June 12, 1920—With the heat rising and Sunday coming, GOP delegates broke their deadlock at the national convention in Chicago by nominating, on the 10th ballot, a candidate far back when the confab began: Senator Warren G. Harding of Ohio.
The night before, a select group of party leaders met in a room in the Blackstone Hotel to end the impasse. The unexpected result gave rise to the political phrase, “smoke-filled room,” to describe private deliberations marked by secret deal-making and, frequently, chicanery.
(Ironically, the hotel—now rescued from oblivion and run as the Marriott Renaissance—is a nonsmoking institution today.)
Little did the bone-tired, panicky conventioneers realize that, in picking the least objectionable candidate, they had, ironically, chosen someone not only less qualified for the Presidency than his rivals, but one carrying considerably more personal baggage. Decades before Bill Clinton and John Edwards, a major party had to scramble behidn the scenes to contain a “bimbo eruption.”
Harding represents one of the most noteworthy object lessons in the vicissitudes of Presidential reputations. At the time of his death in 1923, he was mourned intensely, like another handsome, charming senator who made it to the White House, only to die in his third year in office: John F. Kennedy.
Yet Harding’s reputation was damaged far more quickly than Kennedy’s by post-death revelations—and, at this juncture, despite new revisionist scholarship, the likelihood is not great that his standing will rise appreciably.
Not that interesting work hasn’t been produced, over the last 20 years, about his life. Carl Sferrazza Anthony, perhaps the foremost chronicler of First Ladies, has illuminated Harding’s strong-willed wife Florence—and, by necessity, her husband—in a major biography. John W. Dean—yes, of Watergate fame—brought knowledge of the hometown he shared with Harding (Marion, Ohio) and a lawyer’s sense of evidence in an idiosyncratic, small-scale, but useful corrective to earlier treatments.
And, most recently, James David Robenalt, in The Harding Affair, was able to flush out surprising new secrets about Carrie Phillips, the former lover whose threat to go public with revelations of their affair set in motion what historians believe might be the first recorded case of an American political party paying hush money to c0ver up a candidate's sex scandal.
If only the Republicans had been able to call on Teddy Roosevelt this time! The former President might have bolted his party to run as a Progressive in 1912, but by 1918 he had mended enough fences with old adversaries that he was emerging as the odds-on favorite to win a third term. But sorrow and shock over the death of his son Quentin in World War I had exacerbated lingering health issues, and he had died in January 1919 at the age of only 60.
The three major GOP candidates at the Chicago convention a year later each had a significant base, and equally significant liabilities:
* General Leonard Wood, TR’s former commander in the Spanish-American War, had been hurt by a campaign-finance scandal.
The night before, a select group of party leaders met in a room in the Blackstone Hotel to end the impasse. The unexpected result gave rise to the political phrase, “smoke-filled room,” to describe private deliberations marked by secret deal-making and, frequently, chicanery.
(Ironically, the hotel—now rescued from oblivion and run as the Marriott Renaissance—is a nonsmoking institution today.)
Little did the bone-tired, panicky conventioneers realize that, in picking the least objectionable candidate, they had, ironically, chosen someone not only less qualified for the Presidency than his rivals, but one carrying considerably more personal baggage. Decades before Bill Clinton and John Edwards, a major party had to scramble behidn the scenes to contain a “bimbo eruption.”
Harding represents one of the most noteworthy object lessons in the vicissitudes of Presidential reputations. At the time of his death in 1923, he was mourned intensely, like another handsome, charming senator who made it to the White House, only to die in his third year in office: John F. Kennedy.
Yet Harding’s reputation was damaged far more quickly than Kennedy’s by post-death revelations—and, at this juncture, despite new revisionist scholarship, the likelihood is not great that his standing will rise appreciably.
Not that interesting work hasn’t been produced, over the last 20 years, about his life. Carl Sferrazza Anthony, perhaps the foremost chronicler of First Ladies, has illuminated Harding’s strong-willed wife Florence—and, by necessity, her husband—in a major biography. John W. Dean—yes, of Watergate fame—brought knowledge of the hometown he shared with Harding (Marion, Ohio) and a lawyer’s sense of evidence in an idiosyncratic, small-scale, but useful corrective to earlier treatments.
And, most recently, James David Robenalt, in The Harding Affair, was able to flush out surprising new secrets about Carrie Phillips, the former lover whose threat to go public with revelations of their affair set in motion what historians believe might be the first recorded case of an American political party paying hush money to c0ver up a candidate's sex scandal.
If only the Republicans had been able to call on Teddy Roosevelt this time! The former President might have bolted his party to run as a Progressive in 1912, but by 1918 he had mended enough fences with old adversaries that he was emerging as the odds-on favorite to win a third term. But sorrow and shock over the death of his son Quentin in World War I had exacerbated lingering health issues, and he had died in January 1919 at the age of only 60.
The three major GOP candidates at the Chicago convention a year later each had a significant base, and equally significant liabilities:
* General Leonard Wood, TR’s former commander in the Spanish-American War, had been hurt by a campaign-finance scandal.
* Illinois Governor Frank Lowden was also damaged by the same Senate inquiry as Wood.
* Senator Hiram Johnson of California, who had served as T.R.’s running mate in 1912, had solid Progressive credentials, but he was resented by the Woods and Lowden camps for instigating the Senate inquiry.
Even the man presiding over the convention, Woodrow Wilson's nemesis over the League of Nations, Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, had his ambitions, but he realized at this point that he was probably too old.
