Joseph Smith was no John Donkey. He was the founder and leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons. Nevertheless when he ran for president in 1844, he contributed to John Donkey’s 1848 campaign, which satirically amplified the nation’s discontent with political b.s.
In announcing his candidacy Smith declared, “I would not have suffered my name to have been used by my friends on anywise as President of the United States, or candidate for that office . . . but for the general good of mankind.”1 Compare that statement to the b.s. (or d.s.?) in John Donkey’s declaration, “With a strong disinclination to the use of my name in connection with that office (which my past life has so strikingly illustrated) . . . my friends, seeing the direction in which my inclinations pointed, have represented to me . . . that I was the only hope of the country.”2
At the time Smith ran for president, the Mormons were widely viewed as a cult. Today the leadership of this far more widely respected religion is centered in Salt Lake City, Utah, the place to which Mormons fled to escape mob violence in Nauvoo, Illinois, a town founded in 1839 by Joseph Smith, whom Mormons view as one of God’s prophets. Many Americans, however, viewed that view of Smith as laughable. The Baton Rouge Gazette, for example, quipped in regard to the two leading presidential contenders in the 1844 election, “[Henry] Clay and [Martin] Van Buren may now hide their diminished heads, for a prophet is now come up for judgement before the people.”3 But Smith was not running as a prophet. Indeed had there been bumper stickers back then, his could have read, “Pick Your Own Prophet—Smith for President,” since he was campaigning for religious freedom.
Whether or not he was truly a prophet, Smith was truly intelligent—profoundly so. In the run-up to the 1844 election, he spotted an opportunity for a campaign that could begin on the edge of the stage but had the possibility of moving to the spotlight. Henry Clay faced little opposition in the Whig Party, but among the Democrats, President John Tyler faced reelection challenges from former president Martin Van Buren, Secretary of War Lewis Cass, Senator John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, and Senator James Buchanan of Pennsylvania. An impressive array. Unable to agree, the Democrats opted instead for a peripheral member of their party, a former congressman who went on to serve one term as governor of Tennessee before losing reelection, James K. Polk. The idea was that he’d never get elected, so the major players could take another shot four years later. And if by some fluke he did win, Polk had to promise not to run again. Which he did—win, and not run again.
During this scrum among Democrats as they headed (and elbowed and kneed) their way toward their nominating convention, Smith perceived, as few others did—including those who nominated Polk—the degree to which the presidency could be up for grabs. In January of that year he shared this perception with his inner circle and sought their view on throwing his hat in the ring. He made clear to them what the task ahead would entail if they approved and joined this effort to turn a fringe candidacy into one by a genuinely contending third party: “If you attempt to accomplish this, you must send every man in the city who is able to speak in public through the land to electioneer and . . . have General Conferences all over the nation, and I will attend as many as convenient. Tell the people we have had Whig and Democratic Presidents long enough; we want a President of the United States. If I ever get into the presidential chair, I will protect [all] the people in their rights and liberties.”4 The members of his inner circle agreed to give it a go.
At the outset the press reflected the nation’s widespread derision of Mormons. “On mature deliberation,” one newspaper wisecracked by its winking reference to maturity, “the Mormons do not intend to cast their votes either for Van Buren or Clay, but for General Joe Smith.”5 One of the few newspapers to devote more than a smirk in reporting the announcement of his candidacy was the Washington (DC) Globe, though its coverage began by condescendingly stating, “We have cast our eye hastily over General Smith’s (Mormon Joe) ‘Views of the Powers and Policy of the Government of the United States.’”6 In addition to religious freedom, Smith’s platform addressed all the major issues of the day. In response to his proposals the editorialist clowned around, using derision to hide the fact that he actually agreed with Smith. For example, Smith stated his views on the hot-button topic of monetary policy in regard to a national bank, the equivalent of which would become the Federal Reserve. Sarcastically calling him the “great financier,” the author wrote, “We think Joe’s plan has decided advantages over those of Messrs. Clay and Webster.” Quite a compliment, even as that newspaper, or any other, would never have referred to Messrs. Clay or Webster as Hank or Dan. Smith also supported the annexation of Texas and the nation’s expansion to the Pacific coast, but added the stipulation “when we have the red man’s consent.”7 And he stepped up to the plate on slavery, calling for its abolition but compensating slave owners to minimize their economic loss. This last plank the Globe opted not to mention. Being published in a city where slavery was allowed, its editors may have feared the issue too hot handle. Even the article’s conclusion, which expressed admiration for Smith, snidely italicized a word to hide (perhaps even from themselves) how seriously it meant: “We will do General Smith the justice to state that we think . . . his views more honest and his scheme more feasible than those of the hypocrites and quacks who, supported by a great party, have fleeced the country.”
Which brings us to why the repeated bestowal of this highest military rank on Smith ranked as ridicule. Anti-Mormon sentiments, marked by violence, commenced prior to their settlement at Nauvoo, a wilderness to which they had fled to escape mob violence at their original settlement in Missouri. With that state’s governor turning a deaf ear to their pleas for the militia to intercede, the Mormons formed a military-style defense unit under Smith’s leadership. Hence the use of “General.”
Ultimately those opposing the Mormons forced them to flee for their lives. In Illinois, however, events unfolded much as they had in Missouri. Once the Mormons again began to prosper, rumors and accusations spread regarding theft, murder, and, new to the list, polygamy. Still debated is the degree to which there was justification for the accusations and counteraccusations. But no matter what the degree of fact, it is a fact that there were fears. Three days before Smith and his inner circle decided to put him forth as a candidate, the New York Herald told readers, “The Mormons are indeed making progress in every point of view. . . . Money is increasing amongst them—increasing industry—population rapidly increasing. They have already, we believe, a military force of nearly two thousand strong, armed and equipped.”8 Amid such fears the snickers at Smith’s bid for the White House served to avoid the serious questions his campaign raised.
As he had in Missouri, Smith appealed to the governor for protection. And as in Missouri, Illinois’s governor sat on his hands. Though morally wrong, politically it made reprehensible sense. “The Mormons are numerous enough in the State of Illinois to control the character of its vote,” the New York Herald article noted. “If they control the vote of that state, they will succeed in great measure in controlling the vote of the whole western country.” The article then stated more presciently than it realized, “It therefore will be seen that this insignificant body of men may, in the event of the next Presidency, control the destinies of all the candidates.”
Which may be exactly what Smith sought to do by throwing his hat in the ring. Though he never said so in the diary he assiduously kept, he may have run for president to work his way into the spotlight with the major candidates and, empowered by the growing number of Mormons, force one or both of those candidates to guarantee military protection. Or, by using that platform to appeal to the nation at large, he may have perceived a possibility of securing a plurality of the votes and himself become the next president.
While Smith’s candidacy resulted from his efforts to protect the Mormons in Illinois, it also added fuel to the fire of those opposed to their presence. One newspaper reported during the time of his campaign, “They [people in Illinois] talk openly of the extermination of the Mormons as the only means of securing their own safety.”9 As incidents of violence began to flare, with both sides blaming the other, the nation increasingly paid attention to events in Nauvoo and to the Smith presidential campaign. “When it is considered that four years since this place [Nauvoo] was a desert . . . numbering twenty souls in all,” the New York Tribune observed, “and that now the population undoubtedly exceeds fifteen thousand . . . surely it will strike the mind of the most ordinary observer that these people, whatever else may be thought of them, cannot . . . [be] deemed beneath notice.”10 The article then went on to say, “You have seen it announced that Joseph Smith is a candidate for the Presidency of the United States. Many think this is a hoax—not so with Joe and the Mormons.” Smith’s campaign, it reported, was dispatching organizers to every state, not only soliciting votes but also seeking delegates for a national convention to take place in Baltimore, where both the Whig and Democratic conventions were slated to take place later that year. By choosing that city as well, Smith was now clearly seeking to address the nation from center stage.
Which, in Illinois, added to the panic of those opposed to Mormons. On June 27 the Cleveland Herald wrote, “We fear ere this that blood has been shed in the city of the Prophet. . . . The 19th had been set by the exasperated enemies of the Mormons to rendezvous preparatory to the opening the campaign.”11 The campaign to which the article referred was not Smith’s presidential campaign but rather a euphemism for massacre. Smith knew from the outset that his campaign could increase the risk of mob violence and up the odds that the death threats to which he’d become accustomed might be enacted. Back when he first spoke about running for president he’d confided, “If I lose my life in a good cause, I am willing to be sacrificed on the altar of virtue, righteousness, and truth in maintaining the laws and Constitution of the United States.”12 Prophetically, on the very day the Cleveland Herald feared blood had been shed, Smith was shot and killed by a mob.
In the years to come, numerous fringe candidates for president would run on campaigns entirely based on the foundations of a particular religion. The next candidate to be discussed, Leonard “Live Forever” Jones, was such a candidate, one whose path crossed that of the Mormons. But while Smith was the founder of a particular religion, the fact that he campaigned on a foundation of religious freedom reveals the extent to which religious tolerance was limited in the United States at that time.
But it also reveals more. The Mormons were derided out of fear of their potential political power. Likewise in this nation’s past, Catholics and Jews faced derision arising from similar fears. Currently Muslims are derided by many Americans as a result of such fear. The fringe candidacy of Smith not only amplified an un-American discord in the American Way, as it were; it also enables us to hear that discord continuing to resonate today.