VIII
Among the press correspondents with whom Senator Kern was associated for many years none were more intimately identified with him than Louis Ludlow, the Washington correspondent, for many years the representative at the national capitol of The Indianapolis Sentinel and The Indianapolis Star. I am indebted to Mr. Ludlow for the following reminiscences:
“The writer of this article campaigned with John W. Kern for five weeks in 1910 when he was contesting with Mr. Beveridge for the senatorial toga. We shared together the exhilarating novelties and disappointing hardships, the bitter and the sweet, of that five weeks’ strenuous tour. We rode together in the same rickety day-coaches and stuffy interurban cars, bunked at the same hotel and rooming houses, participated in the same miseries and inconvenience of travel inflicted upon us by a campaign schedule that knew neither rhyme or reason, and whatever social recognitions came his way he very considerately insisted that I should share. He treated me in every respect as a comrade, although the paper I was writing for at the time was politically hostile to him and was giving him an editorial wallop every day.
“This was the longest period of intensive campaigning I ever had with Mr. Kern, and it gave me a clearer insight into his human trait and interesting mental processes, as well as his breadth of vision and nobility of character, than I ever had before; but compared with my long association with him, he as a leader of his party in state and nation and I as a newspaper writer, this five weeks’ tour was but a brief span. I had long before and on many occasions campaigned with Mr. Kern up and down Indiana, criss-cross and in every other way, and his office in the Stevenson, afterward the State Life building, was one of the stations on my daily beat at Indianapolis. I would no more have thought of letting a day pass without calling on Mr. Kern at least once than I would of going without my breakfast. In fact, as a zealous news gatherer I thought infinitely more of having my daily (often twice-daily) talk with Mr. Kern than of any mere culinary diversion.
“Our acquaintance had extended over a rounded period of an even quarter of a century when this good man was called to his reward. When, as a green country boy from the backwoods with hayseed—lots of it—in my hair, I went to Indianapolis in 1892 to get a job on a newspaper, Mr. Kern took a friendly interest in me. Perhaps he thought I needed some attention; at any rate from that time to the hour of his death he was a true and loyal friend. He was even then a leader at the bar, and with the passing of Thomas A. Hendricks he easily held first rank as the most popular Democrat in Indiana. His office on North Pennsylvania street, Indianapolis, was a mecca for Democrats from every nook and corner of the state. I remember him as a tall, slender distinguished-looking man with jet black whiskers, worn much longer than the style of beard he affected in later years.
“About that time the Indianapolis National Bank blew up, precipitating a train of sensations that shook the foundations of the state. Mr. Kern, who was in all the big cases in those days, was appointed attorney for the receiver of the bank. I was assigned by The Indianapolis Sun to cover the developments, and, speaking in the vernacular, it certainly was ‘some’ job for a cub reporter. I think I must have driven Federal Judges Baker and Woods nearly crazy trying to extract some news from the court, for I even called on them at their homes at unseemly hours, and if I had been a sophisticated reporter and they had not possessed a benevolent disposition they probably would have haled me up for contempt of court for some of the irregularities I committed. Mr. Kern was my particular prey. On one occasion, after I had had the boots scooped off me by a virile opposition, I went to Mr. Kern, determined that henceforth not the slightest atom of news about that bank failure should escape me.
“‘There isn’t any news to-day; not a bit in the world,’ he told me.
“‘Well,’ I said, making my last stand, ‘have you heard any rumors?’
“Mr. Kern often told me in after years that, considering all the circumstances, my positiveness and the comical way I spoke, that was the funniest question ever put to him. He never got over it. The last time I called on him for news at his office in the
federal capitol he looked up from behind a stack of letters and said, quizzically:
“‘Any rumors to-day?’
“While Mr. Kern, while not in the public service, enjoyed a large law practice, he had a greater non-paying clientele than any other lawyer I ever knew. He was always giving freely of his time and talent, without money and without price. Sometimes he made charges that were ridiculously nominal, but in cases of poverty and distress he was more likely to make no charges at all, even in cases that involved a great deal of work. If all those whom he helped to get out of difficulties and keep out of trouble, without one cent of recompense, could be compiled it would be a long one. His law practice, to a very extraordinary extent, was made of unrewarded kindnesses to others.