Even the man presiding over the convention, Woodrow Wilson's nemesis over the League of Nations, Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, had his ambitions, but he realized at this point that he was probably too old.
At Chicago, both Wood and Lowden found themselves deadlocked at roughly 300 votes each, with Johnson lagging and Harding, with 85 voters, back still further. As anxiety mounted, Harding’s principal aides, Will Hays and Harry Daugherty, were able to sell their man as the least objectionable candidate.
When the GOP party elders inquired if there were any problems with his background, Harding said there weren’t. I guess that depended on how you defined "problems."
Harding should have known Carrie Phillips would trouble his candidacy. Three years earlier, Phillips—by this time, because of a long residence in Germany, a sympathizer of the Kaiser (and, Robenalt believes, an informant of the German ruler)—had threatened to go public about their 15-year relationship if Harding voted for America's entry into World War I. He called her bluff by voting for the declaration., but it was a narrow escape.
When the GOP party elders inquired if there were any problems with his background, Harding said there weren’t. I guess that depended on how you defined "problems."
Harding should have known Carrie Phillips would trouble his candidacy. Three years earlier, Phillips—by this time, because of a long residence in Germany, a sympathizer of the Kaiser (and, Robenalt believes, an informant of the German ruler)—had threatened to go public about their 15-year relationship if Harding voted for America's entry into World War I. He called her bluff by voting for the declaration., but it was a narrow escape.
Before the convention, Phillips threatened again to tell all. Harding put her off this time by saying he'd only be able to do it with the financial largesse of the Republican Party at large.
And so, after the convention, high-level officials in the party paid Phillips and her husband $20,000 to take a long, pre-election trip to Japan—plus a smaller monthly fee that would cease only with Harding’s death.
This new-found affluence didn’t last long for the Phillipses. Harding’s death put an end to the monthly check from the GOP, while the Great Depression wrecked their fortune. Carrie Phillips died in 1960 with her liaison whispered about in Marion but few in the wider world wiser.
But that did not mean Harding’s philandering was successfully concealed. Toward the end of his relationship with Phillips, Harding met Nan Britton, a young woman who had conceived a schoolgirl’s crush on him. Her 1927, The President’s Daughter, claimed that her child, born in 1919, had resulted from their affair, which continued when he entered the White House.
Dean, finding no material evidence to support Britton’s claim, has called on DNA evidence taken from the descendants of the Brittons and Hardings in order to determine the truth. All this will establish definitively, however, is the baby’s paternity. It is equally conceivable that Harding did have relations with Britton but that, due to sterility, he did not impregnate her.
Within a year of Harding’s death, the news media were running stories about the Teapot Dome scandal, as well as other misdeeds of “The Ohio Gang” whose pending revelations had produced Harding’s unexpected death. An image was formed of an incompetent, lazy chief executive more interested in golfing, drinking and smoking cigars with cronies, and, of course, yielding to female embraces to concentrate on government. That image is deeply ingrained, and there is enough truth to it that it will be impossible to shake it completely.
This new-found affluence didn’t last long for the Phillipses. Harding’s death put an end to the monthly check from the GOP, while the Great Depression wrecked their fortune. Carrie Phillips died in 1960 with her liaison whispered about in Marion but few in the wider world wiser.
But that did not mean Harding’s philandering was successfully concealed. Toward the end of his relationship with Phillips, Harding met Nan Britton, a young woman who had conceived a schoolgirl’s crush on him. Her 1927, The President’s Daughter, claimed that her child, born in 1919, had resulted from their affair, which continued when he entered the White House.
Dean, finding no material evidence to support Britton’s claim, has called on DNA evidence taken from the descendants of the Brittons and Hardings in order to determine the truth. All this will establish definitively, however, is the baby’s paternity. It is equally conceivable that Harding did have relations with Britton but that, due to sterility, he did not impregnate her.
Within a year of Harding’s death, the news media were running stories about the Teapot Dome scandal, as well as other misdeeds of “The Ohio Gang” whose pending revelations had produced Harding’s unexpected death. An image was formed of an incompetent, lazy chief executive more interested in golfing, drinking and smoking cigars with cronies, and, of course, yielding to female embraces to concentrate on government. That image is deeply ingrained, and there is enough truth to it that it will be impossible to shake it completely.
Other factors will, I think, prevent Harding from ever remotely approaching the retrospective glow that Kennedy still retains, despite philandering even more extensive than the Republican:
* Jack and Jackie Kennedy formed a collective image of glamour that Warren and his formidable wife--nicknamed "The Duchess"--did not possess (though it was said that Warren "looked like a President," Florence was not attractive);
* Kennedy, with the help of speechwriter Ted Sorensen, delivered some of the most memorable speeches of the 20th century; Harding--despite having been a newspaper editor and publisher--spoke in a kind of high-flown but meaningless oratorical style memorably dubbed by H.L. Mencken, after the President's middle name, "Gamalielese" ("It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it.")
* One of the seeming achievements of the Harding administration--an American economy in hyperdrive--was, it is now clear, fueled, at least in part, by lax regulation of Wall Street that was repeated more recently these last 20 years--helping to put the American economy over the cliff.
* One of Harding's finest moments--a denunciation of lynching in the Deep South--ended up producing no significant legislation; Kennedy, though painfully slow in advocating civil rights at the start of his administration, enforced desegregation and pushed at last to dismantle American-style apartheid by the time of his assassination.
No comments:
Post a Comment