The County: The "Dark Continent" of American Politics

by Henry S. Gilbertson

Moreover there came to be counties which could not even organize themselves, even after the imperfect fashion described in the laws of the state. The people grew in numbers, their interests increased in complexity and county affairs sank into comparative insignificance. In their theory of pure democracy via the ballot, they spread out their interest in county officers so thin that no single officer got sufficient attention to make him realize their influence. County candidates were mixed up on the ballot with a multitude of others, state, national and municipal, so that it was practically certain that not only unknown but often undesirable citizens would step into power with the “people’s” stamp of approval. The voters of New York have been electing coroners (or have been thinking they did). When a few people in 1914 began to delve into the history of the office, they turned up an astonishing situation. Scarcely one of the men who had been elected to the office in a period of twelve years could be said to have had even a modest part of the qualifications required for the positions. Some of the worst rascals of all had been elected in reform administrations and as one coroner admitted on the stand, the controlling purpose in mind in the selection was that of “balancing the ticket” so that geographical sections and racial and religious elements would get their proper share in the spoils.

Rural electorates probably have done better all along the line with their county officers than the voters in the cities. Measured by the standards of personal acquaintanceship, the candidates for county office have perhaps nearly always been known quantities in the rural districts. The “glad-hander” and the accomplished back-slapper has gotten on famously. They have made a business of knowing everybody. And yet they have sometimes, as private individuals, failed to reveal to their most intimate friends the qualities which have made them unfit for a public trust. Placed in offices of conspicuous responsibility where the sunlight of public opinion and criticism has beat upon them, it is impossible that many men would have gone far wrong. But since the work of county officers has had little to do with the shaping of public policies upon which the average voter has any opinion; since the county jail has not been a public museum where men were wont to take their friends and families, and since there has been nothing especially interesting about the serving of a warrant of arrest or attachment, the officers involved have not always revealed their innermost personal qualities. Year after year a smiling popular sheriff might go on doing these services in the most expensive, inefficient way, with here and there a touch of corruption; and the great body of voters who met him every week at the lodge would be none the wiser. In the same way the voters might elect a “good fellow” superintendent of the poor. They might continue to know him as a good fellow but it has been a rare constituency that has followed him up in his official duties to know how “good” he was to the unfortunates under his care and to the public in general. It has been a rare good fellow who has combined in his single person the ability to shake every right hand and kiss every baby in the county, with a really modern, scientific knowledge of the treatment of poverty.

The county clerk upon assuming office shuts himself away in a forest of filing cases and meets the public officially only as they come to him for a marriage license or to file a deed or mortgage. And as for the coroner, mostly people have been glad to leave him severely alone, trusting that no untoward mishap will bring them into his clutches. For all ordinary purposes they have regarded him as a grim joke, not knowing that in many cases a misstep on his part might result in the escape of a criminal or spoil the case of a litigant entitled to damages or of a policyholder to his insurance.

A possible exception to this inconspicuousness is the district attorney. American communities appear to have reserved high political honors to the most efficient and best advertised “man-hunter.” A white light of public interest has always beat upon the public prosecutor. Many a reputation for skill and courage and all-around general administrative ability has been built up around a record of convictions of notorious criminals. The district attorney with a sense of the dramatic has usually been in line for the governorship of his state. It seems also to be regarded as conducive to efficiency that this officer should be controlled directly through the ballot.

And so, the system of popular election has given no assurance that, though the people may know them ever so well as individuals, they would know their candidates in the sense that fixes their electoral responsibility.

What has had to be done, but what the people of the county have been unwilling or unable to do for themselves, has given to a public-minded fraction of the community the opportunity of their lives. They have generously taken over the people’s government and run it for them.

Gradually there has come to life a new profession, a governing class, with leadership, discipline and resources. To the acknowledged head of this fraternity have come aspirants to public honors and seekers after favors. Power and influence have been laid at his feet. He has become the virtual dictator of the county’s political destinies. The laws underlying the organization of the county government have not been changed; but there has grown up, quite outside the statute books and outside the court house itself, a second government that has supplied the great lack in the official, legal one, the lack of a definite head. The new factor in the county’s affairs has come to exercise the powers of an executive. Theoretically the people have elected his heads of departments; practically he has chosen them himself. The people have retained the forms while he has arrogated to himself the substance of political power.

He is with us yet, this clever, dominating, often silent personage, sometimes in a single individual, sometimes in a group, sometimes benevolent, respectable and public-spirited, sometimes brutal and mercenary. It may not always be easy to find him, but he is always present in every American county; for there is no stable government without him.

For the development of his peculiar talents the county is a particularly favorable environment. For the county, in a word, is in the shadow—the ideal condition for complete irresponsibility, which is the father of bossism.

But what do the voters do if they do not in fact elect their officers?