I
NO single administration since the days of Jefferson has ever approached the record of the first administration of Woodrow Wilson in constructive achievement, either in the quantity or quality of it. One month after assuming office the congress was called in extraordinary session, and from April 7th, 1913, until October 24th, 1914, it was kept continuously at the grind, engaged all the while with administrative and party measures of the first magnitude. During the four years that Senator Kern had the grave responsibility of piloting these measures through the senate, the congress was in session 1,022 days, which means that out of four years there were only eleven months that it was not engaged with a legislative program of vital importance. During the first two years the responsibility upon the senate leader was especially heavy because of the meager Democratic majority and the ever-present possibility that some few Democrats might refuse to work in harness and thus precipitate confusion, embarrassment and defeat. The program throughout was uncompromisingly progressive, and in accord with party sentiment, but there were not a few Democratic senators of reactionary or ultra-conservative tendencies who were not enthusiastic over the program, and it was necessary to cultivate by conciliation the few Republicans of progressive leanings. When after four months the Underwood tariff law was passed, The Boston Herald, commenting on the victory, called attention to the fact that a president usually had his wishes reasonably met in the house, but disregarded by the senate, said that “Mr. Wilson with a small majority in the senate has been able to hold it in line.” And yet there were animated discussions and numerous disagreements among the majority senators that had to be ironed out in caucuses; one Democratic senator bolted the caucus and denounced it as being “machine-run” on the senate floor; and during the intolerable sultry days of the mid-summer it was with the greatest difficulty that all the Democrats were kept in Washington and within call in the event of a Republican “surprise.” Even at its best the national capital is not a summer resort. The heat is intensified by the humidity, and the town swelters and steams. The senate chamber, with no outside ventilation, the light streaming gloomily through the glass above, becomes deadening and depressing, and even the great revolving fans fail to make it comfortable. As the tariff fight dragged on into July and August and the call of the seashore and the mountains became insistent, it was with difficulty that the Democratic majority could be maintained in Washington. And even when they remained in Washington it was almost impossible to keep a quorum at the capitol. Walter Johnson was pitching at the ball park, the racing season was on in Maryland, the refreshing shadows of Rock Creek park were an attraction, and after responding to the morning roll call the senators drifted from the chamber and away from the hill, and for days at a time the senate, seen from the gallery, seemed deserted. But some one had to know where to reach them should the enemy plan a surprise attack; some one had to remain in the chamber throughout the day on guard—and that “some one” was Kern. The man who for years had so weakened in mid-summer as to make it necessary for him to seek the breezes of Michigan, was forced to shut himself within the stuffy chamber in one of the most enervating summer cities in the country. This eternal watchfulness and anxiety told upon him, but he was sustained by his joy in seeing the things he had so long sought being realized. At times when the regular Democratic attendance had dwindled to a corporal’s guard his impatience manifested itself in caucus, where on one occasion he supplemented his appeal with sarcastic protests, and a “party whip” was selected to assist him. The “whip” sent out an eloquent letter of appeal, apologizing in advance for the unpleasant necessity of insisting upon a regular attendance, and almost immediately disappeared. On his return Kern accosted him effusively in the cloak room:
“I am delighted to find you have recovered,” he said. “Your appearance is good and I hope you are now feeling better.”
The flabbergasted statesman, taken by surprise, stammered:
“But, Senator, I have not been ill.”
“Not ill?” said Kern. “Well, I had not seen you around for several days and supposed, of course, that you were ill.”
Another senator who had been enjoying the shades of the verandas and wooded spaces of a summer resort was wired by Kern to return to Washington as he was needed. His secretary called upon the Indianian the next day to explain that his chief’s return had been delayed by his inability to get a seat in the chair car. Taking from his vest pocket a number of clippings from The Washington Post, Kern dryly observed that the senator had been playing a good game of golf, had attended a number of dances, and given a dinner.
Still another statesman, a popular figure among Democrats because of his impetuous partisan devotion upon the stump, remained in Washington at his home without so much as reporting for the morning roll call, and repeated expostulations failed to persuade him to resume his duties, until he was threatened with a denunciation and caucus action.
When at length the tariff bill was passed, the prevalent sentiment was for adjournment, but the president insisted upon the immediate consideration of the proposed Federal Reserve law. The country applauded, but there were gutteral grumblings in the cloak rooms.
Almost immediately opposition to many features of the administration’s measure asserted itself among Democratic senators; the demand was made for prolonged hearings; Senator Lewis assured The Chicago Inter Ocean that there would be no currency legislation that session; the committee on Banking and Currency found itself deadlocked and a caucus of Democratic senators was called to break it; until finally things were so whipped into shape that a Democratic conference was able to agree after the Thanksgiving holidays that there should be no Christmas recess unless the currency bill had passed by December 24th.
The session merged into the next session without adjournment, and more administration measures calculated, as the president contended, “to destroy private control and set business free” were pressed for immediate consideration. The Trade Commission bill, and then the new trust measures, prolific of infinite contention among Democrats followed. And from time to time the faint shadow of the Mexican situation fell upon the gloomy chamber, and then the great cloud from across the sea, when the German army crossed the Belgium border. But the grind went on.
The temper of the Democrats was not sweetened nor their anxiety diminished by the approach of the fall elections of 1914. The special interest and opposition papers were bitterly assailing the administration measures, business had been temporarily disarranged by uncertainty and in some instances with sinister intent, and the law makers faced the possibility of submitting their political fate to their constituents without an opportunity to mend their fences. An effort was made to postpone action on the trust bills lest the controversy over whether trade unions should be included among the trusts in the meaning of the law should have a disastrous effect. There were some Democratic senators who stoutly insisted that they should, and in addition to his routine work as leader, Kern threw himself passionately into this controversy, indignant that any one should place in the same class the organization of business to arbitrarily fix prices and oppress the public, and the organization of workingmen for the purpose of compelling a living wage and living conditions.
At length, having been in continuous session for 567 days, and written into law the greatest amount of progressive constructive legislation ever written in so short a time in the history of the country, the congress adjourned less than two weeks before the elections. Throughout this period Kern had played a vitally important part, but not a spectacular one. When the senate was not in session he was busily engaged with the Steering committee in efforts to reconcile differences, to conciliate the disgruntled, and owing to the meager majority always in danger of being overthrown, frequent caucuses were called at night, and, when time was pressing, on Sunday mornings. His work was not the sort that strikes the imagination, but it was the kind that counts, and with a less astute, patient, conciliatory and watchful leader the story of the achievements of the Wilson administration during the first two years might never have been written as it was. So completely did he dedicate his time and energy to his work that weeks went by when he never entered his offices in Senate building, and senatorial duties more important than those of routine were performed by his assistants.
When the first congress of the Wilson regime passed into history James Davenport Whepley, writing of the president in The Fortnightly Review (London), said that he had “formed a legislative program which would have staggered a more experienced leader” and predicted that his power over his party in the congress would decline. As a matter of fact there was an undercurrent of rebellion, and it was not always that the comments of statesmen in the cloak room harmonized with their observations on the platform.
In the short session beginning in December, 1914, and ending March 4, 1915, this spirit of rebellion burst into flame but soon smouldered to ashes. The occasion was the president’s Ship Purchase bill, which was bitterly assailed by the special interest press and opposed by the Republicans with more spirit and unanimity than they had displayed before. Democratic opposition of a virulent nature developed. The caucus called by Kern voted to support the bill, but the opposition persisted. The filibuster that resulted has never been equaled since the Force bill days. Men like Senators Root and Lodge remained on duty like soldiers day and night. The forces behind the idea of a subsidy for private interests were never so alert. Senator Penrose, who had been so “ill” in Philadelphia that he could not venture to Washington to appear before the committee on Privileges and Elections which was considering an investigation of charges that a million dollars had been spent to assure his election, reached Washington over night and appeared in the senate chamber a perfect picture of robust health. Kern, who knew that he was in Washington, smoked him out of his retirement through a telegram suggesting that the Philadelphian send a physician’s statement to the effect that he was too ill to appear before the committee on Privileges and Elections. The debate was a mockery—such as those of filibusters always are; with men presumably of presidential caliber consuming hours of the public’s time reading pages from books having no relation to the bill under consideration. Plans were perfected to hold the senate in session day and night until a vote could be had, and Kern had comforts sent to his committee room on the gallery floor with the intention of getting a few winks of sleep from time to time. Then came the revolt. Seven Democratic senators bolted the caucus action and voted with the Republicans to refer the bill back to the committee. It had all been carefully planned, and some of these Democratic senators during the afternoon just before the vote had been observed making numerous trips to the Republican cloak room. It was the only instance during the four years of Kern’s leadership that he was unable to hold his party together behind an administration measure.
When the congress again convened after the summer adjournment of 1915 a better spirit of co-operation had been restored. After the passage of the Rural Credits bill, which is one of the great pieces of constructive legislation to the credit of the party, the greater part of the time was given over to the so-called “preparedness legislation” and the passage of measures recommended by the president to meet the international crisis which was growing more acute because of the short-sighted policy of Berlin. Although not enthusiastic over the preparedness program, and ardently anxious to prevent war, Kern accepted the leadership of his chief and supported him in all his measures. No member of the senate was more intimately identified with the president’s plan to prevent the threatened railroad strike in the late summer of 1916, as we shall see later on.