The life of John Worth Kern

by Claude G. Bowers

Through years of sacrifice he had reached—this. He went home that night more completely crushed than he ever was before or after.

But over at the hotel a group of politicians celebrated throughout the night, not so much over Shively’s election as over Kern’s defeat. But the next morning threw a different light on things. A wave of bitter resentment against the secret caucus swept over the state and legislators were being called to an accounting. The roll call by the various constituencies of the state during the next few days disclosed that Kern still had the majority of eight he had figured on. It was a period of alibis. Irate members under suspicion of treachery furiously announced through the press that they were “ready to lick any man who says I did not vote for Kern.” The Indianapolis News editorially expressed the prevalent opinion when it said—“We think that Mr. Kern suffered from the secret ballot, for this deprived him of the weight of the popular indorsement which was clearly his, and which would have had full play had there been an open ballot.” The event attracted attention all over the country and within twenty-four hours Representative Charles B. Landis, from Washington, made the prophetic prediction that this particular secret caucus would result in a direct primary “or something of the sort.”

With Kern it was accepted as the end of a political career, and he turned again, now sixty years of age, to the practice of his profession. About this time he received a letter from James B. Morrow, the well-known Washington journalist, to the effect that he would soon be passing through Indianapolis and would stop over in the hope of having a talk with him concerning his early struggles, with the view to writing a special feature article. Mr. Kern replied that he would be glad to see him. It was several months before he appeared. The night he reached Indianapolis Kern received him in his office and after relating the story of his early struggles he sat until a late hour with the journalist exchanging stories and reminiscences of public men. During the whole of this time not a word was said about the senatorial election. At length as they were preparing to leave and Morrow was helping Kern on with his overcoat, the former remarked that in the east they had expected to see Kern in the senate. With a whimsical smile Kern replied that he too had expected it, but that “they got eight of them away from me.” On being asked who he meant by “they” he replied—“The brewery crowd.” It was not the understanding of Kern that this was part of the interview, but Morrow, with the keen nose for the important, incorporated it in his story. In doing so he did not employ the exact words used—but the sense was the same. The difference was due to the cold type. That interview was to pursue him as long as he lived. He might have escaped some embarrassment by giving the lie to the newspaper man—a favorite method of most politicians. But Kern knew that Morrow wrote sincerely and with no evil intentions and it was so nearly exact that he accepted it. Two years later, after his election to the senate, Morrow entered the office of Kern in Washington and asked to see him. “I want to thank him, congratulate him, and apologize to him. I wrote an interview with him once that must have caused him considerable annoyance. In years of experience as a newspaper man he is the first man, thus confronted with an interview that caused annoyance that did not repudiate the interview and put the lie on the correspondent. He did not—and he stood the gaff. I want to apologize for unintentionally causing him annoyance, thank him for not giving me the lie, and congratulate him on being a man.”

That interview was perhaps the most famous ever given by a public man in Indiana.

II

Kern quickly recovered from his disappointment and turned to his profession with the determination to put politics behind him forever and devote the remainder of his life to making money for his family. He had sacrificed much to politics, and at the age of sixty was a poor man. But he had an excellent practice and could look forward with confidence to several years of active work. While too ardently attached to the principles of his party to fail in party service when occasion called he considered his office-seeking days as over and his family rejoiced in his retirement.

As the campaign of 1910 approached with another United States senator to be elected, Governor Marshall startled the stationary politicians with a statement in advocacy of the nomination of a senator in the state convention. This was one of the fruits of the secret caucus of the spring of 1909. At first there was a disposition to treat the suggestion with levity, but it appealed so strongly to the rank and file that the old-line politicians finally felt compelled to take an aggressive stand against it. And the fight was on. The governor merely stood firmly on his statement, taking the position that it would not be becoming in him to take the stump in its behalf, but his personal popularity carried it far. And when almost immediately many veteran politicians such as John E. Lamb put on the armor in its behalf the fight became picturesque and exciting. There has probably never been a more dramatic political convention in Indiana than that which met in Tomlinson Hall in the spring of 1910. We need not go into details concerning the preliminary work of the convention culminating in the triumph of the “governor’s plan.” With this phase of the convention Mr. Kern had nothing to do. He occupied a seat with the Marion county delegation—one of the rank and file. After the vote on the plan he left the hall and was absent when the names of various candidates for the senatorial nomination were presented. He had a premonition that his name might be urged upon the delegates and had taken steps, as he thought, to prevent any such movement. Hearing that the delegations from Howard and Clinton counties had announced their intention of supporting him, he had personally protested and felt that he had accomplished his purpose. He did not know that a few farmer delegates from the Indianapolis delegation could start a storm. Returning to the convention while the first ballot was in progress he found that his name was before the convention. “When I entered the hall,” he said afterward, “several men yelled ‘Stand pat, John,’ and I didn’t know what to do for an instant. I thought, however that the manly thing to do was to make a statement to the convention and I stood on a chair and told them that my name had been presented without my knowledge or consent, and that no man had any right or authority to present my name and that I was not in any sense a candidate.”

The moment he concluded Wabash county was called and cast 15 out of its 16 votes for him, and Wayne county followed with its 26 votes—the solid delegation.

When his name had been first presented there was a tremendous ovation and cries of “Kern,” “Kern” drowned all other noises. In a box in the balcony an interesting little drama was enacted. Mrs. Marshall, wife of the governor, was entertaining several ladies, including Mrs. Kern and Meredith Nicholson, the novelist. When Kern’s name was presented and the demonstration began, Mrs. Kern, frankly elated at the rare honor being shown her husband, insisted that he would not accept. This was received with incredulity by the others present. The subject had been thoroughly threshed out about the family hearth and she knew. Nicholson scouted the idea that he would decline—a preposterous idea! When Kern appeared, his coat almost torn from him by frantic friends trying to hold him back, and mounted the chair and rebuked his friends, the novelist, amazed, exclaimed—“That man’s not human.” But that was not to be his final effort. The first ballot ended with Kern far in the lead with 303 votes, only six of these from Marion county, the other 177 having been cast for Thomas Taggart. On the second ballot Taggart withdrew his name and cast the solid vote of the delegation for Kern, and the roll call ended found him with 647 votes.

It was then, with the nomination within his grasp, that Kern made his supreme effort to put aside the crown. This time he took the platform and the convention heard him with impatience, and with a considerable show of feeling he protested against the right of the delegates to force upon him something he had renounced. When he said that it had been intimated that he had been masquerading in the matter he was greeted with shouts of “No, no,” “Sit down” and “You can’t refuse.”