In the winter of 1911, Ray Stannard Baker observed that Roosevelt seemed poised to fight for a third term, “like a war horse beginning to sniff the air of distant battles.”
WHILE TAFT AND ROOSEVELT RETREATED to nurse their wounds, Senator La Follette and his dedicated band of insurgents pressed their advantage, confident in their vision for the future of the Republican Party. In states where radicals controlled the nominating slates and platforms, William Allen White pointed out, Republicans had triumphed; in conservative states “where they compromised and pow-wowed and pussy-footed,” Republicans had met defeat. “I cannot get Roosevelt to see this,” White lamented. “He thinks compromise is the only thing and he is going to be everlastingly crucified by the American people unless he gets this compromise idea out of his head.”
On January 21, 1911, La Follette hosted a gathering of progressive leaders at his Washington home. In the prior weeks he had called for the formation of a new organization that would redeem the party and restore popular rule long subverted by the special interests that controlled caucuses, nominating conventions, and the Republican Party organization. The National Progressive League promised to fight for a series of propositions: direct elections of U.S. senators; direct primaries to replace party caucuses; direct election of delegates to the party’s national convention; and state constitutional amendments to provide for the initiative, referendum, and recall. The charter membership was impressive—“nine U.S. Senators, six governors and thirteen Congressmen.” Nearly every leading progressive spokesman had signed on, including James Garfield, Gifford Pinchot, Louis Brandeis, Ray Baker, and William Allen White. The creation of the national organization spurred numerous states to set up their own Progressive Leagues.
In short order, a Progressive Federation of Publicists and Editors was founded. Its membership list, the New York Times remarked, was like “a roll call” of muckraker journalists, including S. S. McClure, Norman Hapgood, George Kibbe Turner, and Lincoln Steffens. La Follette was particularly thrilled to have the support of Lincoln Steffens. After leaving The American, the journalist had embarked on a series of disparate projects, among them a study of Boston’s city government generously financed by the progressive merchant Edward Filene. A leader of the Good Government Association, Filene had engaged Steffens as “a sort of pathologist” to analyze the historic roots of Boston’s corruption. During the two years Steffens lived on Beacon Hill, he had remained in close touch with La Follette. Their correspondence reveals an intimate friendship, different in kind from the mutually advantageous relationship Steffens had forged with Roosevelt. “I am hungry to see you,” La Follette had written after a short absence. “How soon can you come to Washington and stay with us for a week?”
Despite their comprehensive reform agenda, the Washington press interpreted the activities of the National Progressive League as “an anti-Taft movement,” designed to boost La Follette’s prospects for the presidential nomination. “Nothing,” the Springfield Republican agreed, “could be more reasonable than the supposition that the League will be in the thick of the fight over the Republican presidential nomination of 1912.” Observers claimed that La Follette now had “a much larger following in the West than Roosevelt” and that he would be the “decided beneficiary if the Progressive League takes root and advances its schemes for direct nominations and popular government.”
Before the inaugural meeting of the National Progressive League, La Follette had tried to enlist Roosevelt as a charter member. “Now, Colonel,” La Follette had asked, “can’t you consistently give this movement the benefit of your great name and influence?” The two men had never become friends. La Follette considered Roosevelt an opportunist who adapted his positions to accommodate public sentiment, while Roosevelt regarded the Wisconsin senator as “an extremist,” with a “touch of fanaticism.” Yet at this juncture, both men recognized the value of a show of cordiality. “That is a mighty nice letter of yours,” Roosevelt replied, “and I appreciate it to the full.” He heartily agreed with the league propositions, the Colonel told La Follette, though he considered them “merely a means and not an end.” Nothing in the charter spoke of the economic issues he cared most deeply about—corporate control, the regulation of wealth, or the working conditions of the laboring man. Nevertheless, he intended to give the league his full support, not by joining but by endorsing its principles in The Outlook. After the midterm fiasco, he was “very anxious not to seem to take part prominently in any political movement.”
