While his campaign battled the Combine in state and district conventions around the country, there was something larger going on. McKinley was emerging as a leader who had the temperament, principles, authenticity, and fortitude in the face of adversity to be president. There is no magic combination of personal traits that leads voters to conclude that a candidate is up to the presidency’s demands. There are usually moments when Americans feel they gain a sense of a candidate. Presidential timber isn’t enough to win the White House, but it is a prerequisite for people to believe in the candidate and see his election as a worthy cause.
The moments that give supporters this confidence could happen when adversity allows the candidate to display his true character. Or they could emerge when a candidate takes on a tough challenge, such as pushing back against a pressure group’s objectionable policies. When those moments materialize, a candidate’s response can make or break his candidacy.
Long before April 1896, McKinley had had a run-in with the American Protective Association. He was about to have another that would allow him to rise above tactical considerations and display the principles and character of a broad, national leader. But first, there was a convention coming up in the neighborhood of the front-runner. Its outcome would show, in an unmistakable way, that McKinley was the candidate who could beat the Combine and become the GOP presidential nominee.
NEW HAMPSHIRE WAS THE only state convention left in March and was believed solid for Reed. But that was before it was gaveled into session in Concord’s Phenix Hall on March 31. The convention chairman, Senator Chandler, endorsed Reed as “our energetic, strong, positive and magnificent New England leader.” He then introduced the Resolutions chairman, Manchester Mirror and American publisher Henry M. Putney, as “that veteran editor” and joked, “May I call you a veteran?” Putney replied, “Call me anything you like,” drawing laughter from the hall. Chandler didn’t laugh at what came next. Putney, a McKinley man, took control.1
Putney’s drafted platform declared for Reed and McKinley equally. “We recognize as most conspicuous among such candidates New England’s noble and illustrious son, the Hon. Thomas B. Reed of Maine,” it said, “and that pure and able statesman and champion of protection, the Hon. William McKinley of Ohio.” Delegates applauded enthusiastically.2
Chandler decided not to contest Putney’s joint endorsement, assuming a Reed slate would be elected. It was a decision he “bitterly regretted” when the convention picked an uninstructed delegation “likely to go for McKinley.” There was no sugarcoating the defeat. The New York Times screamed, “Mr. Reed Loses a State,” blaming it on Chandler’s attacks on McKinley. These had not only angered the Major’s friends, but also given Chandler’s intraparty rivals back home an excuse to settle old scores over similar treatment at the senator’s hands.3
The Reed camp pushed back, arguing the joint endorsement was not damaging. Chandler dismissed “the anomalous platform,” while Senator Lodge repeated Chandler’s spin, saying, “There really was nothing in the resolutions to cause comment unfavorable to Reed.” But both men knew this was a blow to Reed, a sign of the front-runner’s weakness.4
Chandler made excuses, claiming that he was blindsided by Putney and that the dual endorsement did not represent the state’s Republicans. In an open letter, Putney said the opposite was true. The convention was not for Reed, “not a bit of it,” Putney argued. “It was a McKinley convention. You should be thankful that it was satisfied with accommodating the anti-McKinley combine.” He also accused Reed of being controlled by “the Platts, the Quays and Clarksons.” The New Hampshire upset boosted the confidence of the Major’s managers. After reviewing the recent results and preparations for the upcoming conventions, Hanna wrote McKinley, “Nothing can stop us now.”5
HOWEVER, SOME THOUGHT THEY could. What followed was a critical moment as the APA set out to destroy the Major. The attack was brutal and could have deeply damaged the McKinley campaign. Even though the APA had declined in recent years as internal disputes and financial difficulties sapped its effectiveness and some Midwestern Democrats used the group’s controversial statements to sway immigrant voters, it remained large, influential, and dangerous. It was the rare Republican who publicly bucked the group.6
APA leaders wanted to restore the group’s reputation as a kingmaker. After screening the Republican field, National Advisory Board chairman J. H. D. Stevens declared that all GOP presidential candidates were acceptable except McKinley and gave a litany of the Major’s offenses. He and his advisors were pro-Catholic and anti-APA. As governor, McKinley had appointed Catholics to posts he had promised to APA members. He refused to meet with APA leaders. The Major belonged to a secret Catholic men’s organization.7
