The life of John Worth Kern

by Claude G. Bowers

I

THE seventeen months following the election of 1908 were to bring to Mr. Kern the most bitter disappointment and the most gratifying triumph of his career. While Indiana had been lost to the national ticket by a comparatively small majority, local conditions, and the remarkably attractive campaign of Thomas R. Marshall, the gubernatorial nominee, had resulted in the election of a Democratic governor and legislature. And the majority in the legislature meant the election of a Democratic United States senator. As a result, the polls had scarcely closed in Indiana when the state found itself engaged in another spirited contest to determine which of the Democratic aspirants should be sent to Washington. In quick succession these men appeared upon the scene with their organizations and pretensions. It was the general assumption of the masses of the party that Mr. Kern, who had sacrificed himself to the party in 1900, in 1904 and again in 1908, and whose association upon the ticket with Mr. Bryan, the popular idol of the Indiana Democracy, carried with it that leader’s following, would enter upon his reward.

But this assumption was not to go unchallenged. To thoroughly understand the situation it is necessary to know something of the character of the campaign which had resulted in a Democratic triumph. It had hinged upon the periodic issue of liquor legislation forced upon the politicians by the action of Governor Hanly in compelling the Republican state convention to declare in favor of county option. This action had been met by the Democrats taking a stand in favor of ward and township option, and the issue had been accentuated by the move of Governor Hanly, in defiance of the appeals and threats of his fellow Republicans, in calling a special session of the legislature in the fall and forcing the county option law upon the statutes before the voters had an opportunity to register their verdict. The so-called liberal element lined up aggressively with the Democrats and with its powerful organization, with ramifications into every community, contributed much to the result. At any rate it took to itself the triumph. And this explains the element of uncertainty precipitated into the senatorial situation—the liberal element was opposed to Mr. Kern.

Among the men who offered themselves as candidates were several who had richly earned a reward from the party. Chief of these was Benjamin F. Shively, who had distinguished himself in early manhood by a brilliant career in the house of representatives, and had endeared himself to thousands by his gallant fight in 1896, when he led the party as its nominee for governor. A man of imposing presence, extraordinary intellectual equipment and impressive eloquence, he measured up to the high senatorial traditions of the party in the state of Hendricks, Voorhees, McDonald and Turpie. And in addition to that he was the favorite of the liberal element that claimed the credit for the victory.

Another aspirant was John E. Lamb, who had begun a career of exceptional promise as a member of the house of representatives before he was thirty, had maintained the reputation then made through years of brilliant service on the stump, and had, upon the personal request of Mr. Bryan, taken charge of the western headquarters in the campaign of 1908. Major G. V. Menzies, who had behind him a long career of effective party service, L. Ert Slack, about whom the radical temperance forces rallied, and E. G. Hoffman, a young man, then comparatively little known but backed with the prestige of the organization that had nominated Marshall for governor, completed the list.

While the various candidates and their organizations made the customary claims, it was generally thought throughout the state among party men of the rank and file that the recent nominee for vice-president would have an easy triumph, previous to the appearance of the politicians in Indianapolis. It was the contention of Mr. Shively’s supporters that since Kern had chosen the vice-presidency and their candidate had confined himself to the senatorial campaign the state victory warranted him in insisting upon the fruit of the triumph; and Mr. Lamb’s friends were equally insistent upon the claim that his management of the western campaign for the party gave him a clear right to the honor; while the others rested their cases upon the ground that any good party man had a right to aspire to the senatorship. Notwithstanding all these conflicting claims the prevalent impression over the state was that Kern would be selected. Until the politicians moved on Indianapolis, two weeks before the caucus, there was not the shadow of a doubt in the mind of Mr. Kern as to his election.

Seldom in the political history of Indiana have more animated scenes been witnessed than those that were staged about the Denison Hotel in Indianapolis during the two weeks preceding the contest in caucus. Headquarters were opened early by all but Kern, who persisted in the folly that his election was assured by popular mandate. Delegations of local admirers of candidates flocked from all sections. The café, in those days a place of frolic and folly, was packed until the small hours of the morning with wire-pulling politicians. All the candidates had perfected excellent organizations of practical political manipulators of men—all save Kern, who relied on popular opinion. The result was numerous interchanges of views between the various camps, attempts at bargaining, and all tending to the crystallization of one opinion—that Kern was the man to beat. Thus his advantage proved his weakness. He was not, however, to be permitted to drift without a warning. Within twenty-four hours after reaching the scene of battle Mr. Lamb, as perspicacious a politician as the state has produced, accurately sensed the situation and realized that the efforts of powerful elements were being directed primarily toward undermining the prospects of the Indianapolis candidate. He did not underestimate the resources of these elements and was convinced that the salvation of Kern depended upon an open ballot to the end that the force of opinion might be brought to bear upon the legislators. With this in view he early importuned Kern to take a determined stand against a secret caucus, and lead off himself with a declaration in favor of a vote in the open. On the following day Kern was said by the press to favor an open ballot—but he made no statement. And when, on the day following, the press reported “Kern stock booming,” with thirty-five votes certain on the first ballot, he permitted himself to be lulled into a sense of security. It was almost a week after Lamb had taken his stand and but two days before the date for the caucus that Kern was forced by unmistakable developments to a realization of his danger, and he gave out a statement to the effect that the people had a right to know how their representatives voted.

It was on the day of the caucus that the trend of events began to develop into meaning to the spectator. Members of the legislature were actually quoted in The Indianapolis News as saying that they “did not intend to tell any one how they voted.” And that same evening the common talk about the hotel lobby was of combinations against Kern, with all the other candidates posing as the logical beneficiary of the combine.

When, accompanied by Oscar Henderson and Michael A. Ryan, Mr. Kern reached the state house on the night of the caucus and took up his quarters in the rooms of the lieutenant governor it was with a full realization of his danger. He knew that the votes would be delivered in the dark, and he suspected that with the exception of Lamb the other candidates were in league against him. Almost exhausted, he lay down upon a couch for an hour, too tired to talk, merely nodding his head in reply to questions. During the balloting the scenes about the state house were exciting enough and not a little disgraceful. Members emerging from the room were followed like prisoners by attaches of the legislature in an effort to prevent them from conversing, and one of these narrowly escaped a caning at the hands of Lamb when he poked his head over the candidate’s shoulder in an effort to hear what he was saying to the senator from his own county, who was acting as his floor manager. It required twenty ballots to elect, but the first ballot sounded the knell of Kern’s hopes. Where he had hoped for more than thirty votes he received but twenty-five, although the combined strength of the two next highest, Shively and Lamb only surpassed it by one vote. The second ballot was significant with two desertions—at a time when there could be but one explanation for such desertions, and that plain treachery. On the third ballot, when Lamb went to him, he received thirty-four votes, but instead of starting a rush in his direction he fell to twenty-eight on the next ballot—showing that men playing the cat and mouse act with him had taken flight. At 10 o’clock Kern rose from the couch and paced the corridors smoking, his hands in his side pockets, and on the announcement of the fifth ballot he said “It’s all over.” From that time on it was a case of hoping against hope. As the contest narrowed to Kern and Shively efforts were made to persuade some of the losing candidates to throw their support to Kern, but their attitude clearly disclosed in the case of the men approached that he was the one man they would not benefit if they could help it. At 2 A. M. the door to the caucus room flew open—Shively had been elected, the final vote giving him 42 to Kern’s 36.

That was the darkest night in Kern’s career.