ON MARCH 8, 1911, THEODORE Roosevelt embarked on a six-week train trip through the South and the Southwest that he presumed would be his last extensive speaking tour. He dreaded the daily grind of ceremonies, speeches, and dinners, worrying how he would be received. To friends and family members, Roosevelt claimed he did “not care a rap” about the “fairly universal” criticism directed toward him. “Such a revulsion was bound to come,” he said. “The present feeling may wear itself out, or it may not. If it does, and I regain any influence and can use it to good purpose, I shall be glad; and if it does not, I shall be exceedingly happy here in my own home and doing my own work.” In any case, he would proceed with his tour, honoring commitments made shortly after his return from Africa.
To Roosevelt’s amazed delight, he was met everywhere with crowds as immense and adoring as any he had ever encountered. Eight thousand cheering spectators filled the Armory in Atlanta; 30,000 greeted him in Tacoma, Washington; and the applause from the Minnesota legislature was“as uproarious as in the days of yore.” Though he appeared “heavier and slightly grayer,” correspondents marveled at his continued ability to withstand rigorous days “without the slightest sign of tiring and without once deviating from the spirit of utmost good humor.” Cities vied with one another to honor him. In Spokane, “all traffic was suspended; streetcars were stopped,” and “every window, curbstone, cornice and even lofty roofs held their quota of cheering admirers.” The Commercial Club in Portland was transformed into an African jungle, complete with live monkeys, parrots, and cockatoos. In Arizona, he formally dedicated the Roosevelt Dam, marking the completion of the immense reclamation project begun during his presidency. “If there could be any monument which would appeal to any man, surely it is this,” he declared. “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the honor.”
As the trip wound to a close, the Washington State Leavenworth Echo remarked, Roosevelt’s “abiding popularity” would force opponents to revise the “ill-concealed delight” with which they had recently predicted his demise. “To borrow the humor of Mark Twain,” the piece continued, “his political death appears to have been very much exaggerated.” Indeed, “not another man since the death of Abraham Lincoln could have aroused one-half the popular enthusiasm that his recent trip around the United States created.”
ROOSEVELT RETURNED HOME FROM HIS tour to find that the president had engineered a resurgence of his own. For months, Taft had been working quietly on a plan he hoped would convince the American people that despite the complications of the Payne-Aldrich bill, he was a steadfast “low tariff and downward revision man.” The previous summer, Taft had initiated negotiations with Canada for a reciprocity agreement that would eliminate or drastically lower tariffs on both sides of the border. In January 1911, negotiators had surprised Washington by announcing a sweeping agreement to be implemented by “concurrent legislation” in Congress and the Canadian Parliament rather than by treaty—requiring a two-thirds vote in the Senate. By providing free trade in agricultural products and reduced tariffs on manufactured goods, the agreement promised to halt the rising cost of living, a major source of public dissatisfaction.
An hour after the old Congress adjourned on March 4, Taft called for the new Congress to meet in special session a month later and consider the reciprocity legislation. Taft liked his chances with the new Congress, which ordinarily would not have convened until December, knowing that Democrats, long opposed to the Republican policy of protectionism, would enjoy a majority in the House and enlarged representation in the Senate. “At one stroke,” the monthly periodical Current Literature observed, “the Taft administration has altered the whole aspect of political affairs in America, reversed political predictions, confused party ranks and stirred into quick activity industrial and commercial bodies all over the country.” And “for the first time since he entered the White House,” the writer added, “President Taft now assumes, in the mind of the people, the post of a real leader.” No longer “following the lead of President Roosevelt or Senator Aldrich, or Senator La Follette, or any other man,” William Taft was “striking out a policy of his own.” Expressing similar optimism, the New York Times declared that not for a decade had there been such a “well-considered and heroic” break with the “stupid, sordid, greedy” policies of previous administrations. “Beyond all question he has the country behind him.”