“One day on entering his office I saw lying on a table a shining new quarter. I also saw at a glance that Mr. Kern was very much amused about something. Then he told the story.
“One of his numerous impecunious but devoted admirers had been in difficulties and had come to him for advice on a law point. It was not an easy nut to crack and Mr. Kern spent the greater part of two days looking up the authorities and had given him a decision that fit the case and ended the trouble. The client was fully grateful and asked the amount of his bill.
“Not a cent,” was the reply.
“The client was one of those self-important individuals. He insisted.
“‘There is no charge; it’s all right. Good luck to you,’ protested Mr. Kern.
“‘Now I’ll tell you, John,’ said the benevolent client with the air of one who was conferring a great favor, ‘I never get anything without paying for it. Here’s a quarter and if you’ll stand by me I’ll bring you some more business some time.’
“So saying, he laid the twenty-five-cent piece on the table and Mr. Kern was so flabbergasted he let him go without saying another word.
“Mr. Kern’s honor shines through all his professional transactions with an illuminating glow. I know an instance where a well-to-do man employed Mr. Kern as attorney in an alienation suit. The man was not altogether to blame; there were extenuating circumstances, but enough guilt to make the outcome exceedingly precarious if the aggrieved party carried out his threat to file suit, to say nothing of the notoriety. Mr. Kern was not one of those lawyers who believed in fostering litigation. In this case, as many others, he advised settlement out of court. His client virtually turned over his fortune to Mr. Kern with authority to affect a settlement on the best terms possible.
“After exercising his wonderful powers of diplomacy and persuasion he (this was in his early days at the bar) returned to his client.
“‘What would you say if I told you that I had settled your case for $10,000?’ he asked.
“‘I would say it is pretty high, but you have performed a real service for me and I’m glad to get out of it.’
“‘What would you say then if I told you I had settled for $8,000?’
“‘That would be better; I would indorse that settlement right from the start.’
“‘Then,’ persisted Mr. Kern, ‘what would you say if I told you I had settled for $5,000.’
“‘I’d be tickled to death.’
“‘Well,’ said Mr. Kern, ‘at the risk of a sudden termination of your earthly career I will tell you that this whole matter has been adjusted and that you are to pay only $1,000.’
“And then, to top it all off, Mr. Kern charged him a nominal fee, finding his reward mainly in the satisfaction of having got somebody out of trouble.
“Mr. Kern’s sense of humor was exquisite. Whether in the court room or on the hustings the ‘human side’ of things appealed to him with mighty force and often, especially in his younger days, when he was practicing in the courts of Kokomo his quick wit won his cases. On a certain occasion a Kokomo roisterer got into trouble and engaged Mr. Kern to defend him in a justice of the peace court. A hog knows infinitely more about Sunday than that justice knew about law. Mr. Kern saw that the only salvation for his client was to force through an immediate trial. It was after dark when his client was haled into court. The squire adjusted his spectacles in a knowing way and said:
“‘This case will be continued until to-morrow and the defendant will be remanded to the county jail.’
“‘May it please the court,’ said the young attorney, ‘nothing of the kind will be done. We are entitled to justice speedily and without delay and this trial goes on.’
“‘Will the attorney at the bar consent to tell this here court what is his authority for that statement?’
“‘Certainly; it is contained right here in the bill of rights.’
“Then Mr. Kern read that part which says that justice shall be speedy and without delay.
“‘Would this court presume that it has the power to set aside that fundamental guarantee?’ he asked dramatically.
“The court remarked that he guessed his young friend ‘knowed what he was talkin’ about’ and ordered the trial to go on. A jury was impaneled, the trial lasted all night, and at daybreak Mr. Kern’s client was cleared. This was one of many stories that Mr. Kern used to tell about justice as she was dispensed at Kokomo in his early manhood.
