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 6, 1896. For a short political biography, see Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. The managers of the Matthews campaign were caught between Scylla and Charybdis. On the one hand, they could not “howl too wildly for silver, for both Bland and Boies can beat them at that.” On the other hand, they could not “make a deal for gold support, partly because they could not get it and partly because it would ruin all possibilities of getting the silver delegates.” Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. For their efforts to reach out to the gold faction, see July 6, 8, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 1896. For one of the many rumors claiming that the gold men favored Matthews above all the other silver candidates, see July 4, 1896.

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Two candidates stood head and shoulders above the rest of the pack when the convention began. One of them was Horace Boies of Iowa, who was sixtyeight. He had been born in New York State and had been elected as a Republican to the New York legislature in 1855. He moved to Waterloo, Iowa, in 1867, and saved enough money from his law practice to buy farm land near that city.20 His prominence in the 1896 race owed much to the fact that he had been a serious contender for the presidential nomination at the 1892 convention. However, much of his political base was conservative and inclined toward support of the gold standard. Because he was compelled by the mathematics of the 1896 convention to advocate silver, his base was compromised and there was widespread speculation that support for his candidacy was shallow.21 And, as described in chapter 3, the public defection of seven of the Iowa delegation to the gold candidate for temporary chairman (Senator Hill) seemed to reveal an equivocal commitment to silver among his core supporters. Boies himself labeled “the break” in his delegation on that roll call “decidedly disastrous.”22 The candidate universally considered to be the front-runner for the nomination was Richard Parks Bland of Missouri, who had so devoted his political career to the free coinage of silver that he had become known as “Silver Dick.” In his role as the leading silver advocate in the U.S. House of Representatives, Bland had been a prime mover behind passage of the Bland-Allison Act in 1878 requiring purchase of silver bullion by the federal government. Under this law, hundreds of millions of silver dollars were minted and Bland earned another nickname, “Daddy of the Dollar.” Born in Kentucky, Bland had spent the Civil War in Nevada and thus served in neither the Union or Confederate armies. His major assets were his unmatched legislative record supporting silver and his apparent but largely cloaked access to the deep pockets of the owners of western silver mines. His major liability was the flip side of his legislative record in that his single-minded devotion to silver had earned him a reputation as a parochial spokesman for a narrow special interest. In addition, many of his colleagues in Congress regarded him as an intellectual lightweight, lacking the rudiments of socially acceptable manners and fashionable dress. Although some delegates fervently backed Bland’s candidacy, many more delegates and most silver leaders regarded “Silver Dick” as a default possibility who would be given the nomination only if no one more attractive emerged from the pack. Campaign Strategy and the Manipulation of Information One of the norms of nineteenth-century politics required candidates to remain aloof from their own campaigns. In practice, this meant that candidates should not present themselves at sites in which nominations were to be made. They were also expected to refrain from anything that could be interpreted as 20 21 22

Atlanta Constitution, June 22, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 1, 1896. New York Times, July 10, 1896.

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self-promotion. This expectation explains, in part, the importance of marching clubs, headquarters, bands, and badges to a campaign; these provided tangible evidence of a man’s status as a candidate but did not require any involvement by him as a candidate. Most candidates stayed home in 1896. Richard Bland and Horace Boies, the two leading possibilities when the convention opened, remained on their farms and pretended to tend crops and livestock (see Fig. 8.1). Matthews, Teller, Pennoyer (Oregon’s favorite son), Stevenson, and Pattison (the sole gold candidate) also stayed away from the convention. Generally speaking, the more strength the candidate exhibited before the convention opened, the less likely they were to attend the convention. However, those men whose support was clearly restricted to their home state with little or no prospect of winning the nomination, such as Senator Benjamin Tillman of South Carolina, saw no reason to stay away from the convention and played a prominent role in the proceedings. Another of those who participated was William Jennings Bryan. Those candidates who stayed home gave control of their campaigns to managers who determined day-to-day tactics and strategy. One of the key elements in the management of these campaigns was the release of information to reporters because newspapers were the primary medium through which political information was disseminated. The only competing source was direct observation of the convention proceedings, but, even there, delegates often relied on newspaper stories to confirm what they thought they had seen. Reporters were also important because they incessantly circulated through the hotel lobbies and corridors, haunted campaign headquarters and committee rooms, and wandered the convention floor in search of news. Like honeybees, they dispersed almost as much information as they gathered, leaving in their wake a trail of rumors, innuendo, facts, and inference. Each interview with a reporter was thus an opportunity for a campaign spokesman to place favorable interpretations in common circulation. One of the most recurrent topics of speculation concerned what the gold men were going to do when voting began on the presidential nomination. Because the convention was so deeply and bitterly divided into the gold and silver factions, communication between the silver and gold delegates was very poor. In most cases, they simply did not talk to one another. This lack of contact, however, did not prevent rumors concerning the preferences of the gold delegates from running rampant among the silver men. Some of these rumors had the gold delegates favoring Teller’s nomination. Others implicated McLean, Matthews, and Stevenson.23 Whatever the gold delegates were considering, they were in no position to further their designs by openly supporting a candidate; the silver faction viewed the hard-money delegations with such hostility that only the 23

At one time or another, McLean, Matthews, and Boies were all said to be dallying with the gold men, perhaps offering support for a lukewarm silver plank in return for hard-money votes on the nomination. Boston Globe (Extra), July 2, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 5, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 4, 7, 1896.

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most unpalatable soft-money candidates reached the nominating stage of the proceedings as viable possibilities. No matter how Machiavellian might have been the designs of the gold leaders, they could not have persuaded their followers to support the nomination of men such as Bland, Blackburn, or Bryan.24 Although they comprised almost a third of the convention, the gold delegates were thus considered pariahs by the silver faction, and most campaign managers for the various silver candidates gave them wide berth.25 Even so, the presence of a gold bloc of three hundred delegates was a major factor in the race for the nomination. Under the two-thirds rule, this bloc potentially constituted about half of the votes necessary to win, and they could all, so the speculation went, be cast for one candidate at any time. In retrospect, the unity of the gold bloc was somewhat exaggerated, particularly with respect to the participation of the Pennsylvania delegation, which was pledged to former Governor Pattison. Setting aside the Pennsylvania delegation reduced the gold bloc to about 240 votes. Even when the gold leaders settled on abstention as the strategy most likely to preserve the unity of this bloc, about a third of these delegates still voted for one or another of the candidates for the nomination. If the gold leaders had attempted to deliver their bloc to one of the silver candidates, the defections would probably have been much higher. Many delegates would still have abstained, while many others, once the bloc had fallen apart, would have supported a candidate other than the one the gold leaders had chosen. For all these reasons, speculation that the gold bloc would suddenly plunge for either the lesser of evils (i.e., the silver candidate with the weakest commitment to the party platform) or the most extreme possibility (i.e., a silver candidate whose rhetoric and record would make him very unappealing in a national race) lacked a material basis in fact. However, the gold men had little reason to report divisions within their ranks because that would undercut their effort to win concessions on the platform. And communication was so poor between the gold and silver factions that the silver leaders had few independent sources of information with respect to deliberations within the gold bloc. The gold bloc was thus considered a potential wild card in the presidential race, and a very large wild card at that. The silver delegates did their best to isolate its impact on the race by condemning any contact between a presidential candidate and the gold bloc, but the options available to the gold bloc did not depend on an explicit agreement between a silver candidate and their faction. As time went on, newspaper correspondents ever more certainly reported that most gold delegates would abstain in the voting, but the silver faction could never be sure that was the course the gold men would ultimately choose. While puzzling over what the gold men intended to do, campaign managers tried to discount the depth and sincerity of support for their competitors. One tactic was to describe a candidate’s campaign as a mere stalking-horse for another candidate. For example, the Chicago Tribune claimed, “Every advance 24 25

Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896; Atlanta Constitution, July 3, 4, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896.

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in the Teller campaign is simply a promotion of Boies’ candidacy,” presumably because a stronger Teller campaign implied a weaker Bland showing, and, as the front-runner, Bland had to be headed off before Boies could win the nomination.26 The stalking-horse imputation was particularly interesting because no cooperation was necessary between the two campaigns; the stalking-horse need not even be aware that he was primarily a nag in someone else’s grand strategy. And this aspect made the claim very hard to refute. In theory, anyone could be the stalking-horse for someone else. In rare cases, stalking-horses could be lined up one after another like Russian dolls. After his “Cross of Gold” speech, for example, Bryan was described as a stalking-horse for Teller. Thus, Bryan, when opened up, would disclose Teller, and Teller, when opened up, would uncover Boies. The “senatorial syndicate” of silver leaders who were said to have promoted Bryan’s boom were sincerely trying to to prepare the way for Teller; they had no interest in Boies. And the Boies men, as long as the strategy seemed to be working for their favorite, would have happily gone along with (insincerely) boosting Bryan and Teller. The dolls would have been neatly nested, one within the other, without anyone the wiser. Bryan’s ostensible stalking-horse role was said to have emerged when the “senatorial syndicate” made a last-ditch effort to head off a Bland victory. By July 8, the story went, Bland was seen as perilously close to the tipping point as the result of the decision by many of the gold delegates not to participate in the roll calls on the nomination; their abstention, along with a favorable ruling from the convention chairman on the two-thirds’ rule, would dramatically reduce the number of silver delegates required for the nomination. Bryan, these senators hoped, could attract sufficient strength from the Bland candidacy so as to deadlock the convention and thus provide an opening for Teller. For this reason, one reporter attributed at least some of the convention’s enthusiastic reception of Bryan’s speech to the machinations of southern senators who, in reality, favored Teller. However, they “had no intention of placing in nomination a young man whose inexperience in life manifestly unfitted him for the position of President and whose headstrong character and repeated revolts against party discipline showed that he would be beyond personal control if once in the White House.” The passion that had been unleashed during and after the speech caused the syndicate to lose control of their stalking-horse if, in reality, they had ever intended to use Bryan in that capacity.27 Another variant in the stable of imagined instrumentalities asserted that some candidates were in the race merely to accumulate strength that could carry over into the vice-presidential contest; the candidate was only going through the motions in the presidential race as a way of positioning himself for a more 26 27

July 8, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. Also see Boston Globe, July 10, 1896; Detroit Free Press, July 11, 1896.

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serious effort for second spot on the ticket.28 John McLean of Ohio was the most frequent target of such claims, and they were very probably, almost transparently, true in his case.29 After Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech, McLean supporters caucused until two in the morning in a reported attempt to arrange a “deal” with the Bryan men in which the Ohio delegation would go over to Bryan after the first ballot in return for second spot on the ticket. However, one of McLean’s managers said the Ohio editor was still in the field for the Presidency, and he thought his chances fully as bright as at any time. He said that in case of a deadlock between the leading candidates he had assurances from many of the delegates of Michigan, Indiana, and other contiguous States that their votes would be given to Mr. McLean.

And a third report claimed that “strong Bryan sentiment” had emerged in the delegation after the speech and that the Ohio men now “threatened to go bodily over to the Nebraskan.” If one reads carefully between the lines, all three reports could have been true at the same time.30 Overwhelmed by rumors, personal opinions, and public statements that seemed to flood every venue at the convention, one reporter “backed Senator Cockrell into a corner and appealed to him for assistance. ‘I can’t tell you a single thing,’ replied the Missouri Senator, rather pettishly. ‘You can hear everything except the truth.’”31 The senator went too far, of course; there were many sincere expressions of sentiment and preference, as well as truthful reports of events and agreements, but these were frequently difficult to distinguish from 28 29

30

31

Managers of the Matthews campaign, for example, felt they had to deny that their candidate had any interest in second spot on the ticket. Chicago Tribune, July 4, 1896. For some of the many reports of McLean’s interest in the vice-presidential nomination, including speculation that he would accept second spot on any ticket, see Chicago Tribune, July 1, 4–7, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. One way of reconciling the three reports is to postulate (1) that the Ohio delegates were enraptured with Bryan after the speech, (2) that, as a result, McLean wanted to cut a deal with Bryan before the first ballot so that he could be seen as “delivering” a delegation that would have gone to Bryan anyway, and (3) that in the interim between making the deal and its consummation (meaning in practical terms the early morning of July 10), the McLean campaign wished to retain as much strength as possible by stressing, as all campaigns did and do, their bright prospects for victory. Bryan, in fact, refused to make a deal with McLean and rejected him as a vice-presidential possibility. As a result, McLean held his Ohio delegates back until the last possible moment, demonstrating a much tighter grip than many observers thought he had, and then plunked them down for Bryan. McLean apparently hoped that, by putting Bryan over the top in the presidential contest, the orator would relent and give him second spot on the ticket. In any event, by that point McLean had nothing to lose because Bryan was certain to win the nomination. Chicago Tribune, July 9, 1896. Cockrell himself was not always regarded as frankly forthcoming. After listening to the senator hint that “Teller would make a good running mate” for a Democratic nominee, a Boston Globe reporter could not tell whether he was “representing himself, speaking for the Bland campaign, or exposing one of the many designs credited to the clique of silver senators at the convention.” July 3, 1896.

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other supremely overconfident predictions and outrageously false but instrumentally useful misrepresentations. Overview of the Race for the Nomination Aside from the gold wild card, the race for the nomination was almost entirely conducted within the silver faction, with most of the silver delegates forming preferences after considering the relationship between their instrumental goals and the characteristics of the candidates. However, that relationship was often unclear, with the complexity of the connection compounded by the desire to pursue several goals at the same time. The most common goal was that the party should nominate a candidate who would be able to stand on the free coinage plank of the party platform without qualification. This requirement would not have been problematic if there had been but one or two candidates who could warmly endorse the platform. But there were, in fact, many such candidates. In choosing between them, many delegates imposed other qualifying criteria, such as the ability to attract the support of silver Republicans and Populists. Although this would preclude a third-party split in the soft-money forces, no one could speak authoritatively for the Populist party or predict with certainty what their national convention would or would not do. In addition, most delegates also wished to minimize defections by the gold men. While this desire strongly conflicted with other criteria (e.g., commitment to the silver cause and attracting Populist support), delegates nonetheless wished to head off both the creation of a third-party gold ticket and public defections to McKinley. Other factors entering into judgments of relative electoral viability included the ability to appeal to industrial workers and to avoid distracting controversies (e.g., over religion or, for southerners, national loyalty). For many delegates, all these goals were subordinated to a desire to satisfy the wishes of the leader of their state delegation who, under the unit rule, deployed their votes in pursuit of his own or their collective interests. Finally, many delegates wished to join a winning candidate’s coalition just before the nomination became a forgone conclusion. This tipping point promised to optimize the compensation they might receive for their votes by maximizing both the probability that the candidate with whom they bargained would, in fact, win the nomination and the candidate’s willingness to give something in return for their votes (because these votes would put the candidate beyond the tipping point). Once the tipping point was reached, a bandwagon would ensue in which delegates shifted their support toward the now-apparent nominee in return for little or nothing in terms of promised favors or goodwill; these tardy delegates simply had nothing to gain from being the last to endorse the nominee (unless, of course, they supported gold and thus had no interest in backing any of the silver candidates). We should take a moment to consider these factors as they influenced the nominating decision. First, the delegates had abundant and accurate information with respect to some of these factors even before the convention

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met. Many of the candidates, for example, had had long political careers in which their firm commitment to the free silver cause had played a highly visible role. Second, in their search for evidence of a candidate’s appeal to Populists and silver Republicans, the silver delegates had to sift through the public and private representations of politicians belonging to these parties. And these men had good reasons for misrepresenting the desires of their constituencies. For example, Populist leaders plausibly claimed that their supporters would insist that the Democrats nominate someone outside the party, and they made it clear that their favorite was Senator Teller. If a Democrat were nominated, they asserted that the Populist convention would name its own ticket and the silver forces would be divided in the general election. How much of this was merely bluff and how much was a sincere threat was difficult to discern. And even if a threat were to be carried through, an appealing candidate might be able to take the Democratic party’s case directly to the voters, in that way nullifying the influence of Populist leaders. For these reasons, silver delegates were compelled to pay close attention to the attitudes displayed by representatives of both Populists and silver Republicans, but paying close attention did not mean that these displays were to be taken at face value. Third, the silver delegates were compelled to monitor each other’s actions as well. Much of the posturing in the convention did not, in fact, indicate firm support for a candidate. Some state delegations, for example, supported a favorite son for the nomination as a way of reserving their votes until they might make a major or even decisive difference in the balloting. Seizing the opportunity, such delegations would abandon their favorite son, vote for one of the leading contenders, and, ideally, put that candidate over the top just as the competition for the nomination was most fierce. There were, of course, many variations on this strategy. These three sets of factors have been laid out in the chronological order in which most delegates probably focused on them: first, general assets and liabilities; then, the reaction of key factions among politicians and in the national electorate; and, finally, the tactical decision when to join the likely victor’s bandwagon. However plausible such an ordering might seem, it should be emphasized that many delegates clearly deviated in one way or another from the pattern. It should also be noted that many of the factors that actually shaped the voting transcended these categories in various ways (e.g., a long-term commitment to silver coinage was sometimes associated with a history of alliances with the Populist party and silver Republicans – in fact, a record on the latter might be used as additional evidence of the former). Finally, this was an almost impossibly complex decision calculus; most delegates made do with a more rough-and-ready set of criteria that emphasized their highest priorities. These priorities were often directly related to their immediate political futures (e.g., prospects for party unity in the Great Lakes states, viable alliances with the Populists in the western Plains and Mountain states, the likelihood of national victory).

