Sulzer’s administration thus started auspiciously. He saw, what every other shrewd observer also saw: the dazzling opportunity which lay before any politician who stood out boldly for the people as against the bosses, and who could embody this independent position in practical measures of reform. The lesson of Roosevelt’s career had just been confirmed by Wilson’s. But the experiences I am now narrating ultimately convinced me that Sulzer did not have the courage which had carried these two men of eminence. He “played politics,” and got no further than an unconvincing imitation of their methods. He continued to assure us Independents, on the one hand, that he was whole-heartedly converted, and that he had broken entirely with his past. But later we found out that he was at the same time assuring his friends in Tammany that “I am the same old Bill.” He tried to imitate Roosevelt’s success in another direction, in building up a personal “machine” in New York State by coquetting with the up-state Independent Democrats, to whom he allotted a share of the patronage which he controlled.
Ultimately, of course, both sides found him out for what he was. When they did, the Independents simply dropped him. Tammany, however, exacted a swift and terrible vengeance. If discipline were to be maintained within the wigwam, not even the appearance of open revolt could be tolerated, and Tammany proceeded to make a spectacular example of Sulzer.
Sulzer’s first appearance at Albany as Governor was not, however, a shock to Tammany alone. Albany is like Washington on a small scale. The Governor’s mansion was, traditionally, not only the office of the chief executive of the state, it had been likewise the social centre around which revolved a sort of court of élite society. Heretofore every governor of New York had been a very presentable social figure, and they had all maintained at the executive mansion an atmosphere of social distinction. Sulzer rudely overturned this tradition. He wished in every possible way to dramatize his rôle of “friend of the people.” Consequently, he always referred to the executive mansion as the “People’s House,” and ostentatiously invited all who would to come and call upon him in it. The staid Knickerbocker society of Albany was aghast at the sight of throngs of what they termed “the rabble” invading the hitherto exclusive chambers of the executive mansion. Great was their anger toward Governor Sulzer. They, too, cherished hopes for vengeance.
In the meantime, Sulzer was having other difficulties in maintaining his rôle of independence. One day he telephoned me to come up at once to his rooms at the Waldorf-Astoria. He had a matter of great importance to discuss, he said, and we could talk it over at luncheon. When I arrived, I found him in great excitement.
“The powers,” he exclaimed, meaning Tammany, “are trying to force me to appoint a certain man chairman of the Public Service Commission, and I am refusing to do it because I don’t think it a proper appointment. But they are getting very angry about it, and I don’t know what to do.”
I told him there was only one thing he could do and that was to continue to refuse to appoint him.
“But,” complained Sulzer, “it means my political death if I don’t name him.”
“Well,” I said, “then you are going to political death anyway. Because as surely as you yield to them, the public at large will become even bitterer enemies than Tammany. On the other hand, if you at least prove to the public that you have the nerve to stand out against the organization, they will come to the rescue and stand firmly behind you.”
As we talked, a Tammany leader was announced. Sulzer had him ushered into his bedroom while we continued our talk in the parlour. Evidently the Tammany leader was waiting for his final decision, for at length Sulzer said: