Chapter 28
Dirty Politics
It took some time before we found out the results of the national election. We knew the following week that Mr. Fremont had lost his home state of California, but it was weeks before we found out that he had lost the rest of the country too. James Buchanan had been elected the 15th President of the United States.
By that time I was sure my story had never run in the Alta. I was disappointed for the Fremonts, and I didn’t know what to think about my story. I was sure it would have helped counteract all the rumors and lies being told about Mr. Fremont during the campaign. And Mr. Kemble had seemed to want the information so badly. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. I wrote to Mr. Kemble to find out, but it was well toward the end of November before I got a reply from him.
Dear Miss Hollister,
I understand your concern over your Fremont article, especially after the hard work and dangers you undertook on the Alta’s behalf. It was a fine bit of legwork you did, and now that I have been able to extract more of the full scope of what happened from your colleague, Mr. O’Flaridy, I realize just what a powerful article it was and how fortunate I am indeed to count you as one of my reporters. I commend you once again for a fine piece of journalism!
Unfortunately, as it turned out, I was unable to run the story in the Alta prior to the election. Apparently your man Gregory got back to the Globe and immediately began trying to cover his tracks with accusations against you and our paper. I received a not-so-friendly visit from the editor of the Globe, and he told me that if we tried to run a pro-Fremont piece there was sure to be trouble, for the paper as well as for you. I told him I didn’t believe a word of it and that I fully intended to stand by my reporter and run the story. The world needed to hear, I said, that what was being said about John Fremont was nothing but a pack of lies. He left in a huff and I made plans to print your story just as you gave it to me.
However, the next day my publisher ordered me to kill the story. “What?” I said. “They didn’t get to you, did they?” He didn’t say anything except to repeat his order. “Listen,” I told him, “the country’s got to know the rumors and charges against Fremont are unfounded. It could turn the election!”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “You just kill that story. John Fremont will have to take care of himself without any help from us. If we run that story they could ruin us—both you and me and the paper, do you understand, Kemble? And they could hurt your young reporter friend too. We have no choice. They’ve made that clear, and I don’t intend to see how far they’re prepared to back it up.”
“Goldwin . . . and others,” he answered. Then he left the room.
So I’m sorry, Miss Hollister, but he left me no choice. My publisher’s a strong man, and a major influence in this city. I don’t know how they got to him, but whatever they were holding over his head, it must have been powerful. I’ve never seen him so beaten down and defeated. But it was for your good as well as the paper’s that we didn’t run it, as much as it galled me to see the Globe get away with printing Derrick Gregory’s phony interviews. I truly believe your story could have influenced the election, if it had run in time to be picked up by the Ohio and Pennsylvania papers. But sadly, we will never know.
Perhaps John Fremont will be able to make another run at the White House in 1860, and we can try to help his cause again. In the meantime, I hope you will be working on some articles for me. You have shown a flair for politics as well as human interest. I would be happy to see you pursue more along that line in the future.
O’Flaridy sends his regards. I remain
Yours Sincerely,
Edward Kemble, Editor
San Francisco Alta
I almost expected my reaction to be one of anger. Most of Mr. Kemble’s letters aroused all kinds of hidden emotions in me and put me through all kinds of ups and downs and doubts and questions. But this time I just put down the letter with a deep sense of sadness and regret. It almost confirmed everything Derrick Gregory had told me about politics being a dirty business where everything depended on money and what people wanted out of you rather than truth. Was that really what political reporting boiled down to? If so, then I for one didn’t want to have any more to do with it. However flattering Mr. Kemble’s words might have been, I would stick to human interest from now on. And as for Robin O’Flaridy’s regards—those I could do without!
During the next several days I alternated between being upset, then depressed and disillusioned all over again. I had spent so much time and had invested such effort in that story, not to mention risking my life! And for what? The bad guys had won anyway. The powerful senator had used his influence to get his way and to keep the truth from being printed. A slave supporter would be in the White House for another four years. And all I thought I had accomplished seemed wasted. It really made me stop and question why I wanted to be a newspaper writer in the first place.
But then I got to thinking about the other election I had been part of. Who could deny that good had come through in the Miracle Springs mayor’s race? It wasn’t that I had much to do with the outcome—I probably hadn’t at all. But the truth did come out in the end. The most truthful person, Pa, had won the election. And so in this case at least, politics wasn’t a dirty business at all. The good guy had defeated the underhanded banker!
I never did come to much of a conclusion about myself and whether I would do any more writing about politics. But I finally realized that politics itself wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If you’re going to run a country or a state or a town you’ve got to have elections and officials and Presidents. And I was glad that Pa was mayor now rather than Franklin Royce. Maybe what was needed was for good men like him to be in politics, not men like Mr. Royce and Senator Goldwin. I just hoped Mr. Buchanan would be a good man too, and a good President, and that some day someone would get elected who would free the slaves like Mr. Fremont had wanted to do.
I wrote to Ankelita Carter about returning Rayo Rojo to Mariposa. I had wanted to do so before the election but there hadn’t been time. I told her about the article being scuttled and how sorry I was for the way the election had turned out. When I heard back from her, shortly before Christmas, she was furious. She said she was sure the election would have turned out different, especially in California, if people had known what she told me. She’d written to the Fremonts before the election and told them about what I was trying to do. She hadn’t heard back from them since news of the loss, but she knew what Jessie and Mr. Fremont must be going through, and she said she intended to write them that very day with news of what had happened with the Alta story. There was nothing Mr. Fremont could do about it now, but he ought to know what Senator Goldwin had been able to do, even in far off California. She wanted to see me again, whenever it might be possible, and if I wanted to do another article on the Fremonts, she would be more than happy to oblige. There was no hurry about getting Rayo Rojo back, but when I was able to come, I should plan to spend at least two or three days with her.
She wrote as if I were her friend, and it set the wheels of my mind in motion again. Why couldn’t I do an article on Mr. Fremont about the lies that had been told? It might not win him the election now, but at least it would vindicate his reputation and might help him in the future.
Time would tell. In the meantime, I wanted to think of some less controversial subjects to write about.