Ha! Ha! Ha!
Who are we?
We are the Bland Club of K.C.
We’re hot stuff;
That’s no bluff.
Vote for silver
And we’ll all have stuff.
That was what the Kansas City Bland marching band chanted as it arrived in Chicago and was good-naturedly pelted with paper missiles by supporters of other candidates. People shouted, “Measures, not men,” “No political bum,” and “Sixteen to one” in hotel lobbies and on street corners. Free Silver advocates were not yet in charge, but they were running uninhibited through the city.1
There were discordant notes as slurs of “Down with the hook-nosed Shylocks of Wall Street” and “Down with the Christ-killing goldbugs” were chanted by bigots. The failure of silver leaders to denounce these anti-Semitic cries as they were repeated over the coming months would unsettle Jewish voters.2
Gold advocates appeared to have a majority on the DNC and could control the temporary roll and propose the convention’s officers, giving gold influence over the Resolutions and Credentials. Silverites would then need to overcome the gold men on the floor, where a majority would elect the officers, settle credentials, and appoint a platform, but two-thirds was required to nominate the presidential candidate. No candidate was near a majority, let alone a supermajority. For while the silver movement was powerful, it had not coalesced behind a strong front-runner. The situation was ripe for a dark horse to emerge, but it would take quite a few lucky breaks to arrive at an inspiring and surprising moment for him to do so.
THE FIRST TEST VOTE that mattered came when the DNC met at noon in the Palmer House’s large parlor with Chairman William Harrity of Pennsylvania presiding. He wanted to see if gold still had the majority on the DNC before taking up the issue of the convention’s temporary chairman. A safe place to do this was in settling the few credentials challenges.
One of the most important credentials challenges featured Michigan, a state the gold bugs fairly won but whose delegation the silverites were now trying to claim by swapping out four gold delegates for silver men, thereby giving silver a majority in the delegation and, since the state was under the unit rule, all of Michigan’s 26 votes. If the bimetallic men succeeded, they would have a two-thirds convention supermajority. But the state’s silver committeeman had not filed the challenge’s required paperwork, so the DNC voted unanimously to seat the gold-dominated Michigan delegation provisionally. Silver men promised to file the forms and fight again.3
Next came Nebraska’s credential challenge. Lawyers for the gold slate charged the silver men had bolted the convention, a charge the silver faction called ludicrous. “Fully confident” that they would be recognized on the merits, the silver men were shocked when the DNC voted 27 to 23 to seat the gold delegation instead. The vote shut Bryan out of the convention for now since he had only a guest pass, not a delegate’s floor badge.4
Satisfied now that gold men still had a majority on the DNC, Harrity turned to the selection of the temporary chairman. Gold men offered Hill; silver put forward Daniel. The vote for Hill was 27 to 23. The Gold men hoped the silver men would respect tradition and vote for the DNC-backed temporary chairman on the floor.5
Dickinson rushed to Hill’s room to tell him the result. Hill was indifferent to the news, which was his usual demeanor, but he may have also been aware he could lose. When reporters asked how the drafting of his keynote was coming, Hill replied, “What’s the use of preparing a speech I may not have a chance to deliver?”
However, there was already dissention among the silver men over the temporary chairmanship. The solidly silver West Virginians would vote for Hill out of respect for tradition. Others were considering defecting. How many was unclear. Maybe tradition had enough power to swing it for Hill, who was personally popular in the South. The bimetallic leadership decided to get a firm whip count for the floor fight on the temporary chairmanship.6
At the same time, there was still no consensus on a nominee. Kansas came out for Silver Dick and a New York Times survey said Bland remained the front-runner with 264 delegates, followed by Boies. Gold’s Pattison was third at 98, then everyone else trailed far behind. The Times survey found 313 undecideds. No one was close to the 620 needed. Delegates were “groping,” said the Courier-Journal.7
Prodded by Josephus Daniels, North Carolina delegates offered to endorse Bryan. Bryan suggested they wait until Nebraska’s credentials challenge was resolved. Still, Daniels told reporters from the Washington Post and Baltimore Sun that Bryan would be nominated. A Post reporter reacted by saying, “He is the only man who thinks so.”8
The nomination contest was up in the air in part because the silver forces were focused on preliminary skirmishes—credentials and the platform—and were without leaders capable of creating a consensus around a candidate. Senator James K. Jones, perhaps the most respected bimetallic leader, might have led such an effort, but he was hobbled because Arkansas’s delegates were instructed for Bland. The void meant gold backers might be able to influence events by trading their votes for concessions from the least objectionable silver candidate. That required gold to maintain control of a third of the convention delegates.9
DEMOCRATS MET TUESDAY, JULY 7, at the Coliseum, then one of the world’s most prominent convention halls. The arena could easily accommodate 15,000 people, comfortably seated in chairs so new they “still smelled of the forest,” as a reporter put it. The space was open, featuring a lofty ceiling with no interior columns blocking the view. Large, open arched windows filled the room with light and let in a steady breeze off Lake Michigan just to the east. Above the stage were large portraits of the Democratic presidents from Jefferson to Cleveland beneath a giant eagle with a U.S. shield in its talons. Most important, for an age before sound systems, the acoustics were excellent—nearly every speaker could be heard in every corner, unless hoarse or weak of voice.
