In the Republican nomination fight in 1896, the attacks that really mattered were not the ones like Chandler’s in the papers, but in the state conventions that determined who would attend the Republican National Convention in St. Louis.
These state conventions saw bitter political combat (in the case of Texas, with pistols, knives, and broken furniture) and the raw exercise of power. Sometimes the majority prevailed, and, on occasion, control of the process and underhanded maneuvering gave a determined minority the day. In too many instances, competing slates of delegates emerged, each claiming to be the state’s true representatives—claims that would have to be settled in credentials fights at the national convention.
McKinley won more of the fifteen state conventions where he and the Combine forces went toe-to-toe from late January to late March, but the Combine emerged with a narrow lead in delegates. However, beneath the surface, trends were emerging that gave the Major’s men reason to be hopeful and the Combine cause for concern.
THE ONE STATE WHERE McKinley could not afford defeat—where even a divided delegation would be seen as a loss—was Ohio. If the Major did not have unity at home, his nomination would be impossible. By rights, there never should have been doubt about Ohio. But the Buckeye State was also home to Fire Alarm Foraker, a man with outsize ambitions and a history of undercutting those he promised to support if doing so advanced his goals. Hanna and others with experience with Foraker were “distrustful and could not but show it.”1
They should not have worried. McKinley’s long and patient cultivation of Fire Alarm—likely coupled with Foraker’s realization that he couldn’t afford to oppose a man so popular with Ohioans—led Foraker to give McKinley his unwavering support. That support included giving a stemwinder of a speech at the state’s convention. Foraker’s keynote, editorialized the Plain Dealer, “was far beyond the expectations of the McKinley backers. No higher praise has ever been given the Ohio candidate. No more glowing eloquence has been heard in his behalf. The compact sentences, the well chosen words, had the ring of sincerity.”
Frequently interrupted by applause, Foraker called McKinley “the ideal man, statesman, the typical American leader and the veritable American idol.” When he said, “We owe it to ourselves as well as to him to do it with spirit, to do it with earnestness, to do it with unanimity, to do it in such a manner, in short, as will signify to the whole nation that he has now, and will have at the St. Louis Convention, the united, hearty, cordial, enthusiastic, unqualified support of Ohio,” delegates and guests roared their agreement. By unanimous vote, the convention instructed for McKinley, adopted a platform, elected Bushnell, Foraker, Grosvenor, and Hanna as at-large delegates, and adjourned after just three hours.
McKinley immediately wrote Foraker to say the speech “was perfect—it could not have been better.” The Major’s understanding that there are no permanent enemies in politics—along with his all-out effort for the GOP state ticket in the 1895 campaign—had brought about the necessary outcome. Unlike Hanna, McKinley had never let himself develop a personal antipathy to Foraker but rather had aimed to keep a cordial relationship with his rival, even when they disagreed and even after Foraker had done a drive-by on him in the Campbell Ballot Box Hoax. Still, it wouldn’t be Foraker without a problem. Before agreeing to go to St. Louis, Foraker demanded McKinley support an ally of Fire Alarm for RNC committeeman.2
Things also went smoothly for McKinley in Arkansas, Kansas, Wisconsin, and South Dakota, with their combined 68 delegates. Allison had hopes for some of the states, but Arkansas’s Powell Clayton and the national committeemen in Kansas and Wisconsin, Cyrus Leland and Henry Payne, made certain their states were solid for the Major.3
McKinley’s two other victories made the Combine realize it had a problem. The Combine expected to win the first convention—Louisiana in New Orleans in late January. For decades the state’s RNC committeeman and Combine ally, former governor and senator William Pitt Kellogg, had dominated the Pelican State GOP long-distance from his Washington, D.C., mansion. He supported Reed, but six weeks earlier he and his candidate were victims of a quirky alliance between the state’s McKinley men and former governor Henry Clay Warmoth.