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The most visible and dependable evidence that preferences had formed was the formal endorsement of a candidate by one of the state delegations. About a third of all delegates were, in fact, bound by their respective state conventions to support one of the presidential contenders (see Table 8.2). These delegates could be released from their commitments only by the candidate to whom they were pledged or by a demonstration in the early balloting that the candidate was not a viable contender. Of the state conventions that pledged their delegates, most committed them to favorite sons. Missouri, for example, committed its delegation to Richard Bland. In several cases, these favorite sons released the delegates from their pledges even before the convention opened. Former Governor Russell of Massachusetts, Senator Edward Walthall of Mississippi, Senator John Daniel of Virginia, and Senator Stephen White of California fell into this category.32 The other favorite sons (Boies, Bland, Pattison, Blackburn, and Matthews) retained these commitments. Only Bland attracted pledges outside his home state. As a result, he had 104 pledged votes even before delegates began to arrive in Chicago. If a delegation was operating under the unit rule, a caucus of its delegates could also pledge the state to one of the candidates. A caucus of the Colorado delegation, for example, pledged the state to Senator Teller. Although Boies was similarly endorsed by an Alabama caucus and Blackburn by Mississippi, Bland was far and away the major beneficiary of these pledges, gaining another 124 votes by the third day of the convention. These endorsements, however, were softer than those made by state conventions; they could be withdrawn whenever a majority of the delegates changed their minds. The Georgia and Mississippi endorsements, for example, were abandoned before the voting began, both of these states casting their votes for Bryan on the first roll call. Even so, public declarations, either by state conventions or delegation caucuses, were the most dependable evidence of the formation of strong preferences in the presidential contest. And these preferences showed Richard Bland to be the clear leader in the race. The most important of all these pledges was the endorsement of Bland by the Illinois delegation and was preceded by rumors and reports of secret meetings. One of the straws in the wind was a meeting on June 30 between Governor Stone of Missouri and Altgeld, “held behind closed doors” at the Sherman House. Stone had just arrived in Chicago, first registering at the Auditorium Hotel and then immediately going to Altgeld’s rooms. From this evidence, an Atlanta Constitution correspondent concluded that the meeting was prearranged. The conference lasted almost an hour and afterward neither man would reveal what he had discussed. Stone, however, appeared to be in “particularly exuberant spirits,” while Altgeld “merely smiled.” Rumor of an alliance swiftly moved through the hotels and “created uneasiness” within the Boies campaign. Secretary of State “Buck” Hinrichsen was later asked what the attitude of the Illinois

32


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table 8.2. Formal Endorsements of Candidates by State Delegations State

Date and How Endorseda

Candidate

Presidential possibilities Missouri (34) Massachusetts (30) Mississippi (18) Pennsylvania (64) Iowa (26) Oklahoma (6) Kentucky (26) Virginia (24) New Mexico (6) California (18) Arkansas (16) Texas (30) Indiana (30) Utah (6) Colorado (8) Kansas (20) Illinois (48) Ohio (46) Alabama (22) Tennessee (24) Georgia (26) Mississippi (18)

April 15: State Convention April 21: State Convention April 29: State Convention April 29: State Convention May 20: State Convention May 26: Territorial Convention June 3: State Convention June 4: State Convention June 15: Territorial Convention June 16: State Convention June 17: State Convention June 23: State Convention June 24: State Convention July 5: Caucus of the delegation July 6: Caucus of the delegation July 6: Caucus of the delegation July 6: Caucus of the delegation July 6: Caucus of the delegation July 7: Caucus of the delegation July 7: Caucus of the delegation July 8: Caucus of the delegation July 9: Caucus of the delegation

Bland Russell Walthall Pattison Boies Bland Blackburn Daniel Bland White Bland Bland Matthews Bland Teller Bland Bland McLean Boies Bland Bland Blackburn

Vice-presidential possibilities Mississippi (18) April 29: State Convention North Carolina (22) June 26: State Convention

Senator Edward Walthall Judge Walter Clark

Notes and Sources: Atlanta Constitution, June 27, 28, July 9, 1896; Chicago Tribune, July 7, 8, 1896; Los Angeles Times, July 10, 1896; New York Times, June 29, July 6–8, 1896; Edward B. Dickinson, Official Proceedings of the Democratic National Convention (Logansport, Ind.: Wilson, Humphreys, 1896). a In addition to the above, both the Arizona (6) and Indian Territory (6) delegations had been instructed for Bland, but the date of their conventions is unknown.

delegation might be toward Boies; he said only, “Well, we want a man who is a friend of labor.” Asked about Teller, he said, “Not in a thousand years.”33 The next day, Senator Cockrell of Missouri, another of Bland’s campaign managers, was introduced to Altgeld by Senator Jones of Arkansas, and the three of them “went into secret conference behind double locked doors” in Altgeld’s rooms. Meanwhile, other members of the Bland organization waited in the rotunda of the Sherman House, telling reporters that an Illinois endorsement was “a certainty.” An Atlanta Constitution reporter noted that there “has been 33

July 1, 1896. Also see New York Times, July 1, 1896.

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no sign of a Boies representative being closeted with Governor Altgeld,” the obvious conclusion being that Illinois had no interest in the Iowa candidate.34 On July 4, a poll of the Illinois delegation revealed that a narrow majority favored Bland, but “his friends” were said to be “exhibiting no great enthusiasm.”35 Later that day, Senator Jones and David Overmeyer, one of the leaders of the Kansas delegation, called on Altgeld in hopes of securing a formal endorsement. Afterward, Overmeyer scurried back to the Bland headquarters in the Auditorium Annex and urged Governor Stone and Senator Vest to meet with Altgeld as soon as possible. Vest could not be found, although Missouri delegates “started after him in all directions.” When the senator was finally located, he held a brief conference with Altgeld at the Sherman House. Stone subsequently met with the Illinois governor as well; this meeting lasted more than an hour. When Stone emerged, he told a reporter, “I cannot authorize any statement for publication . . . but I think that I shall be in a position to talk later.”36 A reporter intercepted Altgeld as he was going to supper, and the governor claimed that he had no particular choice as between Bland and Boies. I shall be with the Illinois delegation, and for whoever the majority want. Both are exceptionally good men. . . . Our delegation will vote as a unit for either Bland or Boies, and personally I care very little which it is.

When asked whether he intended to support Bland when the Illinois delegation caucused, Altgeld replied, “I haven’t exactly made up my mind.”37 Another caucus the next morning at the Sherman House revealed “a very large majority” favoring Bland but also disclosed strong opposition from the Chicago delegates, who preferred Boies. This meeting was adjourned until 8 o’clock in the evening. At that time, the caucus was again postponed until the following morning, July 6, when the last few Illinois delegates would have arrived in Chicago. A formal endorsement of Bland was expected from this meeting. The Bland men “were disappointed and a trifle uneasy over the situation as it rested [that night] after two meetings and two adjournments.” On the other hand, a spokesman for the Boies campaign “said he regarded the outlook as favorable” and “showed the United Press some telegrams from southern and western [Illinois] delegates.” These telegrams seemed to indicate that some of the delegates who had been previously reported as Bland supporters in fact favored Boies.38 At 10 a.m. on July 6, Governor Altgeld called the Illinois caucus to order. The governor gave a short speech, urging his colleagues to commit the state to one of the leading candidates. An informal straw poll was then taken, revealing twenty-six delegates favoring Bland, eight for Stevenson, four for Craig (Chief 34 35 36 37 38

July 2, 1896. July 5, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896. Ibid. This interview apparently occurred after the conference with Stone. July 6, 1896. Also see New York Times, July 6, 1896.

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Justice of the Illinois Supreme Court), four for Boies, and one each for Teller and Bryan. Four delegates were absent. A motion was made to endorse Bland, committing all forty-eight delegates to him under the unit rule. This motion was approved forty-three to one, with the lone dissenter backing Stevenson.39 This Illinois endorsement had been anticipated for some time. On July 4, for example, one of the Missouri delegates gave the Atlanta Constitution a luminescent forecast, claiming for Bland on the first ballot the vote of every state west of the Mississippi river, except that of Iowa and possibly a dozen scattering ones here and there. He will also have the votes of two-thirds of the southern delegates, and after the first ballot the votes of Illinois, Ohio and Kentucky. . . . The delegates from Missouri are pursuing the even tenor of their way, promising no offices to any one and calmly waiting for the movement of the people to culminate in the nomination and election of Mr. Bland. And any politician who gets in the way of it will be swept off the face of the earth.40

The next day the campaign held the “first general caucus of delegates and alternates favorable to the candidacy of Mr. Bland” at the Sherman House. This caucus lasted about ninety minutes and was followed by another at 10 o’clock that evening. Although the Bland managers said they were only getting “acquainted” with supporters in the other state delegations, they noted that one hundred votes were already instructed for “Silver Dick” and predicted at least 250 on the first roll call. In addition to Missouri, Texas and Kansas were particularly well represented at these meetings.41 Reporters periodically published detailed projections of “Silver Dick’s” strength on the first ballot, and these estimates documented a more or less steady increase in votes (see Table 8.3). On July 6, the New York Times gave Bland 264 delegates, about fifty shy of a majority of all silver men but far short of the necessary number under the two-thirds’ rule governing nominations. On July 2, the Bland campaign had issued its own projection and, like all campaigns, exaggerated his support. But this campaign estimate nonetheless revealed where Bland might pick up some of the votes he still needed for the nomination. Ohio, for example, was predicted to give up McLean and Oregon would forsake Pennoyer. The Bland men also claimed Bryan’s home state of Nebraska on July 2, and four days later the Boston Globe also thought the state would fall into the Bland column. Bland may have peaked sometime between the evening of July 6 and adjournment of the convention the next day. From then on, the campaign seemed to lose momentum as most reports continued to describe Bland’s support as very soft, verging on indifference even in states that had formally endorsed his candidacy. As one correspondent put it, 39 40 41

Detroit Free Press and New York Times, July 7, 1896. July 5, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896. Delegates and alternates from sixteen states and territories attended this caucus: Arkansas, Colorado, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Missouri, Montana, Oregon, Texas, Utah, Washington, Wyoming, Alaska, Arizona, Indian Territory, New Mexico, and Oklahoma. Chicago Tribune, July 6, 1896.

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table 8.3. Estimates of Bland Strength on the First Ballot June 20

Arkansas (16)

June 26

Arizona (2) Arkansas (16)

July 2 Alabama (22) Alaska (6) Arizona (6) Arkansas (16) California (18)

Dis. of Col. (6) Idaho (6) Illinois (48) Indian Terr. (2) Indian Terr. (6) Kansas (20) Kansas (20) Missouri (34)

Missouri (34)

New Mexico (6)

Oklahoma (2)

Texas (30)

Total 56

Total 106

July 5

July 6



Colorado (8)

Colorado (8)

Idaho (6) Illinois (48) Indian Terr. (6) Kansas (20)

Idaho (6) Illinois (48)

Missouri (34) Montana (6) Nebraska (16)

Missouri (34) Montana (6)

New Mexico (6) North Dakota (6) Ohio (46) Oklahoma (6) Oregon (8) South Carolina (18) South Dakota (8) Tennessee (24) Texas (30) Utah (6)

New Mexico (6)

Texas (30) Utah (6)

Washington (8)

Washington (8)

Total 376

Wyoming (6) Total 220

Oklahoma (6) Oregon (8)

Kansas (20) Michigan (12) Missouri (34) Montana (6) Nebraska (6) Nevada (6) New Mexico (6)

Oklahoma (6) South Carolina (9)

Texas (30) Utah (6) Virginia (24) Washington (3) West Virginia (6) Wyoming (6) Total 264

Notes and Sources: The July 2 estimate came from the Bland campaign. All other estimates were compiled by reporters. Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 1896; Boston Globe, July 3, 1896; Chicago Tribune, June 21, 1896; New York Times, July 7, 1896.

the “Bland boom seems to grow by the force of an inertia only. State after State has declared for him in an aimless sort of fashion, but, in many cases, it has only been after a hard fight.”42 Projections of first ballot strength for the other candidates were far more uncertain (see Table 8.4). Early estimates still presumed that the gold men would participate in the balloting and thus gave substantial blocs to both Whitney and Russell. Those blocs vanished when the gold strategy became more clear. Pattison’s support was viewed as more consistent, but even the Pennsylvania favorite son disappeared from sight when the Atlanta Constitution thought the 42


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table 8.4. Projections of Candidate Strength on the First Ballot Candidate

June 20

June 26

July 6: 1

July 6: 2

Bland Boies Russell Whitney Pattison McLean Bryan Matthews Blackburn Tillman White Pennoyer Stevenson Teller

56 116 79

106 26 33 72 64 46

152 152

264 105

46 38 30

98 52 4 32 26

64

26

30 26 18 18

18 8 3 2

Notes and Sources: June 20, 26 (Chicago Tribune, June 21, 27, 1896); July 6: 1 (Atlanta Constitution, July 7, 1896); July 6: 2 (New York Times, July 7, 1896).

Keystone State delegates might abstain. The votes that former Governor Boies might attract varied enormously, depending on whether or not correspondents accepted the campaign’s optimistic projections. The fundamental consideration for the Boies estimates was the destination of delegates who would not back Bland. They had to vote for somebody and the Boies men hoped it would be their candidate. After Indiana and Ohio adjourned their state conventions on June 24, those states were regularly conceded to favorite sons Matthews and McLean, respectively. But they drew very little support outside their home states. In its July 6 projection, the Atlanta Constitution gave Bryan his home state of Nebraska and North Carolina for a total of thirty-eight votes. But the New York Times on the same day gave Bryan no delegates from North Carolina and only four from Nebraska. In fact, the paper gave Bland six votes from Nebraska, making Bryan the runner-up in his home state delegation. After adjournment on July 8, the presidential race was only a little less murky than it had been a week earlier. An Atlanta Constitution correspondent would only venture that “A nomination may be made tomorrow. Bland has gained today and is now leading by such a good majority that there may be a stampede to him which will name him as the winner. . . .” A second Constitution correspondent, however, reported that the Bryan boom which flashed forth last night may amount to something. It was born anew, amid the uncertainty between Boies and Bland night before last. A Bryan club was formed, a fine banner was painted during the night and a band was hired. With shouts and confident tread the club marched into the hall this morning. The club got gratifying

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applause. It has been making noise all day. . . . There is hope and life in the Bryan boom, if not triumph.43

On the morning of July 9, just before the platform debate, the Associated Press reported that none of the campaigns were willing to provide “figures or estimates of strength” for the candidates. The wire story still held out the possibility that several hundred gold votes might be delivered en bloc to one of the silver candidates as “the least of several evils,” although the correspondent also said that the “gold element” might abstain. The Matthews campaign was said to be “especially watchful of this block of gold votes.” For its part, the Bland campaign was “somewhat solicitous over the Illinois delegation after the first ballot” because “there is an undercurrent” of sentiment that favored “leaving Bland on the second ballot.” Teller’s prospects were said to depend on a stalemated convention; there was a rumor that Vice-President Stevenson would be formally nominated; and Bryan seemed to be “looming up as a formidable dark horse.” The bottom line was that there “is as much uncertainty among the candidates on the eve of balloting as before the convention opened” two days earlier.44 Bryan’s Position in the Race for the Nomination Reporting from Lincoln, Nebraska, on June 28, a correspondent for the Chicago Tribune heaped ridicule upon Bryan’s presidential ambitions: A colored portrait of Bryan, eight feet square, is now being prepared in Lincoln for service at the Chicago convention. It is there that Bryan, the orator, expects to make the effort of his life, and it is then, at the conclusion of that effort, that the gigantic picture of himself is expected to be flashed upon the Democratic free silver cohorts and the convention stampeded. To this glorious consummation all Nebraska indications point.

Two days later the Tribune announced that the Bryan candidacy had evaporated. Bryan himself was reported to have said, as he boarded a train to return to Omaha, “You can announce me as being out of the presidential race. In fact, I never was in it, save by the kind mention of a few enthusiastic friends.” When asked whether he considered himself a candidate, Bryan replied, “Not in any sense of the word.” A couple of days after that, in a discussion of alternative candidates for the post of temporary chairman, Bryan was described as 43

44

July 9, 1896. The Chicago Tribune, in a lengthy analysis of the race couched as a horse race metaphor, said, “The entry of the Nebraska stable’s dark horse – ‘the Boy Orator of the Platte’ – was pushed to the front last night in so many different ways, though apparently without the aid of the proprietors of the stable, that their entry may have to be taken from the list of dark horses before the flag falls, but the stable still will be in a position to get the good odds in the betting and hopes to make a killing.” July 9, 1896. Los Angeles Times, July 10, 1896.

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a “Bland man.” Bryan himself publicly predicted a Bland nomination while in St. Joseph, Missouri, four days before the convention opened.45 On July 5, two days before the convention was to start, the Chicago Tribune ran a cartoon (Fig. 8.2) depicting the contest for the Democratic nomination as a foot race with seven candidates (Pattison, Teller, Blackburn, McLean, Matthews, Boies, and Bland) drawn up in a line waiting for the starting gun. Cleveland sits under an umbrella in the stands under a pennant emblazoned with the name of his summer home. Bryan is nowhere in sight.46 On the day before the convention was to open, Bland had a “long and lengthening lead,” but the people who always expect the unexpected in politics have a strong belief that some man not as yet much talked of will come up from the back stretch and show his heels to the favorites at the winning post. In all the talk of surprise candidates there is nothing more interesting than the mysterious whispers which go around that Gov. Altgeld is grooming young Bryan of Nebraska.47

This rumor was transparently false; Altgeld had no intention of endorsing Bryan and, in fact, steadfastly resisted the wishes of his own delegation until it simply rebelled against him. But the report was nonetheless significant as one of the earliest signs of interest in Bryan. Even on July 8, the day before Bryan delivered the “Cross of Gold” speech, one of the few correspondents who mentioned Bryan as a plausible candidate for the nomination first cited the “wild demonstration” that accompanied seating of the Nebraska silver delegation as an “honor to Bryan” and then said that he “is now everywhere recognized as a formidable dark horse.” However, another correspondent for that paper (the Memphis Commercial Appeal) reported in the same issue that Bland, Boies and Stevenson . . . in the order named, are the only presidential possibilities discussed at Chicago tonight, and it is difficult to see at this writing how any Democrat can defeat Bland unless the convention becomes demoralized and does the unexpected. . . . Bland seems to be a sure winner. . . . Bland spokesmen, in fact, were claiming the Nebraska delegation would support their man on the second ballot, if not the first.48 45

46

47 48

June 29, July 1, 3, 4, 1896. Bryan later wrote, “At that time [a few days before the convention opened] the sentiment seemed to be divided between Bland and Boies and Matthews, and as I looked over the situation, I did not think that the outlook for my candidacy was encouraging.” William Jennings Bryan and Mary Baird Bryan, The Memoirs of William Jennings Bryan (Philadelphia: John C. Winston, 1925), p. 103. The July 5 issue also ran a cartoon on the front page that depicted booms as balloons with a candidate’s name on each of them. The candidates in this picture were Blackburn, Bland, Boies, McLean, Matthews, Morrison, Pennoyer, Teller, and Tillman (Tillman’s balloon was tied to the prong of a pitchfork stuck into the ground). Boston Globe (Extra), July 6, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 6, 7, 1896.

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figure 8.2. Source: Chicago Tribune, July 5, 1896.