Some McKinley advisors, notably James Boyle and Joseph Smith, believed the Combine was behind the attacks. McKinley himself couldn’t care less who was responsible. The attack was an opportunity. The APA had overreached. McKinley rose above it publicly, but allowed Hanna to hit back, knowing that in politics, the counterpunch is often more powerful than the punch.8
Hanna told reporters the APA had not asked for a meeting. He was McKinley’s manager, so he would have known. Then he undermined the APA’s credibility by denying some of the more explosive charges. He and Boyle were not Catholic, but Episcopalian. McKinley did not belong to the Ancient Order of the Hibernians or the Young Men’s Institute, but was a trustee of Canton’s First Methodist Church. The campaign issued a list of “secret societies” to which McKinley belonged. He was “a Freemason, a comrade of the Grand Army of the Republic, a member of the Union Veteran Union, of the Sons of the American Revolution, of the Loyal Legion, and of a college fraternity.” The McKinley camp was mocking the APA, belittling its attack by showing how normal the Major’s associations were. Hanna then set out to pressure the group into line by urging McKinley supporters who were APA members to lobby its Supreme Council, which met in May.9
McKinley wanted to ensure his team had the right tone when pushing back. He wrote Osborne, saying, “The [APA’s] course is extraordinary in American politics and I can not but think that it will react upon its authors and others related to it. Think for a moment—the leaders of a secret order seeking through its organization to dictate a presidential nomination. A committee sitting in secret judgment on a public man and whose report and judgment are to be binding upon all its membership. It may hurt locally here and there, but in the broad sense it cannot hurt. But whether it does or not, we can not afford for any stake to narrow our platform, or consent to countenance any abridgement of the constitutional guarantees of religious freedom.” He also let Dawes know his views.10
The APA Advisory Board reaffirmed its indictment of McKinley and sent agents and materials to county and congressional district conventions in Illinois. This unnerved some McKinleyites but most felt the APA’s attack “died a bornin’,” as the Major’s Winnebago County, Illinois, chairman reported. While APA men “are doing some harm,” wrote a Springfield, Illinois, Republican to Dawes, “I do not see how we can fail.” Within a week, even Smith, ever the worrywart, was “satisfied that the APA explosion has turned out to be a boomarang [sic].”11
The APA had been manhandled, not deeply wounded—that would happen only if the organization was forced to reverse itself in May, when the Supreme Council met—but the dispute was evidence that the Major lived by his convictions, even if that meant engaging in a tough fight and potentially alienating some supporters. The decision to push back against the APA signaled that rather than accept the offensive demands of a radical organization, McKinley would stand for the religious freedom of all Americans. It was, in some ways, to be expected from a campaign whose slogan was “The People Against the Bosses.” Sometimes the bosses were interest groups like the APA—bullies with agendas that needed to be confronted.
WHILE THE COMBINE BATTLED McKinley in March, its chief operative was missing from the action. Ret Clarkson was on the Western swing that Platt and Quay had approved, leaving just days before Kansas Republicans met on March 9 and returning two days before the New Hampshire debacle. Approving Clarkson’s absence during such a critical time is evidence of how clumsily the bosses ran things outside their states.
Clarkson saw many people and returned with plenty of news. Unfortunately for the Combine, much of it was inaccurate, happy talk from men who depended on Clarkson to channel money to them from Platt’s New York donors. For example, Tanner told Clarkson he was confident he and Lorimer would take most of Illinois’s 48 delegates. And while the machine men’s Kansas allies admitted they would not beat instruction for McKinley, they believed they could take 18 of the state’s 20 delegates on the second or third ballot. That, of course, assumed the St. Louis convention went three ballots.12
Clarkson reported in New Mexico and would select five Combine men and one McKinley supporter as delegates, but much of the intelligence he picked up out West was wrong. For example, he thought the RNC members for Arizona, Idaho, and Nevada were safe; that most of California would be anti-McKinley; that Arizona and Nevada would be solid for the Combine; that Idaho had been flipped from leaning McKinley; and that Utah and Washington State were likely for the Combine. He was wrong about all of them. None of these Western states would play out the way Ret thought, except New Mexico.13
Clarkson also made mistakes. His biggest resulted in Wyoming instructing for McKinley. He summoned Willis Van Devanter, an associate of Wyoming senator Francis Warren, to meet on his private train car near Denver in late March. Clarkson wanted Warren’s help on arranging Wyoming to send an unpledged or favorite-son delegation to St. Louis.