“Mr. Kern had a way of making use of ridicule as a very effective weapon in a law suit. He could lampoon an adversary out of court and do it in a way that left no sting. A Republican state administration a decade or so ago started a crusade against Thomas Taggart’s establishment at French Lick. A constable from the vicinity swooped down and made a raid. This was followed by proceedings brought in Judge Tom Van Buskirk’s court at Paoli, looking, as I recall it, toward a revocation of the charter. I was sent down to report the trial for an Indianapolis paper. Mr. Kern was attorney for Mr. Taggart and one of his first acts was to give me an interview, which he wrote in long hand, setting forth an imaginary description of the raid that had been conducted by the ‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’ It so happened that the valorous constable did have one eye as Mr. Kern, who knew everybody, was aware. The interview made bully copy and it caused that case to be laughed out of court. Thereafter the issues involved were obscured by the one outstanding feature—the ‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’
“As a campaigner Mr. Kern never indulged in camouflage. He disdained, for instance, to resort to the usual artifices to work up a crowd. If people came to hear him he was glad, but he would not permit any spectacular side shows to drum up audiences. In some places during the memorable campaign of 1910 the crowds that turned out were distressingly small, but those who attended came because they were earnestly seeking to be enlightened and not solely to be entertained. Therefore it could always be said that his speeches rated very high from the standpoint of effectiveness. While he interspersed many stories and jokes throughout his speeches he never did so without pointing a moral and he often rose to the sublime heights of eloquence. He was so sociable, so easily approached, so companionable that he made friends everywhere and riveted them to him with hooks of steel.
“The campaigning was strenuous and Mr. Kern was no longer young in years, but his buoyancy and ability to accommodate himself to situations as they arose enabled him to see the silver lining to every cloud. We had to arise in all hours of the night to make train schedules. One night, in making the jump from Brownstown to Washington, Indiana, the train was due to arrive at Ewing, which is connected with Brownstown by two streaks of rust, shortly after midnight. It was several hours late, however, and in a frolicsome mood Mr. Kern insisted that we arouse a village restaurateur and have him cook us a breakfast of his favorite kind, consisting of bacon and eggs. This the restaurateur did gladly and sent us on our way rejoicing.
“An interesting contretemps occurred down in a town in the First district. The reception committee slipped a cog and we arrived without attracting attention and made our way to the best hotel in the town, which was none too good. No sooner had we deposited our luggage on the floor than in came the reception committee in a state of breathless agitation. Mr. Kern was beckoned to one side and the startling information was imparted to him that it would never do for him to stop at that hotel and that quarters had been reserved for him at a rooming house down the street. It seemed that there were two hotels in the place, both run by Democrats. Representative Boehne had been there a short time before and had stopped at the crackerjack hotel, and now it was imperatively necessary, in order to preserve the political equilibrium, that Mr. Kern should stop at the place down the street. Being myself under no such restrictions of political expediency I turned in at the best hotel and had a good night’s rest. Before I did so I went down the street to see how Mr. Kern was faring. His room was over a billiard hall and the cracking of the ivories resounded for half a block. If I were made to guess I would say that he did not sleep a wink that night, but he accepted the situation with sweet resignation, just as he did every other situation in life.
“On the interurban car returning to Evansville something happened. The car came to a standstill with a suddenness that caused everybody to pitch forward and then the lights went out. Without was Stygian darkness. It was a darkness that was absolutely black. After what seemed an interminably long time the motorman returned to the car, the conductor and motorman indulged in the usual bell talk preliminary to getting away and the car proceeded.
“‘What did we hit back there?’ Mr. Kern asked the motorman.
“‘We hit a cow,’ replied the motorman, none too pleasantly.
“Quick as a flash Mr. Kern said: ‘Permit me to congratulate you on being able to tell the gender of the animal on a night like this.’