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On July 9, a neutral observer also predicted that Nebraska would fall in the Bland column very early in the voting. However, by that point, the Nebraska delegation itself was ostensibly displaying sentiment for both Boies and Bland for the purposes of cultivating good will in both camps and, independently, discouraging what the Bryan people viewed as a premature boom for their own man.49 About the time the convention adjourned on the night before the platform debate, the Chicago Tribune reported “a strong tip” that Bryan was “to become the residuary legatee of Silver Dick and his strength” if and when the Bland campaign collapsed. But the Tribune was not certain whether, like McLean, Bryan was “playing for second place on the ticket” or that he was “after the Presidential nomination with desperate earnestness.” Even so, one of the Nebraska delegates was still claiming that Bryan was “not a candidate, but of course his friends would be glad to vote for him, and we have many assurances from delegates from other States that they want to vote for him, but the Nebraska delegation is not pushing him.”50 The Chicago Tribune now recognized Bryan as “more than a darkhorse candidate” and on July 9 ran a front page article on the Nebraskan parallel to those similarly reporting on Bland and Boies.51 Other papers, however, did not see any change in the race. The Detroit Free Press, for example, reported Bland “to be decidedly in the lead, with Boies and McLean the only other formal candidates whose friends still seriously consider their names. . . . There is also still talk of Adlai Stevenson as a promising dark horse.”52 That was it; neither Bryan nor any other candidate merited handicapping just before the platform debate was to begin. That debate, of course, changed everything. In the period after Bryan’s oration but before the evening session in which the nominating speeches were to be made, delegates and reporters attempted to reassess the presidential contest. In some cases, delegates would simply report whether they had changed their personal preferences. In other cases, they would state what they believed would be changes within their own delegation. The least reliable information circulating through the convention hall were unattributed (and perhaps unattributable) rumors as to what other delegations might do. One of the correspondents for the Los Angeles Times, for example, reported the following: 1. “Senator Daniel said, considering the occasion and circumstances, Bryan’s speech was the greatest effort he had ever listened to. He believes Bryan will be the nominee. Virginia, he says, will probably cast six votes for him.” 49 50 51

52

Chicago Tribune, July 8, 9, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 9, 1896. For general surveys of newspaper estimates of Bryan’s strength as the convention opened, see Paolo E. Coletta, William Jennings Bryan, vol. 1; Political Evangelist, 1860–1908 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1964), p. 122; Louis W. Koenig, Bryan: A Political Biography of William Jennings Bryan (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1971), pp. 177–78. On Bryan’s own evaluation of the various candidates and his own chances for the nomination, see p. 124. July 11, 1896.

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2. “George Frederick Williams of Massachusetts will nominate Bryan, and his nomination is predicted on the second ballot.” 3. “Twelve votes of West Virginia will be cast for Bryan.” 4. “The Georgia delegation had decided to cast twenty votes for Bryan;”53 5. “A hasty canvass of the Louisiana delegation showed 15 for Bryan and 1 against, but under the unit rule 16 Louisiana votes would go to him.” 6. “Alabama conferred with a view to changing its 22 votes from Boies to Bland.”54 7. “C. S. Thomas, chairman of the Colorado delegation, said if a vote were taken tonight Bryan would be nominated.” 8. “Iowa stood by Boies, but a movement is on foot to swing Boies’s strength to Bryan.” 9. “Florida will give [Bryan] two votes, possibly more.” 10. “Arizona, in case of a break, will go to Bryan.”55 11. “It was rumored that 18 members of the Ohio delegation united in an appeal to John R. McLean to withdraw and allow them to vote for Bryan. McLean denied it.” 12. “North Carolina will probably cast a solid vote for Bryan.” 13. “North Dakota was very much inclined in favor of” Bryan. 14. “Michigan will go for Bryan.” 15. “Texas stood firm for Bland, but in the event of another caucus, Bryan will probably command a majority.” 16. “Three of the Wyoming delegation were for Bryan.” 17. “One of the California delegates said the Bryan movement might give that State’s vote to him, after a complimentary vote to Senator White.”56 18. “South Carolina will cast 18 votes for Tillman on the first ballot, and then go to Bryan.” 19. “Maryland and North Dakota also showed evidence of a tendency to go to Bryan.” 20. “Mississippi decided to cast 18 votes for Bryan.” 21. “The Nebraska delegation will not place Bryan in nomination, but they have asked that a nominating speech be made by an Alabama delegate. 53

54

55 56

Georgia may have been the first delegation to switch to Bryan after his speech. About thirty minutes after he had finished, the delegation was polled on the convention floor and the chairman was instructed to cast the state’s votes for Bryan. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. A contradictory report appeared in the Atlanta Constitution: in a “spirited meeting,” Alabama “decided to remain with Boies for one ballot. After that she goes to Bryan.” July 10, 1896. The Los Angeles Times story was more accurate. Some of the delegates in the Arizona delegation wanted to go over to Bryan immediately. San Francisco Chronicle, July 10, 1896. The Times was still assuming that White was going to allow his name to be placed in nomination. After White refused his permission, the California delegates still had commitments that appeared to prevent an immediate shift to Bryan. As one of the at-large delegates reported, “Nearly all of the California delegation are tied up on the first ballot by complimentary votes for one candidate or another, but at heart they all want Bryan.” For other comments by California delegates, see San Francisco Chronicle, July 10, 1896.

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The movement is toward Bryan for first place, and Sibley of Pennsylvania for second place. Other candidates are rallying their forces to prevent a stampede. H. M. Boydston, alternate-at-large on the Nebraska delegation, says Bryan does not want a formal presentation. He says the Bryan movement is wholly spontaneous. He regards the nomination as assured.”57 Some things are clear from this list. First, Bryan’s oratory had destabilized a very large number of preferences, so much so that rumors were circulating that states such as Iowa and Ohio might now forsake their favorite sons. In addition, much of the support for all the candidates, including Bryan, was unusually soft. The shift away from other candidates demonstrated the shallow nature of sentiment that had previously favored them. But Bryan’s boom was only an hour or two old, and no one could be certain that the delegates would not shift again to someone else. And, in fact, Bryan lost strength from the end of his speech, when the nomination could have been his by acclamation, until the balloting began the next day. If we take these reports as predictions of how delegates and delegations were going to vote on the opening ballots, some of them are remarkably accurate. South Carolina, for example, did vote for Tillman on the first ballot and then went to Bryan on the second. Others were wildly off base. Maryland, for instance, was a gold delegation, and a majority voted for Pattison on every roll call. It is extremely doubtful that the Maryland delegation ever evidenced a “tendency” to entertain Bryan as their favorite.58 These reports also indicate the immense amount of information floating about the convention. To monitor the situation in each of these delegations, Bryan would have needed a campaign organization at least as large as the one serving the Bland campaign. In truth, Bryan had almost no formal organization beyond his Nebraska delegation, and even there an alternate was acting as his spokesman.59 When Bryan claimed he did not want formal nominating speeches, he was simply making a virtue of necessity; there was too little time to recruit reputable speakers to nominate him. George Fred Williams was willing to come forward and actually did make a seconding speech. But Bryan’s name was placed in nomination by Hal Lewis, a Georgia delegate who had been 57 58

59

July 10, 1896. While evaluating these reports for their predictive accuracy can tell us something about how information was generated in the convention, we should also keep in mind that even (ultimately) incorrect rumors might have been true when they were started. For example, the Los Angeles Times had reported that Mississippi had reached “a general understanding” in its caucus on the morning of July 9, before the platform debate, that the delegation “should go to Blackburn on first ballot. Senator Walthall believes that the Mississippi vote will go to Bland after the first ballot.” Placed in context with other information, this report appears accurate. Of course, after Bryan gave his speech, Mississippi decided to support him instead. Thus, the later report was accurate as well. July 10, 1896. Bryan later estimated that he had spent about sixty dollars during the convention, “a sum probably as small as anyone has spent in securing a presidential nomination.” Bryan and Bryan, Memoirs, p. 107.

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persuaded to give a speech by J. T. Hill, one of the other members of the delegation.60 While Hill was only twenty-one years old and thus the youngest delegate in the entire convention, the Atlanta Constitution described him as “the most active manager of the Bryan boom,” saying that “it was through his efforts that the Georgians declared for the young-looking orator” after the speech.61 As the Chicago Tribune put it, Bryan’s boom was so sudden that there were no managers to look after his interests. . . . [He] knows nothing about where his probable support is to come from and said that the only knowledge of the situation in that regard was what had come to him through delegates who have volunteered the information.62

And this had consequences in that, unlike the other major campaigns, Bryan had no way of “manufacturing” information that might advance his prospects. For example, the alternate who claimed that Bryan’s nomination was “assured” would have had no credibility with any of the seasoned reporters in the convention. By the time the nominating speeches were made, Bryan had retired to his room in the Clifton House where he and a few reporters followed the proceedings by way of telegraph messages from the convention floor.63 When the bellboy brought the one stating that “Lewis of Georgia takes platform to present Bryan of Nebraska,” Bryan first read it aloud to the reporters and then “lay back and closed his eyes and said: ‘Now, do you know, I didn’t know he was going to do that.’” He had thought that the Kansas delegation would nominate him from the floor without a speech.64 Bryan had given up direction of his boom to whoever wanted to lead it. Nominating Speeches On the morning of July 9, just before the platform debate, the Associated Press described the nominating speeches as “another opportunity for great orators,” such as “the caustic and virile” Senator Vest of Missouri, who was to place Bland’s name before the convention. The correspondent also expected a superb performance from David Overmeyer of Kansas, who would second Bland’s 60 61 62

63 64

Only two days earlier, Lewis had predicted that either Bland or Boies would win the nomination without even mentioning Bryan. Atlanta Constitution, July 8, 1896. July 11, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 3, 5, 9–11; Atlanta Constitution, July 5, 6, 9, 10–12, 1896. When referring to Bryan’s boom, the Tribune used the term “manager” in two different senses: one to indicate a volunteer leader on the convention floor and the other to denote an organizer recognized by the candidate himself. While Bryan enjoyed the support of volunteers who initiated efforts without consulting with him, he did not have a recognized campaign manager who cleared operations in the convention. July 11, 1896. Although the Nebraska headquarters was also used, Bryan’s bedroom “served as his conference room and campaign headquarters.” Boston Globe, July 11, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896.

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nomination. Following Bland’s nomination, a great demonstration, releasing “all the latent enthusiasm of the silver hosts,” was anticipated. Although “his voice is thin,” Senator Turpie “has the facility of expressing forcibly his utterances” and was to exercise his skill for Governor Matthews of Indiana. Despite the fact that he was “not well known,” Frederick White was expected to “prove one of the surprises of the convention” when he spoke for Boies. Bryan was not even mentioned as someone who might be nominated with a speech.65 The nominating addresses were made on the evening of July 9, under “the glare and hiss of the arc lamps.” Every bit of breathing space in the half-mile of gallery had an occupant – atoms of humanity they appeared [to be] across the tremendous distance. Faces were so far away that they looked like spots against a mottled background, and the sloping tiers that led up to the windows on three sides of the space about the assembled delegates appeared like vast slopes paved with hats adorned with feathers and flaring flowers, bald heads and heads with hair. . . . It was a moving spectacle, and when excitement took possession of the throng it shook it as a terrier does a rat.66

The “illumination by electric lamps was perfect, but the heat was stifling.”67 A Boston Globe correspondent reported, Men and women are packed against the walls in a standing position, and the loft far above the chairman’s desk is jammed, while adventurous youths have ventured out upon the iron trusses of the roof.68

Everywhere one might look in the cavernous hall there was a crush of humanity. Richardson brought the gavel down at 8:26 p.m., but the hall did not come to order for another ten minutes or so. This parliamentary stage required the formal calling of the roll of the states to give each of them the opportunity to nominate a candidate. By mutual agreement, the various campaigns were allotted thirty minutes apiece for nominating and seconding speeches. When Arkansas was reached, Senator Jones yielded to Senator Vest of Missouri, who nominated Bland in his opening sentence. His “voice was feeble,” however, and many delegates did not know Bland’s name had been spoken “until the banner of the Daddy of the Dollar” started to make a circuit around the convention floor. Following this demonstration, Vest continued his speech, but his “most telling sentences” were ruined by constant cries for “Bryan, Bryan, W. J. Bryan.” The Los Angeles Times concluded that the “galleries were ready to nominate Bryan out-of-hand.”69 65 66

67 68 69

Los Angeles Times, July 10, 1896. Ibid. In addition to the 15,000 people who crowded into the hall, some 5,000 more “were gathered about the entrances during the greater part of the evening, tickets in hand, fruitlessly clamoring for admission.” Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. Boston Globe, July 10, 1896. About the same time, a Boston Globe correspondent reported that Bryan “has locked himself within the four walls of his room at the Clifton house, down town, and there blushes unseen. The dark horse is in his stall, feasting upon the oats of hope and political straws.” July 10, 1896.

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When the Missouri senator finished, “the Bland boomers, who were judiciously distributed in the audience, worked up quite an ambitious demonstration, but it lacked . . . spontaneity and verve.” This was an organized display, mounted, at least in part, by men who had been hired to shout and march.70 In the midst of the hoopla, rather like a cowbird in a crow’s nest, “the blue banner of the William J. Bryan club of Nebraska waved its silken folds and silver fringe above the heads of the delegates.”71 After this demonstration petered out, several more Bland speeches were made.72 California then announced that it passed because Senator White “positively declines to let us present his name.” Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, and Florida also passed. When Georgia was reached, the chairman of the delegation announced that one of the delegates, Hal Lewis, would place in nomination the candidate who would receive that state’s votes. Lewis ascended the podium and gave a brief speech in which the symbols and references were so abstract they could have applied to any of the candidates. This piqued the curiosity of the delegates and spectators who did not know who he was going to name until the very last line, “I refer, fellow citizens, to William J. Bryan, of Nebraska.” Bryan’s name let loose the dogs of sound. . . . Pandemonium reigned from the narrow gallery close under the roof to the shifting sea of delegates that shouted and cheered in front of the platform. Minutes went by, and still the shouting, the flag-waving and the indiscriminate roaring went on. An attempt was made to duplicate that march of the banners inaugurated this afternoon, but only the States of North Carolina, Georgia, Louisiana and Michigan joined the procession.73

Although Lewis, by all accounts, had acquitted himself well on the podium, he misjudged his listeners. When this demonstration erupted, Lewis patiently waited for ten minutes “for the commotion to subside.” When the sound and fury showed no signs of ending, “he concluded that he had produced a satisfactory effect” and returned to the Georgia delegation. Because he had underestimated the response he would elicit when he mentioned Bryan’s name, Lewis 70 71 72

73

New Orleans Picayune, July 10, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. One of these speeches was given by an Illinois delegate, J. R. Williams. The Chicago Tribune said, “It looked funny to see Williams up on the platform making a speech for Bland when it was a well known fact that Illinois would at the first opportunity go over to Bryan.” July 10, 1896. That “fact” turned out to be incorrect; Illinois was one of the last delegations to leave Bland for Bryan. Georgia, Louisiana, and North Carolina gave all their votes to Bryan on the first ballot the next day. Michigan gave a plurality of its votes to him. Taken together, the votes of these four states comprised over half Bryan’s support on that roll call. The display presented by the movement of the state banners thus accurately represented the preferences of the delegates on the convention floor. The Detroit Free Press and Atlanta Constitution reported that Mississippi and South Dakota joined the procession as well. Both these states also voted for Bryan on the first ballot. July 10, 1896.

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could not finish his speech.74 This demonstration lasted fourteen minutes, and then there were three seconding speeches, one of which was given by George Fred Williams, the Massachusetts convert to silver. The call of the states was resumed with no additional nominations until Indiana was reached. Senator David Turpie put Matthews before the convention, but his effort was painful. His voice did not reach half the delegates and no one in the galleries, and hence the announcement of his candidate’s name fell flat. Had not the Indiana delegation mounted their chairs and cheered, no one would have known what all Turpie’s arm-swinging was about.75

Turpie read his speech “from a paper which he [held] in his trembling hands.”76 By the time he finished, the delegates and spectators had long since stopped paying attention. The sergeant-at-arms intervened with a threat. Ladies and Gentlemen, I want your attention for a few moments. I want to say that the chairman of this convention desires that I shall announce to you that unless there is perfect order (jeers) the convention tomorrow will be held without any guests. The delegations will be protected by the police, and the audience will not be permitted to come into the hall. Now, keep order. (Shouts of laughter.)77

A delegate from Kansas immediately pointed out to Richardson, “That declaration has been made so often from the platform, that the audience has lost faith in its efficacy.” He demanded that the threat be carried out. The chairman issued his own stern warning to the gallery and then turned the podium over to a California delegate, who seconded Matthews.78 After that speech, the roll moved on to Iowa. Iowa presented Frederick White, who put Boies in nomination “in a speech miles too long and vastly commonplace.” When he finished, his delegation attempted a demonstration, but nothing much came of it until a little woman in white away up on the south side of the hall came to their rescue. She stood up and waved her white-clad arms with rhythmical motion that soon caught the eyes of the delegates. Some one handed her a flag and she waved that until she broke the staff. Another flag went up to her and still those white arms waved and undulated. 74 75

76 77 78

Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. At one point in Turpie’s speech, someone in the gallery yelled, “I nominate Cleveland,” and “cheers for Cleveland were called for and given.” Turpie “read on undismayed though his voice was inaudible, ten feet away from where he stood.” Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. Boston Globe, July 10, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. As the Boston Globe put it, the “immeasurable proportions of this task amuse rather than amaze the threatened thousands.” July 10, 1896. Oscar Trippet, the California delegate who seconded the nomination, was hardly an asset to the Matthews campaign. After he spoke, he told the San Francisco Chronicle: “I spoke for Matthews because I promised to do so. Since I heard Bryan, I have made up my mind to vote for him on the second ballot.” July 10, 1896.

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A third flag was passed up, and she stood aloft and kept on with tireless persistency. By this time the entire audience had joined her in the rally for “Uncle Horace.” The delegates en mass mounted chairs and answered her signal with newspapers, hats and umbrellas. The Boies banner borne by a delegate shifts from the Iowa delegation to the aisle in the rear. It runs along, leaps the intervening row of press tables, and climbs the aisle to the girl in white. It is placed in her hands, but proves to be too heavy for her strength. Down to the floor comes the banner, and with the girl in white, who is marched in triumph to the Iowa delegation and all the way round the square in which the convention is. And her name is Minnie Murray of Nashua, Iowa. Hurray for Minnie Murray, who has given a political convention a striking and unique sensation, and when “Uncle Horace” gets to be President let him see to it that Minnie gets the postoffice at Nashua, Iowa.79

At 11:15 p.m., the demonstration ended with Murray collapsing into a chair in the Iowa delegation.80 The Official Proceedings stated that “twenty minutes elapsed before the business of the Convention could be resumed,” making this one of the longest demonstrations of the convention. A seconding speech followed and then the roll resumed. Kentucky placed Senator Joseph Blackburn in nomination. One of the delegates at large, John Rhea, made the speech, and at the conclusion one of the bands played “My Old Kentucky Home.” The obligatory seconding address was given by a California delegate.81 The roll resumed and Massachusetts was reached. The delegation chairman announced, By unanimous vote of the Democrats of Massachusetts, the delegation is instructed to present the name of Governor Russell; but, by his direction and because of the platform, he declined the use of his name. Therefore we have no candidate to offer, and ask that we be passed.