The hall was tense as an Episcopal priest offered the invocation. One reporter wrote, “The prayer is about the only part of the preliminary proceedings which is likely to pass unchallenged.” He was right. As soon as Harrity said, “For temporary chairman—Hon. David B. Hill of New York,” Alabama’s silver national committeeman, Henry D. Clayton, moved to substitute Senator John W. Daniel of Virginia as temporary chairman. The silver men cheered and shrieked, throwing hats and canes skyward. An Arkansan stood on his chair, flapping his arms and screaming like a bird. Tillman threw himself into the fury, yelling and waving his hat. It took time for the crowd to settle.10
Each side made its case. A big man in a white waistcoat, New Jersey’s former state chairman Allen L. McDermott, begged the silver majority, “Don’t begin your Convention by violating a tradition,” namely that the DNC selected the temporary chairman, and appealed for unity by reminding delegates of the constancy of Northern Democrats.
There were more speeches—almost a dozen, many interrupted by heckling from the opposing side. Louisiana’s B. W. Martson—a silver man with a “prize-fighter’s face,” big mouth, and pompadour hair—got so unsettled from the constant uproar that he took to crossing the stage to a table with a water pitcher, pouring a glass, and drinking it. When he said, “We will make this glorious country blossom like a rose,” there was such a reaction that he went to leave the platform, but then turned and emptied the pitcher into his ninth glass of water, held it up, and downed it. Someone yelled, “What! A Louisianan drinking water!” provoking laughter and cheers as the sugar planter walked off.11
Marston’s feeble silver arguments didn’t hurt the silver cause. The roll was called on the motion to substitute Daniel for Hill. Though about two dozen silver delegates voted for Hill, gold hopes for tradition were dashed when Harrity announced the results: “The tellers agree in their tally and report the vote as follows, Yeas, 556; nays, 349; not voting, 1.” Hill had abstained, Daniel was temporary chairman. Silver had won the round.12
Galvanized by a Virginian’s rebel yell, the floor erupted in a twenty-minute demonstration. Men stood on chairs, waving flags, banners, canes, and handkerchiefs. The band rolled through a series of patriotic marches with the crowd chanting, stamping, and singing. The gold men’s worst fears were confirmed: silver men were still short of the two-thirds mark needed to nominate a thoroughgoing white metal candidate, but in control and determined to kill any leverage sound-money Democrats had.13
Daniel delivered his keynote, laboriously reading from a text. He urged unity, reminding Eastern delegates that the South and West had “supported the men you named for president” and “submitted cheerfully to your compromise platforms” and “patiently borne repeated disappointments as to their fulfillment.” The only hope for Democrats was to adopt “the views of the majority.” If it was meant to be conciliatory, it was not taken as such.14
There were calls for Hill to speak, including cries from silver men. He ignored them, casually eating a sandwich in his seat in the New York delegation. With a shout, the convention adjourned, kicking off another joyous silver demonstration as the Coliseum emptied.15
The Resolutions Committee went to work to finish the platform for Wednesday’s convention session. Senator Jones was selected chairman and appointed a subcommittee of six silver and three gold men who prepared a draft. Bryan was pleased with their product, claiming, “The money plank was there as I had written it two weeks before.” But everyone knew a floor fight was coming over currency and that the nomination itself was up for grabs. Asked by a reporter who would be nominated, Senator Harris replied, “Ask me how many miles to the moon; I could tell you about as well.” Tillman echoed his colleague, saying, “The Lord in heaven only knows.” Even Altgeld, a Bland man, admitted he didn’t know. “That is one of the secrets the good Lord has not confided to me.”16
ON WEDNESDAY, JULY 8, tensions were already rising, with a Missouri man confronting some New York delegates, saying, “We don’t give a ––– whether New-York likes it or not, or whether the State votes the Democratic ticket or not.”