In contrast to the 1909 tariff fight, the president was clearly unwilling to “sit still and await results.” Leaders of the House and Senate were summoned for “breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Taft invited a group of ten senators for a “week-end sail” on the luxurious presidential yacht, theMayflower. He composed a series of speeches, setting forth clear arguments for reciprocity. Tariffs were originally designed, he pointed out, to accommodate differences in the cost of production at home and abroad. Yet, between Canada and the United States, “linked together by race, language, political institutions and geographical proximity,” there was essentially nothing to equalize. Given this situation, “the productive forces” of both countries should be allowed to operate freely.
Taft adroitly kept Theodore Roosevelt informed at every development, securing his invaluable support. Before he announced the agreement, the president had written a long letter to the Colonel, explaining his reasoning in full. “What you propose to do with Canada is admirable from every standpoint,” Roosevelt had replied. “I firmly believe in Free Trade with Canada for both economic and political reasons.” While it might “damage the Republican Party for awhile,” he continued, it would “surely benefit the party in the end.” That spring, Roosevelt “vigorously advocated” the reciprocity legislation in public speeches as well as private correspondence. Beyond the economic advantages, he argued, “it should always be a cardinal point in our foreign policy to establish the closest and most friendly relations of equal respect and advantage with our great neighbor on the North.”
When debate opened in the House and Senate, Taft told Charley, he “expected the insurgents not only to support the bill but to claim that I was only trailing after them, and coming to their view.” Lower tariffs had been the insurgents’ rallying cry. Their passionate opposition to the Payne-Aldrich bill had launched them to national prominence: “Give us something,” they had repeatedly argued, “which will decrease the cost of living and save the poor from starvation.” The reciprocity agreement promised to address this underlying issue, but it placed the progressives in a serious, unanticipated bind. The majority of insurgents came from midwestern agricultural states. While public sentiment overwhelmingly favored reciprocity, farmers were among the special interests passionately opposed, fearing that free admission of Canada’s agricultural products would reduce the demand for food products at home. Unwilling to antagonize their constituents, the insurgents led the attack against the bill.
The adage “politics makes strange bedfellows” was never more clearly illustrated than in the curious alliance that coupled insurgents with conservative “standpatters,” who viewed reciprocity as the compromising breach in “the entire citadel of protection.” The independent press, which had long admired the fighting spirit of the insurgents, now charged them with hypocrisy. “Washington grows weary of the insurgents,” the National Herald declared. “This is something more than inconsistency.” The “valiant little insurgent band” had shown themselves just “as selfish” as the Old Guard. Many of the derogatory comments were directed at Robert La Follette, who announced his candidacy for the Republican nomination in the midst of the reciprocity struggle. As the Wisconsin senator repeatedly sought to delay consideration of the popular bill, he was denounced for “trying to manufacture an issue for the Presidential campaign.”
On April 21, 1911, the House passed a comprehensive reciprocity bill with strong Democratic support. Two months later, the Senate followed suit. Taft was thrilled, believing the legislation would signal the arrival of “a great epoch” for the country. The Washington Times agreed. “Today will be an important date in tariff history,” the paper remarked; tariff duties, having reached their high point, would finally “descend on the other side.” After the vote, Taft “extended his formal thanks to the Democrats,” acknowledging that without their aid, “reciprocity would have been impossible.”
Meanwhile, discussion of the legislation in the Canadian Parliament had descended into “hysteria.” Conservative opponents issued dire warnings that reciprocity would inevitably lead to Canada’s annexation by the United States. During the struggle in Congress, opponents had deliberately raised the specter of takeover, going so far as to introduce a resolution calling for negotiations to begin. Taft immediately reassured Canadian officials that no one in the administration had any thought of annexation. “Canada is now and will remain a political unit,” he declared. Roosevelt underscored the president’s efforts with an emphatic attack on the “bad faith” and “mean spirit” of those members of Congress who “sought to bar the path” to reciprocity by “pretending to look towards the annexation of Canada.” With the Canadian debate spinning out of control, Liberal prime minister Sir Wilfrid Laurier decided to dissolve Parliament and take the case for reciprocity to the people in a September election. The great majority of Canadians, he believed, appreciated the tremendous economic advantages reciprocity would bring.