This was a very mild way of indicating the state’s deep disaffection over the silver platform. When Nebraska’s turn came, the delegation chairman passed while noting, “[W]e honor and love” Bryan. A little further down the roll, New Jersey also passed, explaining, “New Jersey does not desire to nominate any man upon 79

80

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Los Angeles Times, July 10, 1896. Even Senator Tillman was moved by the “woman in white” and waved a white handkerchief in her direction while she was still in the gallery. Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. One reporter described the twenty-two-year-old Murray as having “the beauty which always goes with good health, and the attractiveness which is a necessary part of enthusiasm.” Asked afterward what had happened, she said, “Nobody is as much surprised as I am at what I did. . . . I didn’t know I was attracting so much attention until they brought the banner up to where I sat.” The reporter evidently believed her because he concluded that the “act was undoubtedly absolutely without premeditation.” For the rest of his account, see Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. W. W. Foote, the California delegate who seconded Blackburn’s nomination, told the San Francisco Chronicle before he went to the podium, “I am for Bryan. He is an unparalleled leader.” The Chronicle reported that Foote “was fluent, forceful and brief” but concluded that “his heart was not in his work.” July 10, 1896.

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the platform of this Convention.” A Pennsylvania delegate shouted, “That’s the talk!” while the silver men hissed and the New Yorkers applauded. Senator Hill, speaking for New York, declared that “New York has no candidate to present to this Convention.”82 As he said this, cries of “Hill!” rang throughout the hall.83 Ohio placed McLean in nomination, one of the delegates making a brief speech. In a bit of a surprise, Oregon passed, giving up an opportunity to nominate former Governor Pennoyer. William Harrity then rose and said, Pennsylvania has no candidate to present at this time, but when the roll of States shall be called for the purpose of ascertaining preferences as to candidates, Pennsylvania will express her wishes upon that subject.

This was about as circumspect a method of breaking ranks with the other gold states as one could imagine. The Pennsylvania men would vote for Pattison because he insisted that they should, but the delegates were not going to mention his name until they had to do so. Harrity played several, sometimes conflicting, roles at the convention. As chairman of the national committee, he was responsible for overseeing the convention arrangements, including negotiations over the order of the proceedings and equitable presentation of opposing proposals. In this, he was expected to be fair and judicious, and all evidence suggests that he succeeded. But he was also a strong supporter of the gold standard and therefore opposed to the most ardent desires of a large majority of the delegates. In this role, he periodically gave voice to his gold sympathies, mostly in the form of fears for the future of the national party if the silver plank were adopted and a silver candidate nominated. Finally, as the most influential member of the Pennsylvania delegation, he was responsible for shepherding the favorite son candidacy of Governor Pattison. Although most of the gold delegates from the Northeast favored abstention in the voting on the nomination of a presidential candidate, Pattison insisted that his name be kept before the convention. Because Pattison had been duly endorsed by the Pennsylvania state convention, Harrity apparently felt honor-bound to deliver the state’s vote for the governor even though he had absolutely no chance of winning. Personally, Harrity would probably have preferred to abstain in the voting on the nomination and was appalled when, just after Bryan was named, Pattison announced he would endorse the Democratic ticket, including the silver platform.84 Through guilt by association, 82 83 84

New York Times, July 10, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. Pattison’s announcement surprised and dismayed many gold delegates. While he apparently did not publicly embrace silver in his endorsement, his action was nonetheless equivalent to a change of position on the monetary standard. Presumably, he would have done the same thing, perhaps more openly, if he had won the nomination himself. New York Times, July 11, 1896. Also see Chicago Tribune, July 11, 1896. Harrity reportedly said that Pattison’s endorsement of Bryan “would bring down upon his head the condemnation of the gold standard papers of the whole country.” Memphis Commercial Appeal, July 11, 1896.

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Pattison’s endorsement of Bryan appeared to link Harrity to a compromising attitude toward silver and thus publicly embarrassed the outgoing chairman. There was no easy way to maneuver through these apparent contradictions, and most observers recognized the extremely difficult position Harrity occupied at the convention. When Texas was called, Congressman Joseph Bailey made what was now the fourth seconding speech for Bland. While he was speaking, an electric light illuminating the podium went out and an “electrician came with a high stepladder and adjusted a fresh carbon.” Although he was cloaked in shadow, Bailey continued his speech while the audience watched the repair work.85 Utah soon followed with a fifth seconding speech. Virginia announced that only Senator Daniel’s “earnest request” prevented the state from placing their favorite son in nomination. Washington seconded Bland without giving a speech. West Virginia seconded Blackburn, one of the delegates briefly addressing the convention. And then Wisconsin was called. The chairman of the Wisconsin delegation, General Edward Bragg, first announced that “Wisconsin cannot participate in nominating a Democrat to stand upon the platform.” Although Wisconsin had a gold majority, there were silver men in the delegation. One of them, James Malone, seconded Blackburn and then said, “Wisconsin will express its views through Mr. E. J. Dockery,” another silver delegate. Dockery then said, Gentlemen, the hour is late and I will not detain you by any extended speech. All I ask, gentlemen, at the hands of this Convention, is that it nominate the idol of this Convention, William J. Bryan, of Nebraska, and we will elect him.

Dockery had made it clear that he was endorsing Bryan. What was not clear was Malone’s relationship to this endorsement. Malone seemed to be saying that he was seconding Blackburn because he had previously committed himself to do so but that, in reality, his preference had shifted over to Bryan, along with the other silver men in the Wisconsin delegation. Making this all the more confusing, General Bragg climbed onto his chair and declared, “With your kind permission we will send out and make search for another straggler, and if we are successful, Wisconsin may yet pledge its support to another candidate. (Laughter and hisses.)”86 All of the remaining states and territories passed, and Senator Jones moved that the convention adjourn, to meet again at 10 o’clock the following morning. This motion was greeted with cries of “No! No!” from “all over the hall,” but the chairman “declared it carried, although there were as many [voice] votes in the negative as in the affirmative.”87 There were numerous reports that the 85 86 87

New York Times, July 10, 1896. Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. Chicago Tribune, July 10, 1896. Another story in the same issue reported that most of the “noes” came from the galleries and should not have been weighed by the chairman in making his decision. In this respect, voice votes were a way in which those without “institutionally recognized” voting privileges could attempt to insert themselves into the proceedings.

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managers of the other campaigns wanted this adjournment because they were afraid that a roll call would provoke a stampede to Bryan. But the time was already half past midnight and adjournment must have seemed reasonable to neutral observers as well.88 After adjournment, reporters attempted to sum up the situation for their readers. From where the correspondent for the Los Angeles Times sat, It looks now as if Bland would be nominated in case the two-thirds rule is abrogated. Otherwise we may expect many ballots, and the victory of Bryan or some other dark horse. He had the call today, but may not be able to hold it. I am told that the bosses have fixed it to dispose of another precedent tomorrow by doing away with the twothirds rule in the interest of Bland. If they do the fight will be short, sharp and decisive. Whatever they do, it promises to be a bad Friday for somebody.89

An editorial in the Memphis Commercial Appeal thought Bryan’s prospects were more promising than that. Up to the assembling of the delegates yesterday there was not much thought of Bryan. The names of Bland, Boies, Blackburn and Stevenson were heard frequently, and Bryan was looked upon as one of several dark horses. Now all is changed. The carefully laid plans of the manipulators have dissolved into airy nothings. From one of the shadows Bryan has become a light. Called upon for a speech yesterday afternoon, he responded in a way that touched the prairie to fire. Then and there William J. Bryan became a danger to every program and menace to every candidacy. . . . [U]nless something occurs to mar the enthusiasm he has aroused we feel almost certain that he will be the nominee. . . . If there is a hitch, then keep your eye on Teller.

After the convention adjourned, Altgeld bravely tried to put a favorable interpretation on the day’s events, saying, “We accomplished what we wanted today and tomorrow morning will nominate Bland.”90 But, in fact, the last twelve hours had been disastrous. As the Atlanta Constitution put it, “a crisis is at hand in the Bland boom.” By 2 o’clock a.m., the delegates had made their way back downtown and were thronging the hotels, “excitedly discussing the situation and speculating on tomorrow.” Extra editions of the Chicago papers were just hitting the streets and saying “it looks like Bryan,” but the correspondent thought that “in the confusion that exists no opinion is reliable.” A meeting was reported to be “in progress at Bryan headquarters,” and the Bland men were described as “badly demoralized and . . . making desperate efforts to rally. They are moving among the delegates.” About the same time, the New York Sun, one of the major Democratic newspapers in the nation, announced that it would endorse McKinley.91 88

89 90 91

In addition to sheer physical fatigue, adjournment may have been “necessitated by the fact that the carbons in the electric lights were nearly burned out and it was impossible to renew them with the convention in session.” Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1896. July 10, 1896. San Francisco Chronicle, July 10, 1896. July 10, 1896.

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Nominating Roll Calls On the fourth day of the Democratic National Convention, spectators began to fill the galleries even before the scheduled 10 a.m. start of the proceedings. However, the delegates were slow to assemble because many delegates had not gone to bed before two or three in the morning. Senator White waited until 10:55, almost an hour later than had been scheduled, to make his first attempt to call the convention to order.92 During the interim, McLean arrived on the floor and immediately “went over to talk to Senator Jones. The two talked their secrets in the best place imaginable for such a purpose – right in the center of a crowd. Few saw them, but it was plain to every one who did that the talk was an earnest one, and McLean furnished the biggest end of it.” Senator Tillman also appeared, “carrying a great bunch of Chicago papers of the morning issue. He sat himself down with his delegation and proceeded to look over the papers, one by one.” Rumors again reported that Tillman would throw South Carolina to Bryan on the second ballot, after a complimentary vote for himself on the first. Another rumor claimed that Ohio would do the same thing, after voting for McLean the first time around. The South Carolina rumor, as it turns out, was true. The Ohio report was false. Whitney and William Sheehan appeared early, waving fans to ward off the heat. They at once began to take their New York colleagues aside, “one by one,” and whispered in their ears. The chairman of the Iowa delegation, S. B. Evans, was also on the floor. He told a reporter that he was “suffering from a severe cold” and would, for that reason, appoint one of his colleagues to announce the state’s votes during the upcoming roll calls.93 Among the topics generally discussed on the floor and in the galleries was the decision of the New York Sun to bolt the party. White’s efforts to call the convention to order failed for the first several minutes. When things calmed down a bit, the prayer was given and the California senator said: The Chair requests gentlemen upon the floor and in the galleries to be as quiet as possible. Instead of making a vast amount of disturbance, try to hypnotize your neighbors into silence.

He then recognized William Harrity, who was standing in the aisle next to the Pennsylvania delegation. 92

93

Unless otherwise noted, all the information and quotes in the remainder of this chapter have been taken from the July 11, 1896, editions of the Atlanta Constitution, Chicago Tribune, Detroit Free Press, New York Times, or Boston Globe (including the Extra edition of July 10 in the case of the last). Colds, hoarseness from extended shouting, and other conditions impaired the voices of many of the leading figures in the convention. Some of them, such as Senator Turpie during his nominating speech for Claude Matthews, plodded on even though delegates and spectators could not hear them. Others, such as Chairmen Daniel and White, gave way to substitutes.

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Greeted by cheers, Harrity announced, “I desire to say that in obedience to the instructions given by the democratic state convention, the Pennsylvania delegation presents the name of Robert E. Pattison, of Pennsylvania, as a candidate for the presidency.” Pattison was thus properly placed in nomination, although almost everyone in the hall recognized that Harrity performed the service reluctantly. One other loose end was tidied up when a District of Columbia delegate seconded McLean’s nomination. And the last preliminary announcement came from Oregon, which nominated former Governor Pennoyer. When no other requests for recognition were made, the chairman declared the nominations closed.94 At 11:05 a.m. the roll call on the presidential nomination began. Alabama was first. After noting that five of their number would have liked to have voted for “that splendid type of New England Democracy,” former Governor William Russell, the chairman cast all the state’s votes for Boies. The unit rule suppressed the minority gold men in this delegation. When the vote was announced, the Iowa delegation unfurled two banners emblazoned with their favorite’s face, and the Boies men cheered. Arkansas was next, and Missouri applauded when it cast the convention’s first votes for Bland. California’s vote was challenged, and a poll revealed quite a scattering in that delegation: nine votes for Blackburn, four for Bryan, two for Matthews, two for Boies, and one for Campbell. The New York Tribune correspondent said the strong support for Blackburn “astonished every one.” Colorado passed. Connecticut cast two of its twelve votes for Russell; the rest of the delegation abstained. The lone silver man in the Delaware delegation voted for Bryan. Three of the five gold men voted for Pattison and two abstained, because they had “no desire to express as to the candidates of this Convention.” Florida split its eight votes for five different candidates, including one for Pattison. The Nebraska delegates gave a loud cheer when Georgia voted for Bryan. Idaho was next, and, not to be outdone, the Bland men cheered as the state voted for their candidate. And then came Illinois. When that state’s fortyeight votes plunked down for “Silver Dick,” a “big wave of enthusiasm for Bland seemed to pass over the Convention.” Indiana and Iowa voted for their favorite sons, bringing up Kansas. When the delegation chairman announced twenty votes for “that great Commoner, Richard P. Bland,” a New York Tribune correspondent reported that “the Missouri men yelled like Comanche Indians.” As the roll moved on, Kentucky admitted that two gold men were suppressed when that state supported its favorite son, Blackburn. Louisiana provided a bit of a spectacle when its name was called. The chairman first announced that, because of the unit rule, all sixteen of its votes would be cast for Bryan. However, he then added that “Mr. Marston expresses his personal preference 94

Although ritual recognized nominations and seconds as motions, they were not required and delegates could cast votes for candidates who had not been formally nominated. So, for example, Senator Teller of Colorado could have received the presidential nomination even though he had not been formally proposed as a candidate before the roll calls began.

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for Bland.” Marston, who had interrupted the proceedings on many previous occasions, then held up a silver dollar in his hand and announced: I only wish to say, sir, that the reason my preferences are given to Richard P. Bland is because I hold a talisman in my hand which will carry us to victory in November.

A New York Tribune correspondent reported that he could not hear Marston because what he said was “drowned in laughter and cheers.” Maine then scattered its twelve votes, including three abstentions and five for Pattison. When Massachusetts was called, one of the delegates announced that the chairman and vice-chairman were away from their seats and the state asked to be passed for that reason. One of silver delegates, Jeremiah O’Sullivan, then demanded that the state be polled, saying that the gold leaders of the delegation “are away because they intend to stay away.” The convention chairman chided O’Sullivan, “The Chair will state that speeches are not in order in the midst of a roll call. Let us remember this, gentlemen. Massachusetts will be passed for the present.” Michigan was called and scattered its twenty-eight votes, including ten abstentions by the gold men. Because a majority of the delegates did not support any one candidate, the unit rule was not in force. There was, however, a rather personal exchange between the gold and silver factions over whether one of the alternates had the right to vote for one of the missing gold men. The convention chairman observed, “That is a question of fact. If the delegation cannot tell what the fact is the Chair certainly cannot.” In the end, the alternate’s vote was counted because no objection had previously been made to his participation. However, because the gold and silver men would not quit arguing, the chairman had to request that they “resume their seats.” When Minnesota was reached, one of the delegates voted for Stevenson, thus bringing the vice-president’s name before the convention, “but not a solitary cheer greeted it.” This was obviously not going to be his day. As the roll continued, seven of the eight New Hampshire delegates abstained. The exception voted for Pattison. New Jersey announced that the entire delegation “declined to cast its vote.” This brought “cheers and hisses” from the galleries, after which the chairman declared, “Gentlemen will abstain from any manifestations of approval or disapproval of the votes in the future.” One of the silver delegates then shouted, “They are all republicans and ought to be put out.” New York was next on the roll, and there was “almost breathless silence in the hall” when it was called. Former Governor Roswell Flower announced: In view of the platform adopted by this convention and of its action and proceedings I am instructed by the delegation from the State of New York to say that we decline to further participate in the selection of candidates for President and Vice-President.

The silver men hissed this declaration but “were met with a storm of cheers from the gold delegates.”95 A New York Tribune correspondent reported that a “large 95

This was an instance where hissing, the expression of disdain and hostility, was overwhelmed by cheers, the expression of approval. The asymmetry between the two modes put hisses at a

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number of silver delegates” yelled, “Put them out!” and “You don’t belong in this Convention.” As the chairman gaveled the convention back into order, the New York delegation “looked sullen.” Flower’s speech led the chairman of the North Carolina delegation to parody him, announcing, In view of the platform adopted by this Convention and the proceedings going before it, I am requested by the delegates of North Carolina to cast twenty-two votes for William J. Bryan.

That brought “cheers and laughter” from the silver men. The chairman of the Ohio delegation announced that forty-one men supported McLean, one each backed Bryan, Bland, and Pattison, and two abstained. As he did so, the chairman glanced over his shoulder at Flower and said, “When Ohio sends a delegation to a National Convention, she does not expect them to sulk and pout if they don’t have their own way.” McLean himself was not present and his vote was cast by his alternate. Under the unit rule, all forty-six votes were cast for McLean, although the vote was challenged and the delegation had to be individually polled before that could be done. During the poll, one of the gold men shouted, “I cannot vote for any man on a silver platform.”96 Pennsylvania sparked “a great cheer” when it voted for Pattison. When the roll reached South Carolina, that state cast all of its votes for “her honored son, Benjamin Tillman.” This announcement brought hisses and cheers and they, in turn, prompted an Utah delegate to protest, I rise to a question of privilege; my question is whether, when delegates sitting here in convention permit guests to occupy the galleries, they are to be allowed to hiss when any Democrat is nominated or voted for in a National Convention, or whether this convention will require them to conduct themselves as ladies and gentlemen, and whether they are here through our courtesy or not.

Richardson, who was now presiding, could only respond, “That is a very pertinent inquiry.” Tennessee’s vote was challenged, and a poll revealed sixteen delegates for Bland, five for Boies, and three for Bryan. Under the unit rule, all twenty-four votes went to Bland. Because this challenge appeared frivolous (in that the original announcement had also stated that Tennessee’s votes would go to Bland), Richardson suggested that, in the future, “when gentlem[e]n demand a roll call upon a specific statement that a wrong has been done in the announcement they should advise themselves accurately.” This statement was applauded. Nothing out of the ordinary then occurred until Washington was reached. There are in this delegation five silver men and three gold standard men. The State of Washington desires to cast her vote for a man who can stand upon the platform and win

96

disadvantage. Because there was just no way a hiss could be vocalized as loudly as a cheer, hisses were sometimes overwhelmed by cheers even if there were more men hissing. McLean could not have been far away, however. Later, when the time came for Ohio to join the Bryan bandwagon, McLean personally delivered the state delegation to the Nebraskan.

