My Brother, Theodore Roosevelt

by Corinne Roosevelt Robinson

“The New York papers announce the death of Mr. Elliott Roosevelt. This gentleman has been a member of this community for the past two years, and although his stay was so brief, it was long enough for him to make his impress as a whole-souled, genial gentleman, courteous and kind at all times, with an ever ready cheer for the enterprising or help to the weak. His name was a byword among the needy, and his charities were always as abundant as they were unostentatious. He was public spirited and generous, this much we can truthfully say. His influence and his aid will be missed, and more frequently than is generally known among those to whom it was a boon.”

After speaking of the enclosure, my brother continues: “My thoughts keep hovering around you, my darling sister, for I know how you loved Elliott; what a gallant, generous, manly boy he was. So many memories come back to me.”

In 1895 he had been appointed police commissioner, and was already in the thick of the hard fight to reform the Police Department. He writes in August of that year: “Governor Hill and I have had two savage tilts. I have not the slightest idea of the ultimate results of our move on the excise question, but we have made a good fight against heavy odds.” Perhaps, of all the pieces of work done by my brother, none stands out more clearly than the splendid achievement of remaking the Police Department into a fine working body, for which the whole city of New York had the utmost respect, and on which it leaned for safety and protection. I have but few letters from him during that period, for, much to our delight, he was once more in our midst, and many and many a time would I go down to the old Vienna bakery on the corner of 10th Street and Broadway, and he would come from Mulberry Street, where his office was, and together we would sit over the type of lunch he loved so well: either bread and milk or a squab and café au lait. I can still see Senator Lodge’s expression when he joined us on one of these simple occasions, and asked in a somewhat saturnine manner whether any one could get a respectable lunch at the place we loved so well! What talks we had there over all the extraordinary situations that arose in the Police Department. There he described to me the delicious humor of the parade inaugurated by the German brewer societies as a protest against his enforcement of the law. They were parading to show their disapproval of him, but at the last moment, as a wonderful piece of sarcasm, they decided to invite him to review the parade, hardly thinking that he would accept the invitation. Needless to say, he did accept it, and leaning over from the platform where he had been invited to sit, he saw the mass of marching men carrying banners with “Down with Teddy,” and various other more unpleasant expletives. One company, as it passed the reviewing-stand, called out: “Wo ist Teddy?” “Hier bin ich,” called out the police commissioner, leaning over the railing and flashing his white teeth good-humoredly at the protesting crowd, who, unable to resist the sunshine of his personality, suddenly turned and, putting aside the disapproving banners, cheered him to the echo.

It was during that same time, the story ran, that two recreant policemen who left their beats at an inopportune moment were called to the realization of their misdemeanor by coming face to face, in a glass window-case, with a set of false teeth which, they explained, grinned at them with a ferocity so reminiscent of the strong molars of the police commissioner, that they almost fainted at the sight, and hastily returned to their forsaken duties. Many and many a settlement-worker told me in those days that they could go anywhere in the most dangerous parts of the city, during the administration of Theodore Roosevelt, and the police were always on hand, always ready to protect those who needed their care.

At that time also I was amused one day when he told me the story about his little Irish stenographer, a young girl whose knowledge of orthography was less than her sympathetic interest in the affairs of the police commissioner! He took a warm interest in the nice young Irish girl, hard worker as she was, an important factor in the support of a large family of younger children, and could not bear to dismiss her from his service, in spite of her alarming mistakes in spelling. He said he always had to look over her manuscript and correct it in spite of his many other cares, and he laughingly remarked that it was well he did, as having dictated the following sentence in connection with a certain policeman, “I was obliged to restrain the virtuous ardor of Sergeant Murphy, who, in his efforts to bring about a state of quiet on the streets, would frequently commit some assault himself,” the young Irish stenographer, listening to the rapid dictation, spelled “some assault” “somersault,” and, as my brother remarked, one could not but laugh at the thought of Sergeant Murphy performing somersaults like a circus clown on Mulberry Street, and, fortunately, the word caught the ever-watchful eye of the police commissioner before the report was printed, and, even in spite of the inconvenience, he set himself to work to improve the young stenographer’s mistaken orthographic efforts.