Taft’s success with reciprocity had significantly altered the political landscape. The president “has gained remarkably in public estimation,” one editorial observed, while “the insurgents have sagged steadily.” Taft further consolidated his position when he offered to bring Henry Stimson into his cabinet as secretary of war. Stimson sought advice from Roosevelt, who “strongly urged” him to take the post and do everything possible to help the president. “If two years ago [Taft] had done some of the things he has done now, he would probably have saved himself from nine tenths of the blunders he has made,” Roosevelt remarked. Nevertheless, the Colonel had no intention of supporting Taft or anyone else for the nomination. Henceforth, he intended to keep “as much aloof from politics as possible.”
WILL AND NELLIE WOULD LATER look back on June 19, 1911, as the happiest day of their White House years. Nellie had never forgotten the sense of wonder she experienced as a sixteen-year-old when she accompanied her parents to Washington for the elaborate festivities surrounding the silver wedding anniversary of Rutherford and Lucy Hayes. As her own silver anniversary approached that June, she began to coordinate an equally grand party that “would be remembered through life by all who were fortunate enough to be present.”
The mansion and the gardens would be illuminated with 10,000 colored lights and hundreds of Japanese lanterns. Spotlights were positioned on the nearby rooftops to beam down on the fountains and the lawns. Weather permitting, the reception would be held on the South Lawn, followed by dinner and dancing in the East Room. Invitations were sent to all the members of official Washington: the cabinet, members of Congress, Army and Navy officers, the diplomatic corps, and many other distinguished guests. To give the affair “a unique distinction,” Nellie invited the relatives of all former presidents—including kinsmen of Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, James Garfield, Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, and Theodore Roosevelt. All told, 5,000 invitations were issued.
On May 11, five weeks before the grand event, Nellie and Will went to New York to attend a banquet at the Hotel Astor. Watching over Nellie as Taft spoke, Butt noted how much her health seemed improved, “how truly pretty she was.” After the dinner, the president and first lady, accompanied by the newly promoted Major Butt, went to Harry and Julia Taft’s apartment, where they planned to spend the night. “For nearly an hour,” Butt recalled, they enjoyed “Scotch and soda” and pleasant conversation before retiring. In the middle of the night, Archie heard Taft’s voice in the hallway, shouting for help.
Nellie had suffered another stroke, “similar to the first one” though “less severe.” Once again, she was unable “to articulate clearly or to find her words,” Helen told her brother. Though her slow, hard-won progress was wiped away and “the defect in her speech” made her shrink from seeing anyone outside her family, Nellie refused to stay in bed. News that the first lady had “suffered a serious breakdown” brought “genuine regret and sympathy” from people across the country, along with speculation that the anniversary party would be canceled.
Determined to realize her dream, Nellie spent hours each day practicing a series of stock phrases she could use for the receiving line. She found the perfect dress for the occasion—a heavy white satin gown embroidered with silver flowers, fitted for her slender figure. Should the weather prove inclement, she outlined plans to move the entire party indoors. The president, too, was obsessed with “every detail,” walking through the mansion and the grounds day after day to ensure that everything was “finished on time.”
At 9 p.m., buglers trumpeted the start of the grand march, officially opening the anniversary celebration. Preceded by dozens of military aides clad in “immaculate white” and followed by the members of the cabinet, the president and first lady walked down the stairway to the sounds of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” “A mighty shout went up” as they passed, a correspondent reported. “President Taft smiled and dimpled and bowed, and Mrs. Taft smiled and bowed, and everybody smiled.” The applause continued as the couple made their way to the enclosed arbor, where Archie Butt stood ready to present each of the 5,000 guests to the president and first lady. Nineteen-year-old Helen remained close by, ready to take her mother’s place at the first sign of trouble, but Nellie stayed on the receiving line until “the last hand was shaken.”