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upon the platform. She therefore casts one vote for William J. Bryan and seven votes for Richard P. Bland.

Although we do not know for whom the Washington gold men voted, the announcement and the totals indicate that they all voted for a silver candidate (either Bryan or Bland). They not only participated in the nomination contest but accommodated their preferences to the fact that only silver candidates had a realistic chance of winning. The bitterly divided Wisconsin delegation disrupted the proceedings. The dispute, in one sense, was arcane, involving whether or not the unit rule could be enforced when a majority of the delegates wished to abstain. Twenty of the twenty-four delegates wished to abstain and, through operation of the rule, to compel the four silver men to join them. General Bragg, the delegation chairman, thus announced, “Wisconsin has not directed her delegates how and when to vote. Therefore she declines at present to vote.” This provoked a challenge from one of the silver men, asking for a poll of the delegation. Richardson then asked, “Is there any denial that there is a unit rule in Wisconsin, General Bragg?” Bragg then waved a copy of the rule, stating, “It is a part of the agreement by which we took our seats upon the floor.” However, when he tried to continue by saying, “We have precocious children in our State and the instruction was given to keep them from – ” he “was interrupted by cries of ‘Call the roll,’ many of them coming from Virginia and West Virginia,” which were just ahead of Wisconsin in the fifth and last column on the floor. Irritable under even the best of conditions, Bragg waited until order was restored and then thundered, “The gentlemen from West Virginia or from old Virginia cannot direct the Democracy of Wisconsin how they shall act or how they shall vote.” After a further exchange between Bragg and one of the Wisconsin silver delegates, the delegation was polled. When Bragg’s name was called, he announced, “I decline to vote, and I am instructed by twenty of our delegation to cast their votes as I cast mine.” Bragg was then supported by Senator Vilas, who added, Mr. Chairman, the delegation from Wisconsin was instructed to vote as a unit when the majority of the delegation directed. I have, as one, voted to direct the chairman to withhold the vote of Wisconsin.

Because the clerk was not certain how to record Vilas, he asked him again how he voted. “I decline to vote” was the reply. The rest of the delegation either abstained with similar statements or, if one of the silver minority, voted for a silver candidate. When the poll was finished, Senator-elect Hernando Money of Mississippi rose and addressed Richardson: I make this point of order, that when a delegation is instructed to vote as a unit, and any number of these gentlemen decline to vote, they cannot stifle the voice of a delegate who does desire to vote.

By this time General Bragg had moved up the aisle beyond Virginia and attempted to climb onto a chair in the Ohio delegation to make his response.

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However, he was “rather rudely repulsed” by one of the Ohio delegates, who said, “He does not represent Ohio.” Former Governor Hogg of Texas, then “courteously offered his chair” to Bragg and helped him to clamber onto it. Bragg grasped Hogg’s hand as both support and thanks. Now the general was even further up the column and closer to the podium. Bragg reread the instructions from the state convention and then declared that a tiny minority of four out of twenty-four delegates “cannot bind the twenty nor distract our State by forcing it to vote the way those gentlemen wish.” This brought “derisive cheers from the silver men.” One of the Wisconsin silver delegates was now at the podium and, when recognized, pleaded for the right to vote. An Ohio delegate joined the discussion and, after asking that the instructions be read again, pointed out that the unit rule appeared to apply only to actual votes, not abstentions. This observation persuaded a Tennessee delegate, who promptly rose and said, “I move you, sir, that the delegates present and voting in any delegation in this Convention shall be entitled to cast – ” While it is not clear exactly what this delegate had in mind, motions of any sort violated the ritual formalities of a roll call. For that reason, Richardson interrupted him: “That is out of order; out of order. There is a point of order pending before the house which has not been decided.” This was a little slip of the tongue on Richardson’s part; his reference to the “house” betrayed where he had most often practiced his parliamentary arts. However, Richardson was ready to rule. He ordered, first, that the unit rule did not apply to abstentions and, second, if a majority of a delegation were to abstain, the minority was free to vote individually. One result of this lengthy dispute was that one of the Wisconsin gold men decided to vote, producing a poll of nineteen delegates abstaining, four supporting Bryan, and one backing Blackburn. The remainder of the roll was unremarkable. The states that had passed then voted. Colorado cast its eight votes for Teller, thus bringing the Colorado Republican into the race. However, the vote was received with “faint hisses and very slight applause.” Like Stevenson before him, the underwhelming response forecast tough sledding for the senator. Massachusetts disclosed eighteen abstentions and a scattering of votes among the other candidates: five to Stevenson, three to Pattison, two to Bland, and one each to Bryan and Hill. The latter was the first vote for the New York senator. After a few more changes in which delegates who had been off the floor were allowed to cast their votes, Richardson announced, Hereafter, if there should be another roll call, the Chair will not go back, unless it be where a State was passed by consent; and, unless the entire delegation of a State desires to change its vote, there will not be undivided changes made during the counting of the ballot, nor until after the first announcement is made.

This was proper ritual procedure, and Richardson was only, after leniency on the first ballot, returning the delegates to the regular order. States could pass and record their votes at the end of the roll call or, if they voted, change their

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290 table 8.5. Roll Calls on the Presidential Nomination Candidate

First

Second

Third

Fourth

Fifth

Bland Bryan Pattison Blackburn Boies McLean Matthews Tillman Pennoyer Teller Stevenson Russell Campbell Hill Turpie Abstentions

235 137 97 82 67 54 37 17 8 8 6 2 1 1 – 178

281 197 100 41 37 53 34 – 8 8 10 – – 1 – 160

291 219 97 27 36 54 34 – – – 9 – – 1 – 162

241 280 97 27 33 46 36 – – – 8 – – 1 – 161

103 458 95 – 26 46 30 – – – 8 – – 1 1 162

Note and Sources: The fifth roll call presents the vote totals before changes that brought Ohio, Missouri, Iowa, Arkansas, Montana, Indiana, Texas, and Utah over to Bryan. Dickinson, Official Proceedings, pp. 311, 316, 319, 321, 327.

position as a delegation (operating under the unit rule). But individuals could not change their votes. While the clerks were tallying the results “long after the approximate figures have become generally known,” the Coliseum “hum[med] with trading and dickering on the floor.” When the standings produced by the first roll call were finally announced, Bland had a substantial lead over Bryan, who was in second place, but “Silver Dick” was nowhere close to the necessary two-thirds majority (see Table 8.5). Just under 60 percent of the gold men, 178 in total, abstained. Even including the giant Pennsylvania delegation, which reluctantly voted for Pattison, a majority of all the delegates from the Northeast (including the District of Columbia and Maryland) did not vote. Just after the result was announced, B. W. Marston, the Louisiana delegate, caught the attention of the chairman and moved that the two-thirds rule be abrogated. As one of the Kentucky delegates and another from Arizona alternately censured his action and “begged him to keep quiet,” the chairman asked only that Marston “reduce his resolution to writing and send it to the desk and it will be properly referred.” With Marston disposed of, the second roll call began. It was now 12:35 p.m. As always, Alabama went first and again itemized individual preferences. This time the gold men in the Alabama delegation shifted to either Bland or Bryan (the evidence does not indicate which of the two). And the delegation as a whole, after backing Boies on the first ballot, now indicated no support for the

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former governor of Iowa. With fifteen delegates favoring Bland, all twenty-two Alabama votes went to “Silver Dick” under the unit rule. California was again seriously divided, casting seven votes for Bryan, five for Blackburn, two apiece for Bland and Matthews, and one each for Boies and McLean. Colorado again voted for Teller amid “loud hisses from every part of the galleries.” There was little of significance until New Jersey was reached. The gold leader, Allen McDermott, announced that two of the delegates were now voting for Pattison. Because the entire delegation had abstained on the first roll call, that was a break in the ranks even though Pattison was ostensibly a gold candidate for the nomination.97 But the clerk made it worse when he announced the two votes for Bryan, whereupon McDermott complained, “You can’t come that on us. It was not two votes for Bryan, but two votes for Pattison.” The New York delegation refused to respond when the clerk repeatedly called its name. The silence was deafening. South Carolina abandoned Tillman, going over to Bryan. Tennessee passed. Virginia reported a delegation poll of six for Bryan and eighteen for Bland. Under the unit rule, all twenty-four votes went to Bland. When the roll was completed, the states that had been passed earlier voted. The chairman of the Minnesota delegation gave up trying to report his state’s vote and a poll was taken. Tennessee voted for Bland. And California asked to revise its vote, now reporting fourteen delegates for Bryan, two for Bland, and one each for Boies and Matthews (see Table 8.6). During the course of the roll call, seven California delegates had changed their preferences to Bryan. The most straightforward analysis of these changes is that five California delegates deserted Blackburn for Bryan, along with one each abandoning Matthews and McLean. Just as the third roll call was about to begin, Marston again interrupted the proceedings by yelling out “Mr. Chairman!” Richardson mildly asked, “For what purpose does the gentleman arise?” This was a standard question in the House of Representatives; if the purpose was not ritually in order, the request for recognition would be denied. Marston replied, I move, sir, that it is the sense of this Convention that the majority should rule, and that the two-thirds precedent heretofore governing Democratic Conventions is a cowardly subterfuge, and should be repealed.

As Marston spoke, the other “delegates howled at him, but he shook his fist and went on.” Senator Jones immediately lodged a point of order against Marston’s “motion”: My point is this: That under the rules governing this Convention any resolution or motion looking to a change of these rules must be referred to the Committee on Rules, considered by them and reported back to the Convention for its action. 97

The “break in the ranks” may have been more apparent than real because the Wisconsin ruling on the first ballot evidently allowed some delegates from the abstaining gold states to cast ballots for particular candidates, as possibly in this case.

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292 table 8.6. Bryan’s Vote on Nomination Roll Calls State

First

Second

Third

Fourth

Fifth

California Delaware Florida Georgia Louisiana Maine Maryland Massachusetts Michigan Minnesota Mississippi Nebraska North Carolina South Dakota Vermont Washington Wisconsin South Carolina Wyoming Dist. of Col. Colorado Oregon West Virginia Alabama Idaho Kansas Nevada Illinois Kentucky North Dakota Tennessee Virginia Alaska Arizona New Mexico Oklahoma Indian Terr. Total

4 1 1 26 16 2 4 1 9 2 18 16 22 6 4 1 4 – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – 137

14 1 2 26 16 2 4 1 28 4 18 16 22 7 4 1 4 18 6 3 – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – 197

13 1 5 26 16 2 5 1 28 9 18 16 22 7 4 1 3 18 6 4 8 5 1 – – – – – – – – – – – – – – 219

12 1 5 26 16 2 5 1 28 10 18 16 22 7 4 2 5 18 6 5 8 8 1 22 6 20 6 – – – – – – – – – – 280

18 1 8 26 16 4 5 6 28 11 18 16 22 8 4 4 5 18 6 6 8 8 2 22 6 20 6 48 26 4 24 24 6 6 6 6 6 458

Note: The votes on the fifth roll call are before the changes that brought Ohio, Missouri, Iowa, Arkansas, Montana, Indiana, Texas, and Utah over to Bryan.

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Richardson just as swiftly sustained the point of order, thus refusing Marston recognition. Meanwhile, Marston was still on his chair, yelling as loud as he could, but the chairman could not hear what he was trying to say. As he shouted, one of the pages, with a grim sense of humor, carried the perambulating water tank a glass of water and he downed it in a jiffy. The page, not bigger than a sixpence, passed up a second one, but the water tank had had his load and refused the offer. A third page, came up with a great goblet of Lake Michigan’s best, but the water tank shook its head and said it didn’t need any more.

Marston was attempting to appeal Richardson’s decision and came to the podium to make his case. Before he began, Richardson restated the question before the convention, “The gentleman from Louisiana (Mr. Marston) on the right of the Chair has offered a resolution to the effect that the two-thirds rule be abrogated and repealed.” Although that was a charitable interpretation of what Marston had said when he first sought recognition, it turned out that was not what the Louisiana delegate had in mind. So he said, “No, no.” Richardson then asked Marston to state his motion in his own words. The Louisiana man said, My motion is that it is the sense of this Convention that the majority should rule, and that the precedent established by Democratic Conventions heretofore upon the two-thirds rule is a cowardly subterfuge. (Hisses and uproar.)

As Richardson noted, Marston had not made a “motion.” In terms of parliamentary ritual, what he had said might become the substance of a resolution, but adoption or rejection in its present form would have no formal effect on the conduct of the roll call or the outcome of the nomination contest. In parliamentary terms, what Marston had said was gibberish. So Richardson tried again to restate what he thought Marston was intending to accomplish in a way that the convention might dispose of it. “In order to be entirely fair the Chair will state that the gentleman desires to offer a resolution repealing the two-thirds rule, as he understands it.” Trying to offer Richardson a little help, Senator-elect Money moved that this now-restated motion be “referred to the Committee on Rules and Order of Business without debate.” Richardson gently deflected this assistance by noting that Senator Jones had already lodged a point of order against Marston’s “motion” and nothing else would be in order until that point was resolved. Somewhat cryptically, Money replied, “Then, under the rules, it is referable only to the Committee on Rules without debate.” Actually, the point of order that Jones had made, if upheld, would do exactly what Money suggested, and, thus, the latter’s intervention was entirely redundant. Obviously embarrassed that one of their number had made a complete fool of himself, Senator Blanchard rose and said,

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I am directed by the delegates from Louisiana to state that the gentleman from Louisiana on the stand (Mr. Marston) in making the motion that he did, did not do so by the direction of the delegation from Louisiana, and I am further requested by the delegation to move to lay his motion on the table. (Cheers and laughter.)

This motion made no more sense than had Money’s, but it at least gave the Louisiana delegates an opportunity to disown their colleague publicly. Richardson ignored Blanchard’s intervention and again upheld the point of order Jones had raised at the beginning of this discussion. As a result, Marston’s “motion,” which the Louisiana delegate had never put in proper form, was sent to the Committee on Rules and disappeared from sight. Still on the podium as Richardson announced his decision, Marston smiled but told the acting chairman, “You will hear from me later” as he went away. While Marston’s repeated interventions made him appear ridiculous, they more importantly illustrate just how open the proceedings were in this convention. Even a mildly befuddled delegate could repeatedly gain recognition from the chair and initiate discussions that can only be described as desultory and illconsidered. Setting aside his attention-seeking proclivities, we should note that if Marston could gain recognition, so could anyone else. And that meant that the proceedings were a “natural” setting in which no one was constrained from presenting (or fumbling) parliamentary motions or, until ruled out of order as ritually prohibited, making personal comments. While knowledge of parliamentary procedure would have enabled a delegate to navigate effectively through the proceedings, the chairman attempted to ease access even to the uninitiated. The third roll call began at 1:30 p.m. and proceeded with little interruption. Colorado now abandoned Teller and embraced Bryan. New York again refused to respond when the clerk called its name. The Ohio chairman reported that ten of that state’s delegates now favored Bryan (there had been only one on the first ballot and seven on the second). However, under the unit rule all forty-six votes continued to go to McLean. Oregon gave up on Pennoyer and went over to Bryan. Pennoyer had not received a single vote outside his home state. When Pennsylvania again cast its sixty-four votes for Pattison, one of the delegates attempted to gain recognition, saying, “Pennsylvania is loyal to the name of Robert E. Pattison. She is loyal.” Richardson, however, immediately declared this announcement out of order and the clerk moved on to Rhode Island. While the clerks were tallying the totals, “Oregon hoisted a silk hat on a pole with a picture of W. J. Bryan tacked upon it.” A New York Tribune correspondent reported that the Bland men showed signs of distress at the unexpected growth of the Bryan boom. Governor Altgeld and his lieutenants, Hinrichsen and Fithian, moved about the aisles working valiantly to hold Bland’s following against the threatened stampede to Bryan. . . . There were signs of breaking up in several State delegations who had been voting for Bland.

The 291 votes Bland received on the third roll call marked the high water mark of his strength (see Table 8.7).

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table 8.7. Bland’s Vote on Nomination Roll Calls State

First

Second

Third

Fourth

Fifth

Arkansas Florida Idaho Illinois Kansas Maine Massachusetts Michigan Missouri Montana Tennessee Texas Utah Washington Alaska Arizona Indian Terr. New Mexico Oklahoma Alabama California Virginia Dist. of Col. Minnesota Oregon West Virginia Wisconsin Total

16 2 6 48 20 2 2 4 34 4 24 30 6 7 6 6 6 6 6 – – – – – – – – 235

16 1 6 48 20 2 2 – 34 6 24 30 6 7 6 6 6 6 6 22 2 24 1 – – – – 281

16 – 6 48 20 2 2 – 34 6 24 30 6 7 6 6 6 6 6 22 2 24 – 1 2 7 2 291

16 – – 48 – 2 2 – 34 6 24 30 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 – 2 24 – 1 – 10 – 241

16 – – – – – – – 34 6 – 30 6 4 – – – – – – – – – – – – 7 103

Note: The votes on the fifth roll call are before the changes that brought Ohio, Missouri, Iowa, Arkansas, Montana, Indiana, Texas, and Utah over to Bryan.

As the fourth ballot began, the Alabama delegates “were huddled in a group” and did not answer the clerk’s call for ten seconds or so. Surrounded by “angry delegates who shook their fists before his nose and raised a noisy din,” one of the Alabama men climbed onto a chair and cast the state’s twenty-two votes for Bryan. This brought “a mighty cheer, from all the audience,” because both spectators and delegates recognized the vote as the first major break in the Bland ranks.98 Idaho, “in the midst of great cheering,” also abandoned Bland for Bryan. Many eyes were now on Illinois, which had up to now been the 98

Many of the delegates and spectators would have immediately noted the break even without the demonstration, because there were “score cards on the thousands of knees” upon which they were following the roll calls.