Clarkson erred by also inviting former senator Joseph M. Carey, whom Warren had ousted. Van Devanter was upset when he learned his boss’s rival was coming. Even an offer of money in return for an unpledged delegation couldn’t smooth things over.
Out of pique with Carey, once Warren learned of the confab, he gave the go-ahead to instruct for McKinley and then wrote Hanna, “I am now of the opinion that when the time comes there will be a harmonious [sic] solid vote from Wyoming.” By the next month, the senator told Hanna to “put Wyoming down for six votes on your private tab and kindly inform Maj. McKinley what he can depend upon, absolutely from Wyoming.” If Clarkson hadn’t invited Carey, Wyoming might have been uninstructed. Personal rivalries can make a big difference.14
Clarkson later credited his Western tour with blunting the McKinley boom in the region, without which “our friends would have been stampeded.” But the Combine got few votes in the region and his frequent references for the need to “equip our friends” probably annoyed Platt. The Easy Boss was finding it costly to fund the campaigns of several candidates at the same time.15
Clarkson was back in New York by early April, writing Allison about encouraging news on the Mississippi credentials dispute and reporting positive developments in Georgia. He congratulated himself for having “had to resist nearly everybody’s opinion” that the Texas campaign should not be put in Cuney’s hands and lamented that unless more newspaper support for Tanner’s efforts could be lined up, “we will lose Illinois, I am afraid, and that would be fatal.” His report showcased his shortcoming. He could identify and diagnose problems, but rarely could he prioritize them or come up with solutions. In a campaign manager, that is a deadly combination.16
THE PACE OF STATE conventions quickened in April, with seventeen before the Illinois showdown on the twenty-ninth. The Combine took three, including one of the most important, Pennsylvania, Quay’s home front. The Keystone State would have the second-largest delegation in St. Louis (64 delegates), but its convention in Harrisburg was small—289 men. Quay was in control, winning the test vote on credentials, 200 to 72. After that, delegates endorsed him for president and defeated by 178 to 65 a motion to name McKinley as the state’s second choice. There was almost a fistfight when a Quay man attacked the motion by saying it would “belittle and make ridiculous the grand compliment the convention had paid to Quay.”17
Soon after the convention, Quay’s rivals in Philadelphia circulated rumors that more than a third of the state’s 64 delegates would vote against him. Quay responded by sending a telegram to each delegate, asking where he stood. Fifty-eight of the 61 replies Quay received affirmed they would vote for him and three were noncommittal. Three delegates were not heard from. Quay was on the defensive, his status as a favorite son tarnished as he headed to the national convention.18
Reed carried both Rhode Island with 8 delegates and his home state of Maine with 12. The latter was a splendid show, but the speaker was dead in the water. That same day, the New York Times pronounced his campaign over, declaring, “Mr. Reed says nothing. Perhaps he thinks there are some greenback or cooper or wampum States yet to select delegates, and he is waiting to hear from them before settling the dispute as to his true sentiments.” The Times was a Democratic paper, but even a Reed man like Teddy Roosevelt felt the observation was correct.19
MCKINLEY HAD A BETTER April than the machine men, taking seven of the seventeen states, with 112 delegates, giving him the lead. The Major’s romp started in Oregon, which instructed for him unanimously, his victory engineered by wool growers. The Major then easily won instruction in North Dakota, Tennessee, and Virginia, where “McKinley badges were in evidence everywhere” and black delegates hissed at the mention of Stonewall Jackson, the famed Confederate war hero. Among the Tennessee delegates was Knoxville banker S. J. Sanford, whom Platt had been quick to call a Morton man in January. Now Sanford was bound by instruction to support McKinley “in letter and spirit,” which must have caused chuckles in Canton.20
The Major did so well in his next two unambiguous victories—Nebraska and Georgia—that his supporters there focused on different priorities and turned on each other. More than a thousand Republicans gathered in Omaha. Senator Thurston moved that the delegation be instructed to support Manderson as a favorite son if McKinley could not win. This was a compromise dreamed up by Thurston to further party unity that was approved by the McKinley high command in Canton. But even Charles Dawes’s brother B.G., a Nebraska businessman and McKinley leader, did not like the idea, having earlier written Dawes that “I am afraid things have gone too far for that.” Grassroots McKinley supporters wouldn’t stand for it. Instead, B.G. grimly informed his brother, “we will give iron-clad instructions and every thing will be lovely.” That was exactly what the convention did, supporting a straight-out endorsement of McKinley by 488 to 410.21