Finally, Taft escorted the first lady to the mansion, where she relaxed on the portico to watch the dancing in the East Room while he returned to the garden. The president “skipped lightly from group to group,” a Washington correspondent observed, “bringing personal messages of hospitality, enjoying himself to the fullest.” He expressed his pride in Nellie’s fortitude to all. She had stayed by his side “from start to finish,” despite his repeated efforts “to make her sit down and save her strength.” It appeared she thoroughly enjoyed herself, and that, above all, made him “happy as a boy.”
THE PRESS TOOK NOTICE OF the conspicuous absence of Theodore and Edith Roosevelt at the silver anniversary party. Two weeks earlier, when Taft and Roosevelt attended the Jubilee celebration for Baltimore’s Cardinal Gibbons, no hint of discord was evident as the two old friends “chatted, laughed and behaved just as they used to when Mr. Roosevelt was in the White House and Mr. Taft was Secretary of War.” Roosevelt had promised they would try to attend the anniversary party, but at the last minute he declined. In the interim, a troubling incident had intervened, bringing an end to the temporary period of rapprochement between the two men. Elaborating on the visible rapport at Baltimore, “misguided friends” of the president had inspired an Associated Press story suggesting that Roosevelt had finally decided to endorse Taft, having determined that “under no circumstance” would he allow his own name to go before the convention. A “mutual friend” of both men had purportedly brought word of Roosevelt’s endorsement to the White House. “This is the best political news Mr. Taft has received in many months,” remarked the Hartford Herald, “and it comes to him in a manner that leaves no doubt as to its authenticity.”
Asked to “affirm or deny” the report, Roosevelt simply answered, “I have made no such statement to the Associated Press or any paper. That is all I have to say.” Taft’s supporters hoped he would leave it at that, but as the hours went by, the Colonel became increasingly irritated. This was “too much like a repetition” of the New Haven incident, where he had been put in the embarrassing position of seeming to beg for Taft’s aid. In his next go-round with the press, he flatly labeled the endorsement report “an unqualified falsehood.” Still angry a week later, Roosevelt wrote to the editor of the Philadelphia North American. “It was outrageous for the Associated Press to fake that statement,” he insisted. These vehement denials, the Chicago Daily Tribune declared, “threw a bombshell in political circles.” While the disclaimer was “hailed with jubilation by the progressives,” it engendered “considerable chagrin” among Taft’s friends.
Resentment between the two men deepened later that summer when Roosevelt came out in striking public opposition to a peace project Taft had carefully developed. On August 4, after months of negotiation, representatives from the United States, England, and France gathered in the Oval Office to sign a comprehensive arbitration treaty. They had forged an agreement that every contentious issue that might arise, even those matters relating to national honor, would be “subject to arbitration.” Taft believed that if the treaty emerged relatively intact from the Senate, it would be“the great jewel” of his administration, “the greatest act” of his tenure as president.
“The ideal to which we are all working,” he declared, “is the ultimate establishment of an arbitral court to which we shall submit our international controversies with the same freedom and the same dependence on the judgment as in the case of domestic courts.” No longer would “the interests of the great masses” be sacrificed to “the intrigues of statesmen unwilling to surrender their scepter of power.” While he would never “minimize” the debt owed to the nation’s soldiers, “when the books are balanced, the awful horrors” of war “far outweigh the benefits that may be traced to it.” As the photographer prepared to capture the historic signing, Archie Butt deftly rearranged the president’s desk so that a large photo of Nellie would be visible. “She meant so much in his life at all crucial times that I wanted her represented at this scene,” Archie wrote.