In spite of his busy days and busy nights, he had time, as usual, to write to me when he thought that I needed his care or interest. I was far from well at the time, but was obstinately determined to go up to visit my boys at St. Paul’s School, and he writes me: “Won’t you let Douglas and me go up to St. Paul’s, and you stay at home? If you will do this, I shall positively go for anniversary on June 2nd. I believe you should not go on these trips whether for pleasure or duty, and should take more care of yourself. Your loving and anxious brother.”

He himself has given in his autobiography many incidents connected with his police commissionership.

The force were devoted to him, as were his Rough Riders later, largely on account of the justice with which he treated them, and the friendly attitude which he always maintained toward them. Otto Raphael, a young Jew, and a young Irishman called Burke were two of the men whom he promoted because of unusual bravery, and their loyalty and admiration followed him unswervingly. On the sad day when he was carried to the little cemetery at Oyster Bay, Burke—now Captain Burke—had been put in charge of the police arrangements for the funeral. As he stood by the grave, the captain turned to me, the tears streaming down his face but with a smile in his blue Irish eyes, and said: “Do you remember the fun of him, Mrs. Robinson? It was not only that he was a great man, but oh, there was such fun in being led by him. I remember one day when he was governor, and I was in charge of him, and I was riding by the side of his carriage down Madison Avenue, and he suddenly stuck his head out of the window and, ‘Burke’ said he, ‘we are just going to pass my sister’s house. I want to get out and say “how do you do” to my sister.’ ‘I don’t think you have time, governor’ I said, ‘I am afraid you are late now.’ ‘Oh, now, Burke, I want you to meet my sister. Get somebody to hold your horse,’ he said; ‘it won’t take a minute.’ And with that he leaped out of his carriage and was ringing the front door-bell in a flash. I followed him and I heard him call out to you, Mrs. Robinson, that he had his friend Lieut. Burke with him, and could he bring him up-stairs to shake hands, and sure enough he did, and when I went down-stairs again I heard him telling you some story, and the two of you were laughing fit to kill. When I got back that night to my wife, I said: ‘Susan, if you are ever downhearted, all you have to do is to go up to 422 Madison Avenue when the governor stops to see his sister, and hear them laugh.’”

The commissionership was a big job well done, and the city of New York could not but feel a sense of great regret when President McKinley promoted the active young commissioner to be assistant secretary of the navy in 1897. It was his pride and one of his greatest satisfactions in later years to feel that he was instrumental in preparing our navy for the war with Spain. For many years he had been convinced that the Spanish rule in Cuba should not continue; and the condition in Cuba, he felt, was too intertwined with the affairs of the United States to be differentiated from them. In the days of President Cleveland, my brother had felt that action should be taken, and in the same way he was convinced that Mr. McKinley was only putting off the evil day by not facing the situation earlier in his incumbency. As was the case in almost every crisis which arose, either national or international, during my brother’s life, he seemed to have a prescience of the future, and, therefore, he almost invariably—sometimes before other public men were awake to the contingency—sensed the need of taking steps to avert or meet difficulties which he felt sure would soon have to be faced.

The young assistant secretary of the navy was not very popular with the administration on account of the views which he felt it his duty honestly to express. On March 6, 1898, he writes to my husband: “Neither I nor anyone else, not even the President can do more than guess. We are certainly drifting towards and not away from war, but the President will not make war, and will keep out of it if he possibly can. Nevertheless, with so much loose powder around, a coal may hop into it at any moment. In a week or two, I believe, we shall get that report. If it says the explosion was due to outside work, it will be very hard to hold the country. [He refers to the blowing up of the battleship Maine in Havana harbor.] But the President undoubtedly will try peaceful means even then, at least, at first.”