The Georgia state convention opened on the twenty-ninth in Atlanta with a fierce but lopsided battle between the Major’s forces and the Combine, with a Quay man telling an Atlanta paper, “We are anything to down McKinley.” That would be difficult to do: John H. Deveaux, the state party’s secretary, whom the Major met in Thomasville the previous year, and Chairman Alfred E. Buck prepared the delegate roll in the back room of Buck’s law office. The Reed forces then tried rushing the doors when Buck demanded to inspect tickets before allowing anyone to enter. Tempers boiled and by the time police were called, delegates were allowed to enter, and the convention was gaveled in, they were high. Though a distinct minority, the anti-McKinley faction threatened a bolt.22
As compromises, there were no instructions and a Reed man was added to three of the four at-large delegates pledged to McKinley. The Major’s forces caved after Reed’s leaders argued white McKinley men wanted to deny black Republicans their fair share. Since blacks made up two-thirds of the convention, former Democrat J. F. Hanson of Macon was swapped out for a black Republican, H. L. Johnson, the law partner of Reed’s state manager, W. A. Pledger. Pledger had said earlier that his goal was to keep Hanson, a white, from going to St. Louis.23
The convention deteriorated into near chaos again when the McKinley men turned on each other. Professor R. R. Wright attempted to take Johnson’s place and was kept from objecting to the arrangement only by being pulled back into his chair by his coattails by another McKinley man. Wright’s supporters seemed likely to walk out. But the drama caused minimal damage, as the convention quickly adopted a platform endorsing McKinley’s policies and adjourned. Despite the hubbub, McKinley was pleased, writing he was “grateful” for Buck’s “splendid work.” The Combine immediately reached out to Wright to encourage a credentials challenge, but Wright and his allies remained loyal to McKinley. Wright was later rewarded by being named a McKinley alternate.24
FOUR APRIL CONVENTIONS HAD more complicated outcomes. Some picked split delegations with both McKinley and Combine men; others selected uninstructed delegations whose preferences were hard to see. These results meant more work for the candidates and their managers as they tried to sway these delegates.
At the Kentucky state convention, the McKinley forces were led by the Lexington Leader publisher, Sam J. Roberts, who used to live in Canton. He played a smart but dangerous game. The state’s twenty-six delegates were instructed to back its governor, William O. Bradley, as long as his name remained before the convention, then vote for McKinley. The McKinley camp won one of the four at-large slots and wisely did not take umbrage at Bradley’s ambitions. Instead, they kept pressure on the freshman governor so Kentucky would swing over when it became apparent he was out. That required tact and patience from the McKinley men.25
The next day, New Jersey delivered an enigmatic outcome. Generally a Combine ally, the state’s twenty delegates had been delivered to the bosses’ candidate in previous national conventions. This time, Garden State Republicans selected an uninstructed delegation, hinting they were against Morton and Platt by expressing the hope that former state house Speaker and state senate president Garret A. Hobart would be considered for the ticket.26
Six days later, Connecticut also picked an uninstructed delegation, though McKinley’s name “met with an outburst of enthusiasm that astonished the Reed men.” Leading the cheers for the Major was John Addison Porter, his host in Hartford in 1895. The Major’s partisans claimed that two-thirds of the delegates were McKinley men, but there was no way to prove that since delegates refused to make a public declaration. It was a similar outcome for Maryland Republicans in Baltimore. Although “seven-tenths of the delegates . . . wore McKinley badges” and the draft platform strongly recommending his nomination was “loudly cheered,” a motion to instruct was voted down and an uncommitted slate picked.27
These four states with uncertain outcomes had 74 delegates who would draw a lot of attention from all the candidates in the weeks before the St. Louis convention.
FOR HIS PART, MCKINLEY was not just gaining delegates in unexpected places. By manhandling the APA, he was also preparing for the general election by continuing to show himself to be a different kind of Republican. And his strategy and organization were demonstrating his prowess as a competitor. He had won New Hampshire, a state long thought to be the convention possession of Reed from neighboring Maine, and had a shot to win support in New Jersey—a state that had long served as New York’s little brother.
Elections in a large, diverse country like the United States rarely offer uncomplicated story lines. The Major’s campaign had not been one of unbroken success, but the narrative of this race was becoming one of his audacity, organization, and relentless focus. Now McKinley was about to make a run at a high-profile prize. Everyone was set for Illinois, but few were prepared for the outcome.