The podium was draped with a flag, there were fresh roses on the stage, and the day was cool as Senator Daniel, tall, wearing pince-nez glasses and a double-breasted frock coat, called for committee reports. Since none of the committees were ready, delegates called on party leaders to speak, hoping for red meat or entertainment.
The first speaker was the largest delegate in Chicago, three-hundred-pound former Texas governor Jim Hogg, who removed his wad of chewing tobacco so he could, with clear voice, pummel Republicans over protection. Then Senator Blackburn of Kentucky blamed the depression on the gold men who had run the nation’s economy the last two decades. “Christ with a lash drove from the temple,” he told delegates, “a better set of men than those who for twenty years have shaped the financial policy of this country.” One of those men was a fellow Kentuckian, Treasury secretary Carlisle. That attack thrilled the silver faction, but caused gold men to heckle, boo, and hiss. After each speaker, the gold men chanted “Hill! Hill! Hill!”17
By now, Daniel’s voice was completely gone and California senator Stephen M. White was presiding. He was to be named permanent chairman, so no one objected to him taking the gavel now. Bryan had been floated for the permanent chairmanship, but supporters of other candidates shot him down. Then R. H. Henry, owner of the Jackson, Mississippi, Clarion-Ledger, moved “that Hon. W. J. Bryan, of Nebraska, be invited to address the Convention,” but Bryan was still stuck in the Credentials Committee meeting, trying to get his silver Nebraska delegation recognized. These would be two of many lucky breaks that would put Bryan in the spotlight at just the right moment by keeping him out of it now.
Again, gold men cried, “Hill! Hill! Hill!” White caused laughter by asking, “What is the use of calling for a man who is not present?” Instead, the convention voted to hear from Altgeld; but he stood on his chair and demanded Hill speak. The Illinois governor was causing trouble, knowing Hill was caucusing with the gold members of the Resolutions Committee. Someone convinced Altgeld to take the stage and he appeared in a wine-colored coat and black pants, sparking a wild reception, complete with a wall of noise, flying hats, and waving handkerchiefs.18
The short, wiry governor’s hand trembled when he held it up to still the crowd. He began in a soft, slow voice that rose and sped up as he delivered a fiery attack on the money power, drawing from his Peoria state convention speech from two weeks earlier. He blamed the depression—“the streets of our cities filled with idle men, with hungry women and with ragged children”—on a vicious conspiracy. Between 1873 and 1890, “the large security-holding classes” connived “to make money dear and property and labor cheap.” Demonetizing silver reduced the money supply and raised gold’s value, thereby increasing the burdens for debtors and the wealth of bondholders.19
He offered a cure for the depression. The government’s debts and the people’s debts had been incurred when money was both gold and silver. Let them be repaid with money of both metals. Altgeld was explicit: through Free Silver, devalue the currency, reduce the value of all debts, and thereby repudiate a portion of them. He also rejected calls for compromise in the convention. Who were behind these calls? “The large banks in the East” that “control the whole banking system,” as well as the papers, he answered, all guilty of “money terrorism.” He finished to cheers and a boisterous demonstration.20
THE CREDENTIALS COMMITTEE WAS ready to give a partial report. Chairman John H. Atwood of Kansas said he needed more time to settle the Michigan dispute, but asked the convention to replace the Nebraska gold men with Bryan’s silver delegation. The partial report was approved. There were wild cheers as the gold Nebraskans left and the white metal Nebraskans entered the hall bearing a large blue banner with silver letters that read 16 TO 1, while a fat young man carried another blue banner emblazoned W. J. BRYAN CLUB.21
The Resolutions Committee finally finished drafting the platform, a full-throated repudiation of the sitting Democratic president. Besides backing Free Silver at 16 to 1, it endorsed a national income tax, an end to lifetime tenure for judges, a tariff for revenue only, expanded antitrust regulation, stricter railroad regulation, restrictions on immigration, and arbitration of labor disputes. It opposed Cleveland’s injunctions, federal interference in local affairs, and third terms for presidents.22
To help sell the document to the delegates, Jones asked Bryan to “take charge” of the currency debate. Jones felt Bryan was the only prominent silver leader who had not spoken to the convention and believed Bryan was due a speaking role for his work. The Boy Orator of the Platte was now “in the very position for which I had at first longed,” he later recalled, in part because Jones may not have taken Bryan’s candidacy seriously.23
Hill and Bryan discussed arrangements and agreed to an hour and twenty minutes for each side. Tillman and Bryan would speak for silver. Pitchfork told Bryan he wanted to close and required fifty minutes. Hill objected, saying if Tillman wanted to make a long speech, he should open. The New Yorker did not want Tillman to follow him, knowing the South Carolinian would spend his time abusing him. Tillman accepted the opening slot for silver, making Bryan the closing speaker, which the Nebraskan preferred. Then came news that the platform debate would be held over until the next day, giving Bryan more time to prepare.24
Sometime after 3 p.m., Atwood sent word his Credentials Committee was ready to report. The Leavenworth lawyer then asked the convention to give the silver men the two-thirds supermajority they sought. The committee had voted to replace four Michigan gold delegates with silver men, giving silver a majority of the delegation and, because it was bound by unit rule, control of all of Michigan’s 26 votes. Gold men were enraged at the theft.25
Combined with recognizing Bryan’s silver Nebraskans, giving each territory six, rather than two, delegates, and now taking over Michigan would mean a total shift of 50 votes away from gold toward silver, giving the white metal men two-thirds of the convention delegates.26
A fierce debate ensued. Gold men argued there had been no protests or challenges at the Michigan convention itself and the national delegates had been elected by big margins. The state Credentials Committee of seven gold and five silver men had unanimously approved its roll.27
Even some silver men saw this as a raw power grab to steal the gold men’s legitimate Michigan victory. Delaware’s John F. Saulsbury, a Free Silver man, called it “an injustice.” One of the seated Michigan silver delegates warned, “We have got enough votes in this Convention to nominate a free silver candidate by two-thirds majority without committing highway robbery.”28
Their pleas didn’t matter. Though 42 silver delegates backed seating the Michigan gold men, the convention voted 558 to 368 to throw them out and end the hopes of honest-money Democrats for even the smallest measure of influence in the proceedings. Gold Democrats felt betrayed and abused and they had been. For many of them, this justified bolting.29
The evening’s biggest demonstration erupted. Southern rebel yells mixed with Western Indian war whoops as silver delegates waved hats and flags and hurled insults at their gold neighbors on the floor. Three bands swung into action. One played “Dixie,” further energizing the Southern silver men. A Bland banner was raised, turning up the volume of cheers as Free Silver celebrated its two-thirds majority—the 620 delegates needed to nominate a candidate. It had also created a substantial bloc of Eastern Democrats who were thinking now of abandoning the party.30
The clock was approaching ten, so Jones preferred to adjourn rather than present the platform. The debate on the platform was going to take hours and was better done when everyone was fresh. The convention adjourned.31
THE DAY HAD SET the landscape upon which the presidential candidates would now compete. Bland was still the front-runner, with Boies in second. Other candidates—Blackburn, Matthews, McLean, Pattison, Pennoyer, Sibley, Stevenson, Teller, and Tillman—were “lagging far in the rear,” as the Chicago Tribune put it. Bryan wasn’t mentioned.32
Still, Bryan had renewed confidence in his prospects. That night, Rocky Mountain News publisher Thomas M. Patterson lobbied him on behalf of Teller. Bryan responded that “it would be easier to bring disappointed Republicans over to the Democratic party than to carry the victorious Democrats” to a Republican candidate. Patterson then asked Bryan who the nominee would be and was taken aback when Bryan said he “had as good a chance . . . as anyone.” Bryan had Nebraska, half the Indian Territory, on the second ballot and was sure there would be others. Patterson left amused at someone so brash.33
When Bryan and his wife were at dinner with Dr. Charles M. Rosser, their meal was disturbed by Bland and Boies men chanting their candidate’s names on the Dearborn Street sidewalk outside the Saratoga Restaurant. “These people don’t know it, but they will be cheering for me just this way tomorrow night,” Bryan told his wife and his friend. “I will make the greatest speech of my life tomorrow in reply to Senator Hill.”
Skeptical, Mary turned to Rosser and asked, “Don’t you think that Mr. Bryan has a good chance to be nominated?” Before the Texas doctor could answer, Bryan said, “So that you may both 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.’ ”34