Woodrow Wilson as I Know Him

by Joseph P. Tumulty

There is no one who wishes to feel the camaraderie of life, "the familiar touch," more than Woodrow Wilson; but it seems that it cannot be so, and the knowledge that it could not saddened him from the outset of his public career.

I remember a meeting between us at the Governor's Cottage at Sea Girt, New Jersey, a few hours after the news of his nomination for the Presidency had reached us from Baltimore in 1912. In this little talk he endeavoured in an intimate way to analyze himself for my benefit. "You know, Tumulty," he said, "there are two natures combined in me that every day fight for supremacy and control. On the one side, there is the Irish in me, quick, generous, impulsive, passionate, anxious always to help and to sympathize with those in distress." As he continued his description of himself, his voice took on an Irish brogue, "And like the Irishman at the Donnybrook Fair, always willin' to raise me shillalah and to hit any head which stands firninst me. Then, on the other side," he said, "there is the Scotch—canny, tenacious, cold, and perhaps a little exclusive. I tell you, my dear friend, that when these two fellows get to quarrelling among themselves, it is hard to act as umpire between them."

For every day of my eleven years' association with Woodrow Wilson I have seen some part of these two natures giving expression to itself. I have witnessed the full play of the Irish passion for justice and sympathy for the under-dog, the man whom he was pleased to call the "average man," whose name never emerges to the public view. I have seen the full tide of Irish passion and human sympathies in him flow at some story of injustice which I had called to his attention; that Irish sympathy in him expressed itself not dramatically, but in some simple, modest way; an impulse to lift someone, to help an unfortunate person in distress. That sympathy might be expressed in the presence of some father, seeking pardon at the hands of the President in behalf of a wayward son, or some mother pleading for the release of a loved one, or it would show itself in full sway, as it often did, when I called his attention to some peculiar case that had evoked my sympathy and pity. And again I saw the Scotch in him—strict, upstanding, intractable, and unrelenting. I saw the Scotch rise in him when an attempt would be made by personal friends to influence his action where it was evident to him there was at the base of it some hint of personal privilege, of favouritism on grounds of friendship. I saw the full sweep of that Scotch tenacity during the war, in the very midst of that bloody thing, at a time when bitter ridicule and jeers were his portion. Throughout it he was calm, imperturbable, undisturbed by the frenzied passions of the moment.

I saw him express the Irish sense of gratitude in a striking way in the
White House, in my presence, as the result of a conference, in which the
participants were the President and Senators Stone and Reed, both of
Missouri.

The incident arose out of Senator Reed's failure to get the President to agree to appoint an intimate friend of Reed's postmaster of St. Louis. Charges, many of them unfounded, had been made to the Postmaster General's office against the Reed candidate and, although Reed had made many appeals to Postmaster General Burleson to send the appointment of his friend to the President for his approval, Burleson refused to do so, and Reed thereupon brought his case to the President. I remember how generous and courteous the President was in his treatment of Reed and Stone on this occasion. Senator Stone, in his usual kindly way, walked over to the President and putting his hand on his shoulder, said: "Now, Mr. President, I want you to do this favour for my friend, Jim Reed. Jim is a damned good fellow." The President laughingly replied, "Why, Senator, you just know that there is nothing personal in my attitude in this matter. I have no desire to injure or humiliate Senator Reed, but the Postmaster General has refused to recommend the appointment of the Senator's friend for the St. Louis postmastership." The President then turned to Senator Reed and said, "Senator, I will tell you what I will do for you. I will allow you to name any other man, outside of the one whose name you have already suggested, and I will appoint him at once without making any inquiry or investigation whatever as to his qualifications. This I will do in order to convince you that I have no personal feeling whatever toward you in this matter." But Senator Reed continued to argue for the appointment of his friend. The President was adamant. Senator Stone and Senator Reed then turned away from the President and made their way to my office which was adjoining that of the President. It was plain that the two Senators were deeply disappointed and highly displeased with the President. As the President opened the door for the Senators to make their entrance into my room Senator Reed turned to the President again and in the most emphatic way, said, "Mr. President, Senator Stone told me before I came to see you that you were not a cold man and that you were a good fellow. It was upon that hypothesis that I took the liberty of appealing to you personally in behalf of my friend." Senator Reed then continued, and in the most eloquent short speech I have ever heard, said, "They tell me that before you became governor of New Jersey you had a fight at Princeton with the Trustees of that University. You better than any one else in this country know what it is to have a pack of enemies at your heels. This is what is happening in my friend's case. My enemies in Missouri have conspired to destroy this man because he has been my friend and has fought my battles for me. This man whom I have asked you to appoint has been my campaign manager. He has visited my home; we have been life-long friends, and I will stake my life upon his reputation and upon his standing. But because he has been my friend he is now to be punished and now by your action you will complete the conspiracy that is afoot to defeat and destroy him."

The President then said, "But, Senator, I have tried to convince you that there is nothing personal in my attitude and that I will appoint any other man you may name." Whereupon Senator Reed said, "If God Almighty himself asked me to surrender in this fight for my friend, I would not do it. I think I know you well enough to know that in the fight you had for your ideals and your friends at Princeton, you would not have surrendered to anybody. I am fighting now for the reputation and the character of my friend, and you ought not to ask me to surrender him to his executioners."

The President was standing with his arms folded while the Senator was addressing him and was evidently deeply touched by Reed's appeal. As Reed concluded his eloquent speech in behalf of his friend quickly the President reached out his hand to Reed and said, "Senator, don't surrender your friend; stick by him to the end and I will appoint him." Whereupon he turned from the Senators, walked over to the telephone which stood on my desk, called up the Postmaster General and directed him to send over to the White House at once the appointment of Senator Reed's friend for the postmastership at St. Louis. The Postmaster General protested but was overruled by the President. As the two Senators left my room, Senator Stone said to Senator Reed, "By God, Jim, I told you so. There is a great man and a true friend. I told you he was a regular fellow."

It has been said by the enemies of Woodrow Wilson that he was ungrateful, that he never appreciated the efforts of his friends in his behalf, and that when it came to the question of appointments he was unmindful of big obligations to them.

The following letter is so characteristic of the man that I beg leave to introduce it:

The White House,
Washington D. C.