Warmoth initially backed Harrison out of gratitude for past patronage, but since the former president appeared disinterested, Warmoth covered his bets by shifting to Reed while cooperating with McKinley. At a December state central committee meeting, Warmoth worked with state chairman T. A. Cage, a McKinley man, and Osborne to overthrow the machine by adding thirty members to the central committee, many of them for McKinley. When they were finished, Kellogg no longer controlled the state party apparatus. The Reed camp claimed bribes were involved, including “railroad tickets [and] stimulating beverages in abundance.” Afterward Warmoth wrote McKinley to reaffirm his loyalty to Harrison; McKinley replied he understood and flattered Warmoth for holding a position of “manliness.” Words were a small price for winning control of Louisiana.4
At the state convention in late January, Kellogg led Reed supporters in a failed attempt to oust Cage as chairman and then had to accept a slate of two Reed and two McKinley at-large delegates. This was called a “moderate victory” for Reed, but it was a face-saving gesture by Hanna to placate Kellogg. McKinley had ten of sixteen Louisiana delegates, having already won most district conventions. Allison was shut out, despite his support for domestic sugar subsidies, a popular position in Louisiana.5
The other loss was more damaging for the Combine. As the Minnesota GOP convention opened on March 24, a party leader rose and read a telegram from Senator Cushman Davis that said, “I am bound to, always did, and do most loyally respect the wishes of Minnesota. For that reason I request that my name be not considered.” Davis ended his favorite-son candidacy because McKinley men had dominated the congressional district meetings the day before and three of five districts refused to endorse Davis. The convention instructed Minnesota’s eighteen delegates for McKinley. In private, Davis blamed his defeat on Merriam and his “stupid harloting” on behalf of the Major.6
The Combine’s failure in Minnesota unsettled Reed, who summoned Platt. It is unclear if they met, but the Speaker then wrote the Easy Boss to ask “if we could concentrate a little more” on Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Indiana. Reed was too late. Minnesota and Wisconsin were already gone and Indiana appeared to be in McKinley’s hands as well.7
THE COMBINE FOUGHT BACK in Iowa and New York. The Iowa Republican State Convention on March 11 was the formal launch of Allison’s campaign and his last real success. It was called “without a doubt the most enthusiastic” political event ever held in Iowa, and “from beginning to end, an Allison convention.” He would stay in the race, but the Combine knew his utility was holding Iowa’s thirty delegates until the bosses settled on a candidate. Hanna unintentionally made that easier by sending agents to work county conventions in a vain attempt to instruct them for McKinley. Clarkson wrote Platt that left “Iowa people very angry” with the Major’s methods. There was a downside to competing everywhere.8
On March 24, Platt turned the New York convention into a display of home-state strength for Morton and, while he was at it, his leadership. As delegates prepared to consider the platform, Platt unexpectedly entered the Manhattan hall, “the signal for a hearty greeting, the delegates and spectators cheering wildly and the band playing ‘Hail to the Chief.’ ” Some observers were surprised at Platt’s appearance. He had spent two days in bed after his wife, “a heavy woman,” fainted and fell on him, throwing him into a piece of furniture and leaving him battered.9
New York’s four delegates-at-large were instructed for Morton. McKinley supporters failed miserably at trying to kick Platt and his ally, state GOP chairman Edward Lauterbach, off the slate. The machine men dominated most of the state’s thirty congressional districts and the state’s seventy-two-member delegation, but there was still some hand-to-hand combat in New York City districts with its mayor, William L. Strong, leading the McKinley forces and in western New York districts around Buffalo. This gave McKinley a minority of the delegation, with many of them subject to credentials challenges.10
The Combine enjoyed small victories when they won three territories and another state in late March. New Mexico Republicans met in Albuquerque the same day as the New York convention and, led by William Henry Harrison Llewellyn, a lawyer in Las Cruces and member of the New Mexico Territorial House, picked an uninstructed slate of five Combine men and one McKinley man. However, uninstructed delegates needed more attention than instructed ones. Free agents, they could forget past pledges and were ripe for someone to convert.11
Three days later, after what one paper called “undoubtedly the rawest case of machine politics ever sprang in the territory,” Oklahoma Republicans defeated instruction for McKinley and elected six Reed supporters. This meant the Combine also got the Indian Territory’s six delegates, its delegation generally dictated by the more-organized Oklahoma GOP. That same day, Massachusetts Republicans gathered in Boston’s Music Hall “to give their earnest and active support” to Reed, as well as all thirty delegates. The next day, the Baltimore American endorsed Reed, saying, “When the time comes the South will rise spontaneously to his name.” The American was unaware of McKinley’s early success in the region.12
The Combine’s modest delegate lead at the end of March didn’t change the fact that overall, the early contests were bad news for the machine men. McKinley’s organization had taken states Platt and Quay expected to win, such as Louisiana and Minnesota. This caused the bosses to lash out. Platt penned a tough letter to Alger, demanding he discredit rumors he was for McKinley by delivering Michigan for the Combine. Alger denied supporting the Major, claiming he had simply said, “That my State is for him; and this is from me no seed that I have sown.” He argued the GOP would be fine with any of the major contenders. Alger clearly worried about his relationship with Platt, asking wistfully, “Can we not be friends even if we represent different candidates?” The question proved Alger was dissembling when he said he wasn’t for McKinley.13
THE MAJOR, HOWEVER, HAD a long way to go, and the Combine was now resorting to a tactic that would allow the RNC to decide at the convention whose delegates were seated. In three March state conventions—all in the South—the Combine waged brutal campaigns that ripped each state apart and resulted in competing delegations, each demanding recognition in St. Louis as the state’s official representatives.
