It was a sad group that gathered in the Kern library the night of the election. The returns were not the cause nor did they create much interest for the immediate family, which was alone; they were more intent on the news that the doctors and nurse were bringing from the room above where John, Jr., was fighting what then seemed to be a hopeless battle. He was not expected to live through the night. The fact that the little warrior’s mind was keen and alert that night only added a poignancy to the pathos. He won his battle; and on the morning after when Mrs. Kern entered the room the little fellow looked up anxiously:
“Mother, was father elected?”
Mrs. Kern hesitated a moment and then told the truth:
“No, John, your father was defeated.”
The boy closed his eyes tight and with the bitterness of childhood exclaimed:
“Uh! What fools the people of the United States are to turn down such a man as father.”
Later on, when the boy was on the road to ultimate recovery, this remark, rather pathetic at the time, took on a humorous side; and when two years later Vice-President Sherman was in Indianapolis and called at the Kern home the story was told for his amusement. To the surprise of every one the amusing feature of the story did not appeal to him. His eyes filled up, and tenderly placing his hand on the head of the boy, still crippled, he said gravely:
“My boy, the more I have seen of your father and the better I know him the more I am inclined to think you were right.”
This incident, so expressive of the sweetness and tenderness of Mr. Sherman, added to many other manifestations of his chivalry, endeared him to Mr. Kern. While no two men could possibly have differed more widely on almost every phase of public policy, a personal affection sprang up between them which lasted through the life of both. During the campaign the chivalry of Mr. Sherman was not confined to urging his supporters to give his opponent a royal welcome to Utica, nor to the personal telegram of greeting that was handed Mr. Kern that night on the platform. When the announcement went out from that city that the Democratic nominee had been summoned home by the serious illness of his boy, he had scarcely turned homeward when another telegram reached him from Mr. Sherman expressing his sympathy in tenderest phrasing. And when during the last week of the campaign a vicious personal attack was made on Kern by a New York paper, even before he had heard of it, his Republican opponent wired him of his personal disgust. When two years later Mr. Kern entered the Senate and had been sworn in, before he could reach his seat a page overtook him with a request from the vice-president for him to take the chair. And these instances of the beautiful chivalry of “Jim” Sherman might be multiplied. When the vice-president died Mr. Kern was one of the senators chosen to pay tribute to his memory at the impressive services in the Senate chamber attended by the president and his cabinet, the justices of the supreme court, the members of the House, and the diplomatic corps. The address he made on this occasion is the only one he delivered during his senatorial career in which he took special pride. He put his heart into it, for, like so many others who differed with him radically in politics, he had learned to love the man who defeated him for the vice-presidency in 1908.