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rock upon which Bland’s hopes rested. To one correspondent, the delegation appeared “turbulent”: “It seemed to require all of Governor Altgeld’s influence to prevent the delegation abandoning Bland at once, and announcing itself for Bryan.” Altgeld held the delegation in line on this ballot, but a break seemed imminent if Bryan continued to surge. Kansas, another of Bland’s strongest states, pulled anchor and went over to Bryan. When Wisconsin was reached, General Bragg announced that “the State of Wisconsin, by a vote of 19 of its delegates instructed by its State convention have directed me to announce to this Convention that the 24 votes of Wisconsin are not voting.” However, the chairman had already ruled on the first ballot that the silver men could not be smothered by the unit rule if the gold men chose not to vote. So this statement was merely an echo of irrelevant frustration, and the clerk recorded the silver men for Bryan. At the end of the roll call, a rumor circulated that Iowa was becoming “unruly and threatened to bolt [favorite son Boies for] Bryan.” When the ballot had been completed, the Pennsylvania delegation left the hall “for consultation” while the clerks tallied up the totals. “Buck” Hinrichsen also caught the attention of the chairman and asked permission for the Illinois delegation to leave the hall in order to caucus. Apparently misunderstanding Hinrichsen to be asking that the state’s vote be changed, Richardson refused permission. The delegation left the hall anyway. Their action could not have had a stronger impact if the state had simply switched to Bryan. Everyone in the hall knew that a caucus at this stage meant that Governor Altgeld could no longer hold his delegates for Bland. So, as the large Illinois delegation left the hall in order to decide formally to back Bryan, the effect of the switch upon the convention had already occurred.99 Even Richard Bland, out on his farm near Lebanon, Missouri, “could see how things were going” when a buggy brought him “the last bulletin about the Illinois delegation.” He immediately realized what had happened (or was going to happen) from the mere request to leave the hall. As did Bryan in his room at the Clifton House, who, as he read the telegraph bulletin reporting that Illinois was leaving the hall, softly remarked: “That settles it.” Florida also went out to caucus but appears not to have asked permission from the chairman. The District of Columbia was said to have unsuccessfully sought recognition in order to switch the last of its six votes to Bryan, who had already corralled five. When the clerk announced that Bryan had gained the lead from Bland, Bryan banners were raised on the standards of several states and big shouting was indulged in with a view of stampeding the convention to his support. Nevada, a McLean state; Kansas, a Bland state; Idaho and others that had previously voted for other candidates led the movement. They were quickly followed in the order named by New Mexico, California, District of Columbia, Idaho, Minnesota, Washington, Virginia and Indian Territory, who all raised their standards and joined in the general shout for Bryan. Then 99

The Chicago Tribune reported, “When Illinois went out for consultation it seemed as if the whole convention knew what was going on, and a terrific shout went up, one that would shake the rafters out of a country barn.”

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a procession was started, the standards of twenty-two states and territories being borne round the hall amid a perfect tornado of cheering. Then Illinois joined in and Florida followed. Ohio came in and a brief spell of silence followed, as the rumor passed around that a deal was on with McLean for second place.100

A “little dumpy delegate” from Illinois had come running onto the floor from the room where the delegation was caucusing and wrenching the banner from the chair to which it was apparently securely fastened made a race around the hall to join in with the procession. The convention understood in an instant, believing that Illinois had deserted Bland and gone over to Bryan.101

A struggle for the Ohio standard broke the staff. One of the Bryan men in the delegation then picked up the broken sign and waved it above his head. After a demonstration lasting fifteen or twenty minutes, the clerk was able to announce the vote totals of the other candidates. At this point, Senator White resumed the chair and announced that the “proceedings of the Convention have reached a stage when it is necessary for the Chairman to announce his construction of the rule with reference to the twothirds vote.” He then said that a “careful examination of the records” clearly indicated that the two-thirds rule applied only to those voting, not to the entire number of delegates in the convention. This ruling meant that the number needed to nominate, if the 160 or so gold men continued to abstain, would be reduced from 620 to somewhere around 515. In the midst of White’s ruling, the “noise and confusion” led him to pause and complain, “Oh, gentlemen . . . do keep quiet.” From the spectators and delegates came cries of “Sit down, sit down.” When order was restored and the California senator had completed his statement, Marston was immediately on his feet, yelling: “I appeal from the Chair to the Convention.” White wearily replied to the Louisiana delegate’s intervention, “You can appeal later, when the result is announced.”102 The fifth and what turned out to be the final ballot began at 2:45 p.m. Kentucky provided what was the most significant event when the chairman rose and said: While Kentucky loves her great Democrat and would be glad to see him President of the United States, yet because he was in the Confederate army they seem not to want him. (Faint hisses.) Therefore we take great pleasure in casting the twenty-six votes of Kentucky for the world’s greatest orator, William J. Bryan. (Cheers.) 100

101 102

Because Bryan was “the one candidate who has no lithographs, his supporters supply the deficiency as well as they can by sticking upon their umbrella points copies of a Chicago paper which published this morning a very large cut of the favorite of the hour.” When the standards of the five territories joined the procession, it was similarly “understood” throughout the convention that Bryan would gain their votes on the next roll call. Marston never had an opportunity to explain what lay behind his appeal, and, thus, we do not know for certain what his point might have been. Although crediting him with a lucid rationale may be overly charitable, it is possible that he wanted to appeal White’s ruling because it left the two-thirds’ rule in place while reinterpreting its application. Marston could have appealed the ruling on the ground that a simple majority should prevail, although there would not have been any parliamentary grounding for his interpretation.

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Just after Michigan voted, the Illinois delegation finally returned to their seats.103 Although the delegates were “greeted by wild applause,” they were too late to respond to the regular roll and had to wait until the end in order to confirm what everybody already knew: that they had gone over to Bryan. North Carolina again cast her twenty-two votes for Bryan, this time adding that he was “now the assured nominee of the convention.” On this ballot, Ohio indicated that there were now nine Bryan men in the delegation, a decline of one from the fourth roll call. The regular calling of the roll having been completed, the clerk called those states that had passed. Illinois now cast her forty-eight votes for Bryan. This set off a “spasm of enthusiasm which lasted ten minutes.” Illinois put Bryan at 458. Because 162 gold men had abstained, the magic number was 512. With almost impeccable timing, John McLean now climbed onto a chair and waved a cane to attract White’s attention. He was surrounded by “a dozen of his friends,” all of them “whispering into his ear. Some of them seemed to be begging him not to do the thing he was about to do, while others urged him to go ahead.” McLean, “cool as a cucumber,” then delivered his Ohio delegation to Bryan, putting him at 504. If McLean had waited even a minute longer, he would not have joined the bandwagon before Bryan was over the top. And because the Ohio editor wanted to play kingmaker in order to help gain the vice-presidential nomination, timing was everything. With Bryan’s nomination now imminent, former Governor William Stone of Missouri went to the podium. Everyone knew that he was about to withdraw Bland from the contest, but the convention was unruly and he had to wait until order was restored before he could speak. When the hall calmed down, Stone read a message from Bland: I wish it to be understood that I do not desire the nomination unless it is the judgment of the free silver delegates that I would be the strongest candidate. If it should at any time appear that my candidacy is the least obstruction to the nomination of any candidate who is acceptable to the free coinage delegates of the Convention, or more acceptable to a majority of those delegates than myself, I wish my name unconditionally withdrawn from further consideration. I am willing to waive State instructions for me if need be and to let the free silver delegates decide the whole matter. The cause must be put above the man. (Applause.)104

After a few more personal comments, Stone took Bland out of the race and switched Missouri’s thirty-four votes over to Bryan. It was 3:17 p.m. and Bryan had just gone over the top. 103

104

The Illinois caucus had been “noisy, and some good, large, round Democratic oaths issued” from behind closed doors. Hinrichsen strongly urged a switch from Bland to Bryan, while Bland supporters stubbornly maintained that they saw no reason to abandon the Missouri candidate. The first three ballots in the caucus were apparently inconclusive, with neither candidate attracting a majority of the delegates. On the fourth Bryan prevailed, 25 to 21 (two delegates either abstaining or absent). On this ballot, Altgeld passed until all the other delegates had voted and then cast his for Bryan. Although he may have given Bryan his majority, the governor otherwise seems to have played only a minor role in the decision. Dickinson, Official Proceedings, p. 323.

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It was now the turn of the chairman of the Iowa delegation. Judge Van Wagenen came to podium and dutifully withdrew Boies from the contest, switching the state’s twenty-six votes to Bryan. Senator Jones of Arkansas then stood on his chair on the convention floor, abandoned Bland, and cast his state’s votes for Bryan. Montana also went for Bryan. The convention was again unruly and Senator Turpie had to wait a few moments before he could speak. When order was restored, the Indiana senator dropped Matthews from the presidential list and moved his state into Bryan’s column. He then moved that “the nomination of W. J. Bryan for the office of President of the United States be made unanimous.” His motion was cheered. Before the motion was put to the convention, Texas switched from Bland to Bryan, although one of the delegates complained, “I am one of the minority, and I refuse to change my vote to Bryan. I want to say further, Mr. Chairman, that no man of the same capacity – ” White ruled the delegate out of order, presumably on the ground that the delegate’s dissent would not change the state’s vote. However, by this point the chairman was in no mood to do anything but harmoniously coronate the nominee. Utah switched from Bland to Bryan and then White placed Turpie’s motion before the convention. The roar of yeas was overwhelming but a “thunder of ‘noes’” stormed out of the Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York delegations when their turn came. White ignored them and declared Bryan to be the unanimous choice of the party. White’s “audacity . . . greatly amused the Eastern Democrats and they roared with laughter.” The announcement nonetheless sparked an immense demonstration by the silver men. Suddenly two beautiful young girls dressed in pink appeared on a table back of the alternates’ seats in the valley of Democracy. They held in their hands a large silk flag, on one side of which shone the clear-cut features of Bryan. To and fro it waved, while 20,000 throats yelled and screamed. . . . The storm rolled on and on. A big Bryan flag was brought into the Coliseum and a milk white banner on which was a silver cross, with the inscription, ‘No Crown of Thorns: No Cross of Gold,’ revived the ringing words of Bryan’s closing sentence yesterday and increased the awful force of the hurricane. . . .

That was from the Detroit Free Press. The Chicago Tribune saw things much the same way. The air was agitated by thousands of flags and handkerchiefs, banners, umbrellas, and the paper ear-trumpets with which hundreds of the audience had been trying to make the proceedings more audible, all wildly waving back and forth in honor of the victor of the contest. . . . Down on the floor in the space reserved to the delegates there was equal commotion. The delegates were standing on their chairs watching with interest the efforts of the acres of people around them to make the heavens ring for Bryan and doing all they could to increase the noise There was a struggle of free silver delegations to reach the standard of Nebraska, and the men of Iowa got there first and hoisted their huge banner of Boies in honor of his successful rival. The features of the farmer candidate seemed at a distance to have lost some of their benignant expression for the moment, but the tribute to the winner tickled the fancy

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of the crowd, which recognized it with a stentorian shout which clapped the climax of the pandemonium that had been raging unrestrained from the moment the people knew that Bryan had been nominated. The standards of other States waved in the air like cornstalks of a Nebraska farm in a breeze as enthusiastic delegates hurried with them to the common center. They looked like a forest of blue saplings huddled about the seats of the Nebraska delegation, until their bearers started a triumphal procession around the delegates’ seats. . . . Pictures and banners of Bland and the banner representing the Bland silver dollar were carried like captives in the procession to grace the triumph for Bryan. Pictures of Bryan himself pierced and carried aloft on canes or umbrellas dotted the procession of the delegates and waved in air all over the Coliseum. . . . The standards of the sound money delegations did not join in the triumphal parade, but remained in their places, though there were indications that their custodians had hard work to keep them from being swept away by the enthusiasm of outsiders.

Mrs. Bryan had followed the balloting from the section reserved for honored guests, listening to the great building ringing to the plaudits of her husband’s name, watching him gradually climb higher and higher till at last fame kissed him. Mrs. Bryan was intensely moved, but her excitement found vent in no noisy demonstration. At last, when her friends told her that her husband had been nominated, she leaned back in her seat, and tears of joy gently coursed down her cheeks.

She was only a few feet away from Bland’s daughter, Fanny Bland, who had viewed the same proceedings with “a tense face” in which “every emotion she experienced found its reflection.” As her father slowly went down to defeat, and on the ruins of his hopes rose the monument to Bryan, the girl drooped and showed her despair. While the wife of the victor quietly sobbed out her joy, the daughter of the vanquished fell back in her seat with a face so deathly pale and her whole air so utterly heartbroken that those around her imagined she was going to faint.

At 3:45 p.m., the sergeant-at-arms proclaimed a recess until 8 p.m. Vice-Presidential Nomination Maneuvering behind the scenes delayed the vice-presidential contest until the following day, and although the voting revealed surprising movements among the delegates, the convention was calm and deliberate. As with the presidential contest, the vice-presidential nomination consumed five roll calls with Arthur Sewall of Maine finally prevailing on the fifth.105 After his nomination, the 1896 National Democratic Convention adjourned.106 105

106

Sewall was a very wealthy man: president of his shipbuilding and shipping firm, Arthur Sewall and Company, president of one of the national banks in his hometown Bath, Maine, and director of several eastern railroads. New York Times, July 12, 1896. While the speeches and roll calls associated with the contest for the vice-presidential nomination are of more than passing interest in their own right, most of the incidents and public demonstrations resembled those attending the presidential nomination. Attendance at the evening

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Conclusion Bryan dumbfounded almost all veteran politicians and journalists in the nation when he won the nomination.107 When Murat Halsted, a prominent Republican editor, called McKinley and said that he thought that Bryan would be the nominee, the Republican candidate hung up the phone and pronounced the prediction “rot.”108 Even for those who attended the convention, the transformation was stunning. Clark Howell, the editor of the Atlanta Constitution, reported to his readers that Bryan’s nomination had become “inevitable” after the “Cross of Gold” speech even though before Bryan spoke it was not even considered “a remote possibility.” Another Georgia delegate, former Senator Patrick Walsh, agreed: “I knew that he was eloquent, but his speech has made him great. Thursday morning he did not appear to be a possibility, but his address to the convention made him a certainty. Eloquence is not a lost art. . . .”109 One of the most important factors in Bryan’s victory was that the formation of presidential preferences occurred so late in the selection process. Several of the reasons were structural. For example, the rule requiring a two-thirds majority for a nomination set the tipping point for a bandwagon much higher than it would have been with a simple majority. The impact of the rule was immeasurably strengthened by the presence of the three hundred or so gold delegates. Constituting almost exactly one-third of the convention, the hardmoney delegates, even if they had been so inclined, could not participate in a winning coalition because their support would have been a kiss of death to any silver candidacy. For this reason, observers attempting to handicap the race had to assume that a victorious silver candidate must attract the votes of almost every silver delegate in order to win the nomination. The number of announced candidates and the sizable delegations instructed to possibilities other than the front-runner (such as Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, and Iowa) made an early bandwagon appear impossible. The second structural factor was more or less related to the first. The deep split in the party between the hard- and soft-money factions closely followed sectional lines. Every state delegation from the Northeast, down to and including Maryland and Delaware, favored gold. Every delegation from the South and West, excluding Alaska and South Dakota but including West Virginia,

107

108 109

session on Friday, July 10, when the nominating speeches were made, was quite good. But the next day the convention was poorly attended, particularly by spectators, and the proceedings had a distinct anti-climactic quality. Accompanied by only two newspaper reporters in his room at the Clifton House, Bryan received telegraph messages from the convention floor throughout the nominating roll calls. After the bulletin arrived announcing he had won the nomination, Bryan shook hands with people who then came to his room to congratulate him but soon excused himself in order to get a shave. Coming back from the barbershop, he found the lobby of the hotel packed with people who gave him loud cheers. Later that night, he made “an open air speech from the balcony” to “a vast crowd, which filled Monroe street from State street to Wabash” Avenue. Detroit Free Press, July 11, 1896. Koenig, Bryan, p. 200. July 12, 1896.

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Kentucky, Missouri, and the remaining Plains states, favored silver. Only the Midwestern states were seriously split between the factions. As a result of this sectional alignment, the southern and border state delegations comprised almost exactly a third of the six hundred delegates in the silver faction. However, given the pariah status of the South in national politics, no southern politician could have been nominated for president. Instead, the Democratic party had traditionally looked to the North for men to place at the top of the ticket. Because of its size and pivotal position in most general elections, the party had usually nominated someone from New York. In the last three elections, that someone had been Grover Cleveland, the sitting president. In the 1896 convention, however, no prominent politician from New York or anywhere else in the Northeast was acceptable to a majority of the convention because they all backed gold. Thus the regional alignment on the monetary standard effectively excluded from consideration all otherwise plausible candidates from the traditional seedbed of Democratic presidential nominees while simultaneously raising to national leadership a coterie of southern politicians who were practically ineligible for the nomination. As a result, the relative paucity of strong presidential possibilities from the West and Midwest made the convention’s task was much more difficult than it otherwise might have been. Within this context, the Bland campaign had attempted to have its cake and eat it too. On the one hand, his managers stressed that Bland’s home state of Missouri was aligned with the South in national politics. Even though the state had formally remained in the Union during the Civil War, Missouri Democrats had been much more likely to elect former Confederates than Union veterans to political office, particularly once Reconstruction had come to a close. Furthermore, the counties in Bland’s congressional district had strongly supported the southern cause. He was clearly comfortable working with former Confederates within the party and could not have succeeded in gaining and holding his congressional seat without their support. On the other hand, his organization also stressed that Bland had spent the Civil War in the West where he saw military service as part of a punitive expedition against the Paiutes in Nevada. He moved back to Missouri after the war ended and thus did not take sides during the bitter guerilla fighting within that state. For this reason, Bland could simultaneously pose as a southerner and a Union loyalist. However, by attempting to work both sides of the street, Bland’s managers ultimately weakened their claims on both Union loyalists and Confederate sympathizers. From a policy perspective Bland could not have been better suited as the nominee on a soft-money platform. On the one hand, his narrow profile as single-minded advocate for silver was an advantage in that Bland’s managers could more easily finesse other, possibly divisive issues. On the other hand, however, beyond his well-known dedication to the cause, Bland’s people had “little to say in his favor.” In fact, one reporter wrote that Bland’s managers admitted that their candidate “never could lay claim to the title of a statesman. . . . [E]ven

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among his Democratic associates in the House he was the cause of rather mild amusement than of any admiration.”110 In the opinion of many party leaders, this reputation would prevent the Missouri man from gaining the nomination despite his leading position in the race. When added to Bland’s sterling record on silver, that expectation meant that opportunistic state delegations could park their votes under his banner while examining the rest of the field and awaiting further developments.111 All of this meant that Bland’s delegate counts were softer than they appeared; although few of the delegates counted in his column would have deserted him had he ever approached the tipping point, many were ready to turn to another candidate if one emerged from the rest of the pack. In terms of producing an early deadlock in the voting, the Bland candidacy could not have been better designed; here was a front-runner, holding almost half of the votes necessary to a nomination, who few delegates wanted or expected to win. Bryan held back, making little secret of his presidential aspirations but discouraging others from promoting him. As a result, most observers ignored or deeply discounted his chances.112 Even when he began to emerge as substantial candidate, Bryan was often viewed as the stalking-horse for one or more of the other possibilities. When delegates flocked to his banner following the “Cross of Gold” speech, some of the party leaders were said to have been appalled. On the other hand, most silverites, Democrat or not, warmly received the nomination. Within hours, telegrams rained down on the nominee promising support in the ensuing campaign. From Lebanon, Missouri, for example, came a message from Richard Bland: “Congratulations. I will support you with all my heart.” The chairman of a Populist convention in Durango, Colorado, wrote: “We all send congratulations and promise the support of this great Southwest. Whistles are blowing, bells ringing, cannon firing, bands playing, and everything in Durango a-go.”113 Eugene Debs later wrote to the nominee, 110

111

112

113

The Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1896. An editorial published by the Boston Morning Journal stated, “Bland is an absurdity. He is grotesque and uncouth. He would cut a figure in the White House . . . that would bring the blush of shame to every American cheek.” Reprinted in the Tribune on July 7. The clearest example of such behavior involved the Georgia delegation. The delegation came to Chicago uncommitted, with sentiment fairly evenly divided between Bland and Boies. However, none of the leading candidates attracted “any great degree of enthusiasm.” On July 8, a caucus of the delegation voted 17 to 7 to throw out “a temporary anchor on the Bland rock to await developments.” (The dissenters supported Boies and two delegates apparently did not vote.) However, immediately after Bryan’s speech and well before the platform had even been adopted, Georgia abandoned its earlier endorsement of Bland and switched over to Bryan. Atlanta Constitution, July 6, 8, 9, 11, 1896. For a general description of this tactic, see July 8. After Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” speech had made him one of the leading contenders for the nomination, some correspondents attempted to claim credit for anticipating his emergence as a likely nominee. For example, a Detroit Free Press correspondent wrote that Bryan’s “star as a presidential possibility had for twenty-four hours burned brightly on the convention’s horizon” as he ascended the podium to give his speech. If so, the paper had utterly failed to recognize that star in its earlier stories. Detroit Free Press, July 10, 1896. New York Times, July 11, 1896.