“The senatorial campaign ended with both of the candidates speaking in their home city, Indianapolis. The Republicans arranged as a grand finale a monster meeting at Tomlinson Hall, preceded by a street parade in which it seemed that half of Marion county participated. On the Democratic side the plan was for a number of ward meetings, to be addressed by the Democratic senatorial candidate. The brilliant genius who made the arrangements staged the last of these meetings, the very closing of the campaign, to take place in a south-side saloon. It was to be a sort of hand-shaking affair. Mr. Kern was ushered into the room before he recognized the character of the place. He left immediately and that was the only time during the campaign when he showed any manifestations of anger. He expressed in plain terms his opinion of the dunderhead who had made the arrangements.
“As a senator of the United States Mr. Kern at once took high rank in Washington and advanced in position and influence with a swiftness that was amazing. His election to the leadership of the controlling party after he had been a senator only a fraction of his first term was wholly without precedent. Hard, intelligent work, combined with personal popularity, won for him a prestige never before accorded to a first termer. He saw through the thin veneer of Washington society and formed an intense dislike for its sham. Aside from White House functions and those of a few senatorial friends, about the only dinners and receptions he attended were those occasionally given by Indianians, and then he sometimes got his dates curiously mixed. An instance that Vice-President Marshall relates occurred one night when Mr. Kern was discovered by the vice-president groping his way through one of the halls of the Willard Hotel. The vice-president hailed him.
“‘Where do you think you are going, John?’ he asked.
“‘I am going to your apartment to take dinner with you,’ was the reply.
“‘That can’t be because I am going out to dinner now.’
“‘But you invited me,’ said the senator.
“‘Look at your invitation,’ came back the vice-president, who could hardly restrain his mirth.
“Senator Kern did so and a light broke. The invitation was for the next night. They had a good laugh together. On the next night the senator forgot all about the invitation and did not attend. All of which illustrates the fact that when it came to society matters he was not a J. Hamilton Lewis.
“It would be impossible to speak of Senator Kern’s successful regime as a leader of the greatest law-making body in the world without paying a high tribute to the personal equation.
“His magnetic and lovable personality held sway in the senate and made him the greatest conciliator among all the leaders that held that position of high responsibility. In ironing out differences and bringing contending elements together he was the master.
“It would be impossible to speak of Senator southern senator once remarked, ‘except to say that you can’t talk with him two minutes without falling in love with him. He captivates you, suh.’
“Perhaps this explains why Senator Kern, a northern man, never lacked southern support in the senate, although the party leaders almost invariably have been southern men. Nor was there any semblance of the mailed fist in his leadership. He made it a point to cultivate friendly relations with all the senators. They regarded him as a companion and a comrade. He had a joke for every occasion and sometimes a playful senator would perpetrate a joke on the leader.
“I shall never forget an occasion, for instance, when Senator Kern received a letter from Senator Saulsbury of Delaware, now the president pro tem. of the senate. Senator Kern had been lecturing Democratic senators on the necessity of maintaining a quorum and the evils of absenteeism. Senator Saulsbury had planned a cherished trip to Europe and one fine day, unknown to Senator Kern, he set sail from New York. When the outgoing vessel passed Sandy Hook he sat down and wrote a letter to Senator Kern that bristled with belligerency. He told him he had grown tired of his ‘tyrannical rule’ of the ‘autocratic’ senate leader and had decided to ‘set himself free.’ He bade defiance to the senate ‘boss’ and dared him to cross the pond and get him. Of course the anger assumed in the letter was all camouflage, as better friends than Senators Kern and Saulsbury never lived. Some months later when Senator Saulsbury returned they had a merry laugh over it. One could as easily imagine the Washington monument bending over to salute the morning sun as to think of a kittenish senator issuing such a challenge for example to Senator Martin, the predecessor and successor of Senator Kern in the senate leadership.
“In my capacity as one of the correspondents at the capitol I naturally was brought into close contact with the leader. Senator Kern was fond of taking long walks and frequently I was with him on these strolls. His high position did not make the slightest modification in his democratic ways. Correspondents could go to him at any hour of the day or night with perfect assurance that they would receive courteous treatment and straightforward answers. We met on unusual occasions as, for instance, when we stood up as witness at the wedding of two dear friends, now Mr. and Mrs. W. S. Ryan.