Mississippi and Florida both met March 5. A former slave led each side in Mississippi: James Hill, a former Mississippi secretary of state, for McKinley, and John R. Lynch, a former state house Speaker who also served three terms in Congress and was temporary chairman at the 1884 national convention, for the Combine. The state convention of roughly 250 men split, leaving both Hill and Lynch to claim theirs was the official delegation. Lynch was bankrolled by Clarkson, who soon bragged that Dodge’s cash had put half of Hill’s men and all of Lynch’s in the Combine’s pocket. Lynch journeyed to Canton to convince McKinley to seat him but Hill had been working the South for more than a year for the Major, and McKinley was loyal. The RNC would decide who cast Mississippi’s eighteen votes. Florida Republicans split after battling until 4:15 a.m., producing two slates, one instructed for Morton and another of eight “pronounced McKinley men.”14
Those two states were nothing compared to the disaster in Texas. Its earlier congressional district conventions had produced a mixed result. Of the 26 delegates elected at them, everyone agreed that McKinley had 6, Reed 3, and Allison 1. The other 16 were contested after Allison and Reed challenged delegates McKinley won and Reed challenged the few that Allison took. Texas was already a credentials problem. It was about to get worse.15
Delegates began arriving in Austin on Sunday, March 22. By Monday morning it was clear to reporters “the McKinley band wagon was leading the procession” with most of the delegates supporting him. The Allison and Reed forces were scrambling to stop McKinley by talking up an uninstructed delegation. Texas was so important because each side had sent an agent to help: Myron T. Herrick for McKinley and former New York assemblyman Isaac L. Hunt for the Combine.16
The Combine men couldn’t agree on a united anti-McKinley strategy. While Norris Wright Cuney was Allison’s leader, two men—R. B. Hawley, a wealthy white Galveston merchant, and William M. “Gooseneck Bill” McDonald, a black teacher and fraternal leader from Forney—claimed to speak for Reed. This left the Combine split, despite news reports that Reed and Allison forces were working in concert.17
This was frustrating to Cuney, the state’s leading black Republican. For nearly thirty years, the attractive, wealthy, and well-spoken Cuney had been a major power in the state and national GOP. He kept the Texas GOP a biracial party, having not only the backing of the state’s black Republicans but also the support of many white Republicans. Named customs inspector by Grant and Galveston port collector by Harrison, he had attended every national convention since 1872 and been the state’s RNC committeeman since 1884. He and Clarkson had been close friends for decades; because of Clarkson’s support for his port collectorship, Cuney had ignored Hanna’s invitation to Thomasville in 1895 and made excuses when Hanna sent representatives to his home in Galveston to discuss him leading the Major’s Texas effort.18
After a strategy session that broke up at 1 a.m. Monday, the wily Cuney decided to force unity among the Combine men by running for temporary chairman and playing the race card. Most Southern GOP convention delegates were black. The Texas gathering was no exception. Cuney would endeavor to get McKinley’s black supporters to back him for temporary chairman by saying “white men [are] trying to crush the negro.” Then as chairman, he would stack Credentials and replace McKinley delegates with men friendly to the Combine. This possibility so unnerved the McKinley men that they tried engineering an alliance with Reed against Cuney by offering to split the statewide delegates. Nothing came of it.19
The convention started Tuesday with McKinley’s Texas leader, state GOP chairman John Grant, presiding over the temporary chairman’s election. Cuney was so successful in rallying black delegates that they refused to let his white challenger withdraw when the roll call showed him losing decisively, with Cuney backers yelling, “We don’t want him to withdraw, we want to beat him.” Cuney won by better than 2 to 1.20
He quickly used his power to make Gooseneck Bill the Credentials chairman and stacked the committee. By Wednesday, McKinley delegations from nine of the biggest counties were replaced with supporters of Cuney and the Combine. In seven other counties, Gooseneck proposed seating the existing McKinley delegations with an equal number of Combine men, giving every man half a vote. In thirteen smaller counties, each represented by a single delegate, a Combine man would replace the McKinley delegate. Friendly railroads provided free passes to bring replacement delegates to Austin overnight. By these means, roughly two hundred votes were taken from McKinley and given to the Combine. Even then, Cuney had not stolen enough. The Major still had a solid majority.21
