The rule was employed in one instance only. George Baker Anderson, of The People's Legislative Bureau, was ruled out of the Assembly, and, in effect, out of the Senate Chamber. Jere Burke kept away from both, but it was probably Campbell's threat more than the rule that influenced Burke. With these two exceptions, the lobbyists had pretty much the run of both chambers. It should be said, however, that while none of those lobbyists were threatened with expulsion from the floor of either House for advocating machine-backed measures and policies, persons advocating reform measures were threatened with the anti-lobbying rules. But Anderson was the only one to suffer because of them.
The curious feature of Anderson's case was that nobody seems to have been able to discover that he ever did any lobbying, or asked a member of either body to support or oppose any measure or policy, or that he even so much as spoke to a legislator while the House to which the legislator belonged was in session.
Anderson was in charge of a Legislative Bureau, one purpose of which was to keep the newspapers of the State which were not represented by correspondents at the Capital, informed of the votes on the various measures, and other items of importance or interest. Somebody early in the session called the bureau a "lobby," and somebody else improved the title by calling it "People's Lobby."
And then certain Senators and Assemblymen awoke to the startling discovery that in the Legislative Bureau, presided over by Anderson, was the People's Lobby that was to employ Pinkerton's or Burns' men to watch the Legislature. Anderson was a marked man from that moment.
Curiously enough this theory of Anderson's purpose didn't anger a single member of Senate or Assembly who, during the nearly three months that followed, voted against machine-advocated measures, and for measures which the machine opposed. Assemblymen of the type of Bohnett, Hinkle, Cattell, Callan and Drew, Senators like Bell, Black, Campbell and Holohan either treated the Pinkerton story as a joke or thought that a little Pinkerton watchfulness might be a pretty good proposition, all things considered.
On the other hand, many of the Senators and Assemblymen who were in constant opposition to reform policies, were very much exercised that anybody should have the audacity to have a watch kept upon the Legislature. This intense feeling found perhaps its best expression in Assemblyman McManus' denunciation of Anderson, when the question of having Anderson "investigated" was before the Assembly.
"It is a sad state of affairs," said McManus, "if a band of Pinkertons are here to follow the members up. We aren't everyday street-car conductors. We don't have to have spotters to watch us."
But perhaps the most astonishing feature of the whole astonishing Anderson incident is that nobody was ever able to connect him with a detective of any stripe whatsoever, Burns, Pinkerton, or unclassified. But this did not prevent his being ruled off the floor of the Assembly, and, in effect, of the Senate.
As the most amazing rumors about Anderson - many started as jokes[98] - multiplied, the indignation of certain Assemblymen and Senators increased. Matters came to a climax when Anderson sent a number of letters to members who had been absent from the chamber when the first vote was taken on the Walker-Otis Anti-Gambling bill, asking them if they would be willing to give the reasons for their absence.
The difference in the effect of the letters was astonishing. Assemblyman Prescott F. Cogswell, who had been favored with one of them, stated on the floor of the Assembly that he had been glad of the opportunity to make known the cause of his absence when the vote was taken. On the other hand, Assemblyman Wheelan, who had received a duplicate of the letter which Cogswell had welcomed, was very much cast down. Wheelan, arising to a question of personal privilege, read the letter, and wanted to know if he hadn't been "insulted[99]."