“This same Mr. Ryan was the ‘Bill’ Ryan who was featured in some of Mr. Kern’s speeches back in the 1910 campaign. He would challenge the correctness of statistics presented on the stump by the Republican speakers to prove that their administration of affairs had been a success. He would point out that figures are misleading unless one knows how to analyze them.
“‘They remind me of Bill Ryan’s watch,’ he would say. ‘When the hour hand points to eight and the minute hand to three Bill knows it is half past four.’
“The brightest senate page I ever knew bore the euphonious nickname of ‘Christopher Columbus.’ His real name was Weirisk, but in a moment of facetiousness I bestowed the name of ‘Christopher Columbus’ upon him for no other reason than that he was born and reared at Columbus, Ohio. Though the name finally came to be abbreviated down to ‘Chris’ it was as ‘Chris’ that he was known to scores of correspondents, to whose service he was assigned. He was as keen as a whip and bright as a new dollar, and, withal, had a sense of the dignity of his position and a constant care not to offend any one.
“One afternoon I sent ‘Chris’ into the senate chamber to ask Senator Kern if I could see him. When the lad returned he was plainly agitated. He hemmed and hawed and made no response that I could understand.
“‘Mr. Ludlow,’ he finally said, ‘I don’t like to tell you what Senator Kern told me.’
“That was interesting.
“‘Why?’ I asked.
“‘Because it is not a bit favorable to you.’
“‘Oh, pshaw, Chris,’ I insisted, ‘I haven’t got all afternoon to waste. What did he say?’
“‘Senator Kern told me to tell you to go to the hot place,’ answered ‘Chris,’ who looked as if he would gladly have sacrificed his right arm rather than have delivered that message. Just then the senator came out of the chamber shaking with laughter.
“A little later another page nearly fell over when Senator Kern, on being told that I would like to see him, asked whether I was ‘drunk or sober.’ Subsequently he made that inquiry so often that the pages, who were my friends, learned to respond instantly, ‘Sober, sir.’
“Senator Kern’s kind heart made him the prey of impecunious and designing individuals who were always trying to ‘touch’ him and seldom unsuccessfully.
“One day the senator was called into the marble room by a smooth citizen who said he lived at Elwood, Indiana, and told of meeting the senator there when he was one of the appreciative and applauding auditors. After recalling these pleasant and circumstantial facts he wound up by asking the senator for the loan of the small sum of a dollar, which the senator readily granted, thankful that the request was not for ten dollars, the usual amount.
“The senator then returned to the chamber and was sitting by the side of his colleague, Senator Shively, when the same man sent in a card to the latter. Senator Shively went into the marble room and when he resumed his seat five minutes later Senator Kern asked:
“‘Who was your friend?’
“‘He was from Elwood and he just wanted to talk to me about old times. He recalled one occasion when I spoke at Elwood and he was kind enough to say it was a corking good speech.’
“‘Honest Injun, Ben,’ how much did he touch you for?’
Senator Shively jumped as if startled.
“‘Fifty cents,’ he answered.
“‘Well, that shows he thinks I am the better senator. He stung me for a dollar,’ said Kern.
“‘No, I think he sized you up as the easier mark,’ came back Shively, and they then adjourned to the cloak room and told the story to a group of senators, who enjoyed it hugely.
“Reminiscences with Senator Kern as the central and radiating figure might be told by the hour, but even reminiscences must come to an end. It so happened that I was the last man in Washington to bid him a final good-bye. He had come from his room at the Congress Hall Hotel and summoned a taxi to take him to the depot. Passing me at the entrance of the hotel he extended his hand and said, brave:
“‘Good-bye; I am going down to the sanatorium at Asheville to take a post-graduate course.’
“I was inexpressibly shocked a few days later to learn that his spirit had winged its flight to the blessed Summerland.”