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My dear Mr. Bryan, With millions of others of your countrymen I congratulate you most heartily upon being the People’s standard bearer in the great uprising of the masses against the classes. You are at this hour the hope of the Republic – the central figure of the civilized world. In the arduous campaign before you the millions will rally to your standard and you will lead them to glorious victory. The people love and trust you – they believe in you as you believe in them, and under your administration the rule of the money power will be broken and the gold barons of Europe will no longer run the American government.114

At the other end of the political spectrum the reception was more subdued and often hostile. As Bryan was being nominated in Chicago, President Cleveland and some of his friends were fishing in Buzzard’s Bay, Massachusetts. That evening, after they had returned to Cleveland’s summer home, a correspondent for the United Press called on the president and asked for his opinion of the platform and candidate. Cleveland’s spokesman replied that the “President will have nothing to say with reference to the matter.”115 114

115

This letter was dated July 27, 1896. J. Robert Constantine, ed., Letters of Eugene V. Debs: 1874–1912, vol. 1 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990), p. 120. Constantine added in a note: “Bryan’s defeat by William McKinley in 1896 was a contributing factor in Debs’s public endorsement of socialism the following year” (p. 121). Also see Elizabeth Sanders, Roots of Reform: Farmers, Workers, and the American State, 1877–1917 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), pp. 58–59, 139, 144. New York Times, July 11, 1896.

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9 Conclusion

National party conventions have decisively altered the course of political development at several points in American history. Among the most important were the Republican party convention in 1856, which fielded a ticket openly hostile to slavery; the Democratic conventions in Charleston and Baltimore in 1860, which produced the party split that guaranteed the election of a Republican president later that year; and the 1964 Republican convention, which, by nominating Barry Goldwater, decimated the traditionally powerful moderate and internationalist wing of the party. The 1896 Democratic convention was also one of the great turning points in American political development.1 In that convention, southern and western insurgency triumphed over the patricians of the East. Lower-class immigrants and urban workers gained influence, if not outright control, over the party throughout the industrial belt. And the Populists were doomed to extinction by an impending merger with the Democrats under William Jennings Bryan. Pathos is produced in all great turning points. As traditional coalitions shatter, personal ties and alliances are torn apart. This rending takes place under conditions of great uncertainty, and, with this uncertainty, politics takes on an intensely personal coloration. In this instance, the silver delegates were gambling that a silver platform would give 1

Walter Dean Burnham has long stressed the pivotal importance of 1896 in the history of American politics, although he would emphasize the general election in which William McKinley defeated Bryan for the presidency instead of the convention in which Bryan won the Democratic nomination. See, for example, “The System of 1896: An Analysis,” in Paul Kleppner et al., The Evolution of American Electoral Systems (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1981), pp. 147–202. Joel Silbey also sees the period as pivotal, encompassing a transition from the 1838–93 “partisan-factional” political era to a “postpartisan, bureaucratic” organization of politics. However, the 1894 congressional election, not 1896, marks the turning point for him. The American Political Nation, 1838–1893 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1991), pp. 7–9. For a detailed overview of the 1896 general election and thorough analysis of the election returns, see Paul Kleppner, Continuity and Change in Electoral Politics, 1893–1928 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987), pp. 59–95, 107–15.

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them enough additional electoral votes in the western plains and mountains to compensate for the certain loss of New York and other eastern states. But this was a gamble, and easterners constantly criticized the wager both as bad politics and as a breach of the social contract with the gold wing. Enthusiastic demonstrations have occurred in all national party conventions. In recent decades, these demonstrations have been flawlessly performed as part of stage-managed political operas in which there have been neither important policy disputes nor competitive races for the nomination. For its part, the 1896 Democratic convention also had hired bands and marching clubs. But most of the noise and commotion was spontaneous. Pathos begat passion in 1896 as the party turned to silver and away from the patricians of the East. The displays of passion in Chicago meant just what they implied: that the delegates and spectators strongly felt their preferences. And passion, working through those demonstrations, created William Jennings Bryan as one of most important political leaders in American history. Passion and Preferences The two most important decisions facing the delegates in Chicago were the adoption of a party platform and the nomination of a presidential candidate. The contrast between delegate commitments on monetary policy and ambivalence toward candidates for the presidential nomination could hardly have been more stark. With respect to the monetary standard, the preferences of delegates were strongly held and known to everyone well in advance of the convention. With respect to the presidential candidates, most delegates held very tepid and thus unstable sentiments. While the public personas of the candidates did not change very much during the convention, the way in which delegates interpreted these personas changed quite a bit. This juxtaposition of strong, stable preferences on the monetary standard, far and away the most important policy controversy facing the convention, and largely unformed, changeable attitudes toward the candidates provides a rare setting in which to compare very different processes for making collective decisions. The content of the monetary plank in the Democratic platform was predetermined long before the convention met. While the decisions leading up to its passage were somewhat contingent on an accurate evaluation of the procedural alternatives open to those who supported gold, only a major blunder by silverites could have prevented passage of a free silver plank. Everything else in the ritual order of the convention, such as the selection of a temporary chairman for the convention and even debate on the platform itself, was largely superfluous to the unfolding process through which a committed silver majority worked its will. The contest for the nomination, on the other hand, was almost completely up in the air as the convention opened; contingency, accident, and personal initiative jointly contributed to an outcome in which the vague sentiments of individual delegates were, when the time came, volcanically forged into precise, passionate preferences for one of the candidates.

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Theoretical Implications The adoption of the silver plank comfortably conforms with the tendency underlying much of contemporary political analysis to treat collective political decisions as the revelation of preferences. Seen this way, the votes for and against the silver plank simply translated firmly held and long-standing preferences. Because the preferences of the delegates had formed long before they came to the convention, the parliamentary decisions and strategies of the silver delegates can be viewed as the instrumental execution of these preferences on monetary policy. The choice of parliamentary tactics, for instance, was dictated entirely by a realization by the silver leaders that there existed a stable majority for silver that, when properly directed and managed, would be sufficient to overcome the gold minority. There were, to be sure, subtleties associated with the choice of parliamentary tactics. But these subtleties were unrelated to the certainty that a majority of the delegates would display attitudes favorable to the free coinage of silver when called on to vote. If we wished to do so, these strategies and the decision itself could easily be modeled in (very simple) game-theoretic terms. In addition the imputation of (long-standing, durable) preferences from the votes, although unnecessary because delegates publicly declared their stances far in advance of the roll call, would have been sound. If we were to consider how these preferences on the monetary question were formed, we would be compelled to trace their emergence back to the political context of the individual states from which the delegates came. For some delegates, that context became a determinant factor years before the convention met in Chicago; for others, the state convention set the context just months, sometimes weeks, before the national platform was adopted. If we take the analysis another step or two backward, we arrive at the political economic conditions from which arose the terms of party competition within the individual states. From that perspective, the emergence of preferences among the delegates can sometimes be traced back decades. The presidential contest, of course, was quite different. For one thing, although all the delegates participated in a common decision (the choice of a presidential nominee), they did not share a common orientation toward that decision. For some, the choice was an end unto itself because they passionately supported one of the candidates. For others, the goal was the selection of the most viable nominee because patronage and other rewards would accompany party victory. Still others (every one of them supporting gold) preferred that the party run no candidate at all. The radical diversity of their fundamental goals made it very difficult to anticipate the course of events and thus gave rise to unstable and poorly formed preferences among the delegates. We could explain the preferences held by some delegates in terms of causal chains reaching back to the state conventions. The Nebraska delegates, for example, were all but formally pledged to Bryan for reasons that obviously predated their arrival in Chicago. Such an analysis would certainly give us some idea of which state delegations would exhibit the most stability in their

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support for one candidate or another. However, for the majority of delegates, an extended historical investigation would encounter rapidly diminishing returns; the context of the convention simply overwhelmed anything that had happened before they arrived in Chicago. While we could impute preferences from the roll call votes on the presidential nomination, this would be a rather empty exercise because those preferences could have been (and sometimes were) formed only minutes before they were announced and abandoned soon afterward. For that reason, the preference that a delegate revealed when he voted could not be reliably projected either backward or forward in time. Because much of conventional political analysis depends on complete, stable preference orderings among those who are to make a decision, almost all the heavier guns in that analytical armory are silent as we try to understand how it is that Bryan won the nomination. Finally, although we could certainly conclude that the strategic environment of the convention “induced” the formation of the preferences of the delegates, I am not sure what we would gain by doing so. For one thing, the most important event in the convention was the demonstration following Bryan’s speech, a conjuncture in which literally hundreds of preferences were changed or formed for the first time. But this conjuncture was a strategic surprise, an unanticipated eruption of emotion so explosive that it radically limited the information that a delegate might receive to what he could see with his own eyes. Because the noise was so deafening that delegates could not communicate with one another, they could only interpret what was happening by monitoring the wild delirium that surrounded them. And because many of these delegates were also participating in that delirium, detached analysis of this strategic environment, if we can call it that, was rare on the convention floor. Later, during the roll calls on the nomination, delegates near the Illinois reservation knew that that state delegation’s commitment to Bland was becoming unhinged because they could observe vigorous debate within Altgeld’s contingent. In contrast, those delegates farther away who had only the regular announcement of Illinois votes for Bland to guide them would have reasonably (and incorrectly) assumed that Altgeld’s grip remained firm. In general terms, we could say that the delegates often did not share a common strategic context that then, in turn, could have influenced (induced) preference formation all at once and in the same way. If we understand preferences to be induced “locally” (i.e., by way of what the individual delegate could immediately perceive in front of him), then the notion has some merit. But if we view inducement this way, analysis becomes impossibly complex and practically inconceivable. As analytical problems, the complexity of the Bryan demonstration and presidential nomination are probably beyond our reach. In a trivial sense, this is because we do not have enough information as to, for example, the precise, immediate setting within which each delegate observed and acted. A far more serious difficulty is that the complexity of such situations is beyond the conceptual reach of the actors themselves. For example, Bryan paused at those points in his address at which he expected the delegates and spectators would cheer.

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In that sense, he orchestrated their performance. But Bryan had not marked these pauses in the text of his speech. They were experientially “read” off the prior actions of the crowd as he spoke, interactively guiding Bryan as he moved through his oration. Absorbing the collective and individual reactions of the convention, he instinctively adapted his performance to “what worked.” Could Bryan have told us how he did this? The answer has to be “no.” We must credit his skill to the murky realms of talented, intuitive perception. But if we concede that Bryan himself did not know how he came to do what he did, can we analytically impose a “rational, calculable” frame on him? Only up to a point. Bryan certainly knew that he was a skilled orator and fully trusted his talent. He also (correctly) anticipated the optimal point in the convention proceedings at which to unleash this talent. And he also knew which turns of phrase were likely to be effective in eliciting the passions of the audience. But the rest of what happened remains in the domain of the “art of politics” itself. In the same way, how delegates transformed their absorption in the demonstration surrounding them into personal preferences is also conceptually incomplete. Delegates were emotionally moved by Bryan’s performance but were unable, aside from rather empty platitudes, to tell reporters why their passions had been aroused. In this sense, the delegates were enthralled in what Max Weber termed a “religious experience.” Such an experience “is of course irrational . . . distinguished by its absolute incommunicability.” However, “that irrational element, which is by no means peculiar to religious experience, but applies (in different senses and to different degrees) to every experience, does not prevent its being of the greatest practical importance.”2 Bryan could not have explained how he enchanted passion from the spectators and delegates during his speech.3 And he did not try. The spectators and delegates labored under the same handicap, but, in their attempt to explain to one another what they had felt, they inevitably dampened the passion that they had experienced. And this is the reason why Bryan was not nominated by acclamation on the following day. The experiential phenomenon itself and the impact that it had on American politics was, as Weber might say, of “the greatest practical importance” but was also essentially outside rationality in 2

3

Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 193. On the passions aroused by religious belief, see, for example, James Morone, Hellfire Nation: The Politics of Sin in American History (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2003). A few of the elements to such an explanation appear in Jon Elster’s Alchemies of the Mind: Rationality and the Emotions (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999). For example, Elster notes that complete “cognitive rationality can only be achieved at the cost of [eliminating everything] we want to be rational about” (emphasis in the original, p. 301). In fact, a truly dispassionate orientation toward life would preclude doing anything at all because all motivation for action would be absent. Thus, any social action has at least some emotive component, even if the individual denies it. However, while Elster very perceptively analyzes the conditions under which a particular passion of one kind can be “transmuted” into a passion of another (pp. 360– 62), his focus is rather unrelentingly on the individual as opposed to groups. For that reason, Bryan’s performance would fall outside the scope of his analysis.

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the sense of being utterly incapable of incorporation into a rational analysis of political situation and opportunity. As the delegates and spectators must have come to understand, we inevitably destroy much of the meaning and impact of such an experience when we attempt to explain it. Practical Implications How common are such transformative experiences in politics? In one sense, they have always been uncommon, if only because they are so physically exhaustive. Frenzy simply cannot be sustained for more than a short period. But in another sense such experiences are ubiquitous, deeply embedded in the nature of politics itself. The most remarkable aspect of the 1896 Democratic National Convention was that this experience was collectively shared by men who would have otherwise regarded themselves as rather jaded, worldly, professional politicians. Even so, much of the devotion of these men to their political leaders had arisen from personal experiences so common that Weber gave them a distinct category: charisma. And many of the characteristics of the charismatic leader and the situation in which such a leader might emerge resonate well with the 1896 convention. With respect to the situation, there was a sense that “things cannot go on as they are, that something has to be done.”4 However, that something was not derived from logical analysis but, instead, bridged a chasm of uncertainty with faith in the qualities of “an individual personality.”5 In his own discussion of Weber, Pierre Bourdieu states that the “relationship between language and experience never appears more clearly than in crisis situations in which the everyday order . . . is challenged.” These situations “call for an extraordinary discourse” from which emerges the “[h]eretical power, the strength of the sorcerer . . . in offering the means of expressing experiences usually repressed, the strength of the prophet or political leader who mobilizes the group by announcing to them what they want to hear.”6 The silver delegates dismissed the practical experience and learned lectures of the gold men as self-interested cant. But although they had their own tracts and monetary experts, the silver delegates still felt they were walking on water, sustained solely by a belief that remaining on dry land was not an option. In a very real sense, adoption of the silver plank in the platform was akin to a millennial expectation that the “laws of economics” would henceforth be suspended and that the silver men could simply “will” that silver and gold 4 5 6

Richard Swedberg, Max Weber and the Idea of Economic Sociology (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1998), p. 64. Max Weber, Economy and Society, vol. 1, trans. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), p. 241; Swedberg, Max Weber, p. 64. Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 170– 71. On the other hand, Richard Ellis has defined charisma as the ability of a leader to transform “followers’ values and beliefs” and regards oratorical ability as neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for its possession. “Explaining the Occurrence of Charismatic Leadership in Organizations,” Journal of Theoretical Politics 3, no. 3 (1991): 307, 308.

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would, in fact, trade on financial markets at a ratio of sixteen to one. The silver men were thus in the hunt for a charismatic leader who would underpin what they already desperately wanted to believe. They manufactured that leader in the convention, a fabrication in which Bryan was only too happy to assist. From this perspective, the situation called forth the leader as much, perhaps, as Bryan enchanted his audience. Most of the elements that entered into the construction of this situation are accessible to conventional political analysis. The politics of the state conventions that selected and committed the delegates to silver were, for example, more or less routine exercises in the deployment of ordinary authority and resources. The ritual order of the convention itself was traditionally derived. And the arrangement of the convention hall as a political arena conformed to past practice. Even the way in which Bryan imagined the optimal situation in which he might deliver his speech can be deconstructed into elements that are analytically tractable. At the end, we are left with a residual “moment of madness” in which all these came together to produce the demonstrations accompanying and following Bryan’s address.7 Such transformative moments range across a large spectrum. At one end, they produce the world’s great religions, nations, and political ideologies. At the other end, they bridge the innumerable chasms that otherwise separate our knowledge of how the world works from the kind of world we would like to live in. We span these chasms through (usually small) acts of faith, a belief that the world operates on certain principles, although, at bottom, we do not know for sure. In that sense, there is more than enough room for charismatic individuals who, for whatever reason, are particularly skilled or gifted at enchanting such beliefs in the face of uncertainty. Such transformative moments occur every day in the classroom, the corporate boardroom, legislative chambers, and family dinner tables. They are routine necessities of daily life for, without them, we might not be able to act at all. In that sense, they are as common now as they were in the Chicago Coliseum in 1896. And we can and will enchant charismatic leaders into existence whenever we need to. 7

Although Aristide Zolberg is more concerned with revolutionary euphoria than with passionate demonstrations, there is still a family resemblance between the two, particularly because most scholars tend to isolate both of them “from the universe of ‘normal’ political events.” “Moments of Madness,” Politics and Society 2, no. 2 (Winter 1972): 183–207.