The convention was scheduled to begin at 10 a.m. Wednesday, so McKinleyites showed up early, grabbed seats in the front and center of the hall, and waited. Food and drink had to be found; many poorer black delegates had expected things to wrap up Tuesday and were now without room or board. To occupy time, the Major’s supporters sang “Rally Round the Flag” and “John Brown’s Body” and paraded a large flag with McKinley’s picture on it. Impromptu speeches were offered, delivered by men standing on chairs.22
It was 1:15 p.m. before Cuney gaveled in the convention. First order of business was the Credentials report. McKinley floor managers moved for a substitute, but Cuney refused to recognize their motion. The McKinley forces demanded a roll call. Cuney ordered a voice vote. “The noes outnumbered the ayes two to one,” a local paper reported, “but without twitching a muscle or moving a hair, Cuney said decisively, ‘The ayes have it and the report is adopted.’ ” The air was rent with angry screams as McKinley delegates moved toward the stage, menacing Cuney and his lieutenants. When a black delegate threatened to bolt, Cuney dismissed him, saying, “Well then, go bolt and be damned.” Undeterred, Cuney steamrolled through the election of the permanent chairman, who unsurprisingly was himself. With “the complacency of a child,” a local reporter wrote, Cuney ruled “the McKinley crowd out on every shuffle.”23
When it was time to pick four at-large delegates and four alternates, the hall “had resolved itself into a troop of shouting, surging dervishes.” Cuney ignored demands for a roll call. Instead he shouted for a voice vote and immediately declared the Combine’s slate the winners, though the McKinley men still outnumbered Cuney’s followers.
The hall exploded. The McKinley men stormed the stage, aiming to push Cuney aside and install Web Flanagan, the GOP’s 1890 gubernatorial candidate, in his place. “One burley negro came plowing through the jam,” an Associated Press reporter wrote, “pushing men in front of him as if they were so much chaff.” Behind him was a determined, fast-moving, angry mob of five hundred McKinley men. Cuney expected the assault: his people were prepared to defend the podium and him. “The first negro to reach the stand made a lunge at Cuney’s head with a fist,” an eyewitness wrote, but little Bill Ellis, Cuney’s longtime right-hand man, moved faster, pulling his revolver and shoving it in the assailant’s face. “The two men eyed each other for ten seconds,” then grappled and went down with “the howling crowd swaying around and about them.” A large table on the stage collapsed under the combatants. Delegates grabbed broken pieces as weapons. Chairs and other tables were smashed over heads or against bodies. Fists, bludgeons, bottles, knives, and razors appeared. Other pistols were drawn, but luckily not used. The fight went on for twenty minutes before the city marshal and a squad of officers arrived and began indiscriminately clubbing delegates.24
When the fracas had ended, Cuney spoke briefly but passionately. “I love my friends and do not hate my enemies,” he said. “I care not what men say of Wright Cuney so long as Wright Cuney’s conscience doesn’t accuse.” He had come to Austin “seeking harmony.” Talk of that was “farcical now.” On voice votes, he gaveled through the statewide electors, adjourned the convention, and marched out, taking some Combine men with him.25
It was 5:45 p.m. As party chairman, Grant called the remaining delegates to order, elected a slate instructed for McKinley, and adjourned by 7:15. Grant was pleased 626 of the convention’s 790 delegates had remained. The Major’s Texas supporters took affidavits from delegates emphasizing Cuney’s arbitrary rulings. But still, at the end of the day, every delegate was up for grabs. No one controlled Texas.26
The Lily White Republicans complicated matters on April 20 in Houston by selecting a third delegation to vie for recognition in St. Louis, but no matter. The Combine was certain that Cuney, a longtime RNC member, had enough friends on the committee that it would select his delegation among the three competing for recognition.27
The Austin Furniture Company ran an ad suggesting “that Republican split” could be put “back together with a Standard Co. automatic sewing machine.” But the Texas outcome was bad for McKinley. The question of who would cast the state’s thirty votes would be in doubt until St. Louis. McKinley was shown to be vulnerable in a Southern state. The Major’s Texas chief, John Grant, had been “no match for Cuney as a political general,” with observers writing that the veteran black Republican leader “through political finesse” deprived Grant of the “advantage he had in mere numbers.” Grant’s failure to win a clean, uncontested victory and his constant pestering for money eventually made Hanna hostile to him. Worse, there were already at least fifty-six delegate slots being contested and the primary season was just getting into full swing. The McKinley men needed an upset.28