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Index

Alabama, 295 Alaska, 242 Altgeld, John, 63, 77, 136, 139, 152–53, 209; condemns gold faction, 16; dominates Illinois state convention, 30–31; comments on presidential nomination, 37; attitude toward Bryan, 41, 271; appointed to silver faction steering committee, 53; meets with Hill, 98; supporters disrupt gold rally, 103; addresses convention, 139–40; as pivotal figure, 193, 266–67, 270; reaction to Bryan’s speech, 236–37; hostile to Stevenson, 253; puts up brave front, 283 American Silver Party, 37 Arkansas, 36 Asad, Talal, 243 Atlanta Constitution, 9 Auditorium Hotel, 183 Bache & Co., J.S., 33 Bailey, Joseph, 282 Barker, Wharton, 250 Belmont, August, 25 Belmont, Perry, 105, 145 Blackburn, Senator Joseph, 65, 250; prospects for the nomination, 41; and Kentucky glee club, 43; possible silver nominee for temporary chairman, 56; addresses convention, 138 Blake, J.W., 148

Blanchard, Senator Newton, 293 Bland, Fanny, 300 Bland, Richard, xvi, 296; his supporters court Altgeld, 31; campaign headquarters, 35, 187; campaign offers drinks to delegates, 36; prospects for the nomination, 41, 256, 260, 264; supporters march in the streets, 43–44, 162, 191–92; favors preliminary caucus of silver faction, 47; attitude toward gold bolt, 113; supports abrogation of two-thirds rule, 132; endorsed by Illinois delegation, 193, 264–67; campaign for nomination, 195, 302–03; and Populists, 199; endorses Bryan, 303 Boies, Horace, 31; campaign for nomination, 35, 192, 195; prospects for the nomination, 41, 256; and Iowa vote for temporary chairman, 79–80; campaign relations with the gold faction, 99–101; “Woman in White” demonstration for, 181, 279–80 Boston, 14 Boston Globe, 9, 14 Bounding, Colonel, 42 Bourdieu, Pierre, 123–24, 310 Boydston, H.M., 275 Bragg, General Edward, 82, 110, 282, 288–89, 296 Brennan, John, 146 Briggs House, 37, 183 313

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314 Brucker, Judge Ferdinand, 149–50 Bryan, Mary Baird, 300 Bryan, William Jennings, 7, 206, 296; takes train to Chicago, 34; mentioned as presidential possibility, 41–42; possible silver nominee for temporary chairman, 54, 56; identified as Bland supporter, 56, 270; reputation as orator, 57; possible silver nominee for permanent chairman, 85; campaign headquarters, 187; addresses convention, 222–33; tactics at the convention, 237–41, 308–09; speech propels candidacy, 246–47; prospects for the nomination, 17–18, 250–52, 270–76, 283; as “stalking horse” for Teller, 260; receives congratulations, 303–04. See also “Cross of Gold” speech. Burnham, Walter Dean, 305 Bynum, William, 37 Cable, Ben, 117 California, 274 Chicago, 33–34 Chicago Tribune, 8–9, 49 Chilton, Senator Horace, 192 Chong, Dennis, 123 Chwe, Michael, 125 Clark, William, 34, 155 Clayton, Henry, 58, 68, 78 Cleveland, President Grover, 15, 91, 302; attitude toward the convention, 18, 33; issues bonds to save the gold standard, 25; conflict with congressional Democrats over silver, 26; condemned in Illinois state convention, 31; Tillman comments on, 38; name cheered in convention, 74, 279; unpopular among delegates, 94–96; minority plank endorses, 209, 241–42; reacts to Bryan nomination, 304 Clifton House, 187 Cockrell, Senator Francis, 35, 108, 261 Coke, Senator Richard, 98 Coliseum, 69–71, 73, 75–76, 168–82 Colorado, 189, 264 Congress, xiii

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Index Connecticut, 12 Coudert, Frederic, 106 Crosby, John, 117, 146 “Cross of Gold” speech, xiv, 222–37; display of passion during, 1–2, 203–04, 243–47; and formation of preferences, 7, 181. See also Bryan, William Jennings Cullom, Senator Shelby, 36 Daniel, Senator John, 41, 273; appointed to silver faction steering committee, 53; silver nominee for temporary chairman, 56, 59–60, 63; votes for Hill, 82; addresses convention, 83–84; comments on election of a temporary chairman, 61; attitude toward gold bolt, 113; presides over convention, 136–37 Debs, Eugene, 303 Democratic National Committee: hires detectives to deter pickpockets, 40; meets with silver faction steering committee, 53; gold majority backs Hill for temporary chairman, 57–58, 67 Democratic National Convention in 1860, 2 Democratic National Convention in 1896: as illustrative political setting, xv–xvi; as “public sphere,” 2–8; two-thirds rule for nomination in, 47, 131–34; construction of party platform, 48, 204–06; election of a temporary chairman for, 52–85; unit rule, 82–83, 130–31; delegation contests, 134–55; debate on monetary plank, 206–33; platform adopted, 241–42; estimates of candidate strength in, 266–67, 270; as turning point in American history, 305 Democratic party: state conventions, 28–32; state platforms on gold and silver, 49–52. See also political culture Detroit Free Press, 9 Dickinson, Don, 58 Dockery, E.J., 282 Dubois, Senator Fred, 35, 253 Duncan, John, 77

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Index Elster, Jon, 309 Engel, Martin, 102 Evans, S.B., 284 event horizon, 4, 248 Fellows, John, 96, 103, 111; addresses the convention, 73–74; addresses mass meeting of gold faction, 104 financial markets, 32–33 Flower, Roswell, 17, 64, 105, 111, 286 Foote, W.W., 280 Georgia, 64; state convention in, 31–32; delegation takes train to Chicago, 34, 167; delegation endorses Bryan, 274, 303 gold faction: and electoral consequences of silver platform, xiii, 17–18, 89; and political culture of eastern Democrats, 12–15; attempts to influence Georgia convention, 31–32; reported to be favoring Boies, 39; spreads rumors, 39; strength at the convention, 49–52; considers nominees for temporary chairman, 54; supports Hill for temporary chairman, 59, 62, 103, 107; demonstrates on convention floor, 67–68, 151–52, 216–17, 219; uses Hill as symbol, 84, 163, 190–91; strategy at the convention, 88–89, 94, 96–97, 98–101, 105, 109–10, 114–15; rumors of defection from, 89–91; and the presidential nomination, 94–96, 111–13, 131–32, 257–59, 290; mass meeting of, 103–04; and Michigan contest, 107–09; rumors of bolt by, 117, 120, 254; displays of passion by, 196–97; opposes unanimous endorsement of Bryan, 299. See also Hill, Senator David; Whitney, William C. gold standard,; and Democratic presidential candidates, xiii, 17; New York City support for, 13; as performance test, 17; and 1893 economic depression, 25–26 Gordon, General John, 64 Gorman, Judge, 109 Gramsci, Antonio, 7

315 Grand Army of the Republic, 177 Gray, Senator George, 54 Hall, Richard, 159 Halsted, Murat, 276 Hamilton, Samuel, 116 Hancock, Winfred, 12 Hanna, Mark, 27 Harris, Senator Isham, 35; as chairman of silver conference, 53, 54; possible silver nominee for permanent chairman, 57 Harris & Co., N.W., 16 Harrity, William F., 90, 209; comments on adoption of silver platform, 37; presides over convention, 62, 65, 67–68, 74–77, 78, 81; comments on election of a temporary chairman, 62; and Pattison candidacy, 281–82, 285 Hesing, Washington, 93 Hill, J.T., 276 Hill, Senator David, 57, 92, 94–96, 101, 102, 139, 207, 281; and Grover Cleveland, 18; comments on struggle over silver, 24; prospects for the nomination, 41; gold nominee for temporary chairman, 54, 55, 56, 58, 63, 107; enters convention hall, 64, 145; abstains on vote for temporary chairman, 81; as professional politician, 97–98; rumors he will bolt, 108, 115–16; addresses convention, 216–20 Hinckley, James, 92, 115 Hinrichsen, “Buck”, 39, 61, 264, 296 Hogg, James, 85, 137, 147, 192, 289 Howell, Clark, 144, 239, 301 Hunt, Lynn, 191 Idaho, 295 Illinois: state convention in, 30–31; as pivotal delegation, 193; endorses Bland, 264–67; votes on nomination roll calls, 285, 295–98 Illinois Sound Money Committee, 98–100, 101 Indiana, xii, 12, 35 Iowa, ; delegation supports Boies, 63, 136, 163, 207; splits votes on election of temporary chairman, 79–80

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316 Jones, Senator James K., 35, 54, 282, 291; appears to support Teller, 36; comments on Whitney, 52; appointed to silver faction steering committee, 53; comments on Hill as temporary chairman, 54; as chairman of steering committee, 55, 57; attitude toward gold bolt, 113; reads platform to convention, 208–09; rebukes Tillman, 215–16. See also silver faction Kantrowitz, Stephen, 222 Katznelson, Ira, 164 Kentucky, 80, 297 Koenig, Louis, 205 Kryder, Daniel, 161 Ladd, Charles, 77 Lebanon, Missouri, 24 Lewis, Hal, 275, 276, 278–79 Lohmann, Susanne, 162 MacVeagh, Franklin, 103 Maguire, Patrick, 116 Malone, James, 282 Mantle, Senator Lee, 35 Marston, B.W., 142, 148, 181, 285, 290, 291–94, 297; addresses convention, 74–76 Martin, Colonel John, 35, 63, 147, 151, 176, 208, 279 Martin, John, 37 Maryland, 34, 275 Massachusetts, 9, 13, 280; delegation takes train to Chicago, 34; divisions within delegation, 116–17 Matt, E.D., 195 Matthews, Governor Claude, 35; prospects for the nomination, 41, 255; supporters march in the streets, 43; gold faction attitude toward, 103 McClellan, George, 114 McDermott, Allan, 69, 136, 147, 291 McKinley, William, 27, 255, 301 McKinley Tariff, 25 McKnight, W.F., 148–49 McLaurin, Governor A.J., 146–47

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Index McLean, John, 64, 138, 156, 189, 274, 284; takes train to Chicago, 34; prospects for the nomination, 41, 64, 254–55; favored by Tammany, 109; campaign for nomination, 192; as pivotal figure, 193–94; pursues vice presidential nomination, 261, 298 Michigan, 9, 33, 39, 64; contest over delegates in, 57, 107–09; votes on temporary chairman, 80–81 Minnesota, 39 Mississippi, 275 Money, Senator-elect Hernando, 59, 293 Montana, 34 Morgan, J.P., 25 Muh, Robert, 120 Myers, Gustavus, 120 National Business Men’s League, 43, 187 National Democratic Bimetallic League, 35, 52 Nebraska: delegation takes train to Chicago, 34; contest over delegates in, 57, 134, 141; delegation demonstrates on convention floor, 142; delegation said to be supporting Bland, 267, 269, 271 New Jersey, xiii, 12 newspapers, 8–12, 61–62 New York, 92; and election of Democratic presidential candidates, xiii, 26; and political culture of Democratic party, 12–14; Democratic state convention warns South, 15; votes on temporary chairman, 81; delegation headquarters, 94, 96, 187; delegation travels to Chicago, 99–101, 102; delegation caucuses, 105–06, 110–11; delegation returns from Chicago, 118–20; discusses post-convention strategy, 118–19; sparks gold demonstration, 151–52; and gold faction strategy, 207; refuses to vote on nomination, 286–87 New York City, xiii, 12–13 New York Sun, 283, 284 New York Times, 9 Nicol, De Lancey, 114 North Carolina, 31, 238, 287

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March 7, 2008

Index O’Donnell, Thomas, 16–17, 55 Ohio, 193–94, 287 Oregon, 294 O’Sullivan, Jeremiah, 116, 286 Overmeyer, David, 139 Palmer, John, 93 Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 136 Palmer, Potter, 44 Palmer House, 35–36, 39–40, 44, 183–85 passion, xi–xiv, 172–73; displayed within the ritual order, xv, 6–8, 159–67, 203–04, 243; sites for display of, 168–90, 248–49; targets of display of, 190–93; forms of display, 200–02; displayed after Bryan’s speech, 309–10 Pattison, Robert: campaign for nomination, 40, 110; prospects for the nomination, 41, 259; endorses Bryan, 281 Peffer, Senator William, 253 Pennoyer, Sylvester, 40, 41, 187 Pennsylvania, 13, 63, 110, 196, 281 Pettigrew, Senator Richard, 35 Philadelphia, 14 political culture, 12–19, 123–25, 155–58 political settings, xi, xiv, 1, 168–82 Populist party, 15, 27, 37, 47–48, 96, 113, 198–200, 252, 262, 303; prefers Teller as candidate, 253, 263 Powers, Judge O.W., 113 preferences, xi–xii, xvi, 159–61, 163–64, 301, 306–08 “public sphere,” 22, 10 Purroy, Henry, 105 Reagan, John, 65 Reconstruction, xiii Republican party, 27–28, 197 Richardson, James, 138; comments on election of temporary chairman, 61; presides over convention, 208, 288–90, 291–94 Richelieu Hotel, 43, 183 ritual: as structure for making formal decisions, xiv–xv, 6, 7, 125–28; as backdrop for passion, xi–xv, 65–67, 73, 78–79, 81–82, 178–82; as shared political culture, 78, 155–56

317 Rothschild & Sons, N.M., 25 Russell, William, 41, 141, 220–22, 280 St. Claire, J.W., 77–78 Saulsbury, John, 147, 148 Schickler, Eric, 160 sectionalism, 14–15, 211, 215–16 Sewall, Arthur, 300 Sheehan, John, 106, 109 Sheehan, William, 58, 105, 115, 148 Sheerin, Simon, 8, 34 Sherman House, 35, 38, 183 Sherman Silver Purchase Act, 25, 97 Shirley, Colonel, 92 Silbey, Joel, 305 silver faction: and political culture, 15–18; confident as convention opened, 38–39; possible preliminary caucus of, 46–47, 55; leaders consider alliance with Populists, 47–48; strategy at the convention, 48, 87, 242; strength at the convention, 49–52, 86–87; steering committee appointed, 53; nominates Daniel as temporary chairman, 58–59; demonstrates on convention floor, 68, 83–84, 153–54, 233–37, 299–300; nominates White as permanent chairman, 85–86; attitude toward gold bolt, 113–14.See also Jones, Senator James K. Simkins, Francis Butler, 222 Simpson, “Sockless” Jerry, 64 Smith, Senator James, 101 Sound Money League, 187 South, xiii, 12 South Carolina, 33, 44, 217 Southern Press Association, 9 Stackhouse, W.H., 79–80 Sterritt, Colonel Bill, 40 Stevenson, Elliott, 147–49, 150 Stevenson, Vice President Adlai, 41, 252–53 Stewart, Senator William, 64

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Index

318 Stone, Governor William: says Boies campaign courts gold men, 39; appointed to silver faction steering committee, 53; possible silver nominee for temporary chairman, 54, 56; campaign manager for Bland, 264, 266, 298 Sulzer, William, 85, 106, 111 Swanson, Claude, 55 Tammany Hall, 106; delegates travel to Chicago, 102; strategy in the convention, 109, 111, 119–20; badges, 196 tariff, 13 Tarpey, M.F., 73 Tarrow, Sidney, 159 Taubeneck, Herman E., 253 Taylor, S.M., 146 telegraphs, 8 Teller, Senator Henry M., 9; bolts Republican convention, 27–28; support among Democrats, 31, 37, 96, 99–101, 102; Republican senators lobby for, 35; Democratic senators appear to favor, 36, 261; prospects for Democratic nomination, 40–41, 253–54; comments on convention, 45; favored by Populists, 199; as stalking horse for Boies, 260 Texas, 39, 299 Thomas, Charles, 55, 58, 73, 150, 274 Tillman, Senator “Pitchfork” Ben, 41, 239, 242; holds court in Sherman House, 38; prospects for the nomination, 41, 250; chairman of the South Carolina delegation, 44; comments on election of temporary chairman, 62; on the convention floor, 65, 284; addresses convention, 209–15; rebuked by Jones, 215–16 Tilly, Charles, 159

March 7, 2008

Towles, T.O., 35, 36 Tracey, Charles, 114 Trippet, Oscar, 279 Turpie, Senator David, 53, 279, 299 Utah, 40, 195 Van Wagenen, Judge, 299 Vest, Senator George, 277 Vilas, Senator William, 54, 220, 288 Wallace, Hugh, 54 Waller, Charles, 73 Waller, Thomas, 69–73 Walsh, Charles, 39 Walsh, Patrick, 301 Wawro, Greg, 160 Weadock, Thomas, 149 Weaver, General James, 64 Weber, Max, 309, 310 Wedeen, Lisa, 124 White, Frederick, 279 White, Senator Stephen, 158; possible silver nominee for temporary chairman, 56; silver nominee for permanent chairman, 86; presides over convention, 142–43, 155, 207–08, 297 Whitney, William C., 32, 58–59, 64, 86, 94, 96, 99–102, 118, 206; biographical sketch, 15; prospects for the nomination, 41; favors Hill as temporary chairman, 54; as leader of the gold faction, 88–89, 91–93, 98–101, 104–05 Williams, George Frederick, 90–91, 140–41, 221, 274, 279 Williams, J.R., 278 Wilson Tariff, 26 Wisconsin, 82–83, 111 Zolberg, Aristide, 311

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Passion and Preferences: William Jennings Bryan and the 1896 Democratic Convention

Passion and Preferences: William Jennings Bryan and the 1896 Democratic Convention

A Righteous Cause: The Life of William Jennings Bryan

Preferences and Well-Being

Athenian Pottery and Cypriote Preferences

On Knowledge and Convention

Maureen Jennings

Passion and the Prince

Passion and the Prince

Passion and the Past

On Knowledge and Convention

Passion and the Past

Passion and the Prince

Passion and the Prince

Passion and the Prince

Collective Preferences in Democratic Politics: Opinion Surveys and the Will of the People

Democratic theories and the Constitution

Participation and Democratic Theory

Convention and Revolt in Poetry

William Blake and the Body

The Secret Life of Bryan

Pauline's Passion And Punishment

Between Pride and Passion

Passion And A PearTree

Pride and Passion

Crime and Passion

Passion and Pain

Passion and Poppadoms

Exotic preferences: Behavioral economics and human motivation

Wittgenstein and William James

William and Harry

Passion and Preferences: William Jennings Bryan and the 1896 Democratic Convention