Even before the treaty was signed, Roosevelt had positioned himself against the idea that countries could arbitrate questions of national honor. “No self-respecting nation,” he wrote in The Outlook, “no nation worth calling a nation, would ever in actual practice consent to surrender its rights in such matters.” Acquiescence, he maintained, would be tantamount to watching a man slap your wife and then depending upon an arbitrator to settle the matter. Archie Butt was “greatly disappointed” with Roosevelt’s article. He considered the analogy puerile, “unworthy” of the man he revered. “For the first time,” in discussion with Taft, he openly criticized his “old chief.” Roosevelt had not yet exhausted his strident proclamations, however. When the president of the National Rifle Association wrote a scathing editorial criticizing Taft’s “mushy” concern with “the horrors of war,” Roosevelt expressed wholehearted approval. Roosevelt particularly savored the line which claimed that “death was not a dreadful thing. To me there is something unspeakably humiliating and degrading in the way in which men have grown to speak in the name of humanity of death as the worst of all possible evils. No man is fit to live,” he asserted, “unless he is ready to quit life for adequate cause.”
That September, as the Senate continued to debate the treaty, Roosevelt published a second article on the subject in The Outlook. “It is one of our prime duties as a nation to seek peace. It is an even higher duty to seek righteousness,” he began. After detailing the treaty’s numerous defects, he concluded that “there are some questions of national policy and conduct which no nation can submit to the decision of any one else.” A president’s willingness to countenance such outside arbitration “would be proof positive that he was not fit to hold the exalted position to which he had been elected.”
Taft was not surprised by Roosevelt’s bellicose attitude. “I am afraid the old fellow has made a grave mistake in this,” he told Butt. “The fact of the matter is, Archie, the Colonel is not in favor of peace. He thinks that there are many worse things than wars, and he thinks war and a warlike spirit keeps up the virility of a people. He’s a fighter, and he doesn’t believe in peace.”
ON SEPTEMBER 15, AFTER CELEBRATING his fifty-fourth birthday with Nellie at the summer house in Beverly, President Taft boarded a special train to begin a two-month swing through the West. “The White House is once more on wheels,” the New York Tribune reported. “The official address of the nation’s head has again become ‘Pres. Taft, en route.’ ” The presidential train was equipped with “every comfort that modern transportation by rail affords,” including bathtubs, dining cars, drawing rooms, and “real beds” rather than conventional bunks. Though Taft likened delivering speeches to “taking medicine or standing a surgical operation,” he had worked hard to prepare a series of talks on the major issues of the day, including peace and arbitration, the Tariff Board, conservation, the trusts, and reciprocity.
The first week of the trip proceeded smoothly. At the state fair in Syracuse, New York, he was greeted with “bright skies and a holiday crowd.” At every stop in Pennsylvania and Michigan, people approached him with eager smiles. Even those “thought to be unfriendly” listened with respect to his speeches. “Go ahead, old man,” they seemed to say. “We’re going to see to it that you get a square deal.” It comforted Taft that his speeches were “reported in full” in the papers of every city, allowing him to put his “case before the people.”
As September 21 approached—the date on which the Canadian election would determine the fate of the reciprocity agreement—an anxious mood enveloped the train. “The bets seem to be so strongly in favor,” Horace told his brother, “but the election has been so extraordinary and seems to have roused the people so deeply that it is hard to feel sure of anything.” On the evening before the vote, Montreal was reportedly “ablaze with red fire and patriotism; alive with cheering thousands, and echoing with the oratory of the opposing hosts.”
At a banquet in Kalamazoo, Taft was handed a telegram with the dismal results: “Laurier government and reciprocity beaten.” By “an overwhelming majority,” Canadians had thrown the Liberal government out of office. Pundits were “dumbfounded”; analysts concluded that the verdict was against “the bogey of annexation” rather than an actual “unfriendliness to reciprocity.” The idea of “an Imperishable Canada” had won the day for the Conservative Party, leaving the prospect of free trade “dead as a ducat.” The result was difficult for Taft to absorb. “We were hit squarely between the eyes,” the president acknowledged. “I am very greatly disappointed.” The extra session was “for naught,” the National Tribune observed. After “toiling up the hill . . . we are back where we started, and possibly a little worse off.” The New York Evening Post judged the outcome “a terrible blow” for Taft, perhaps “a fatal hurt.” The Boston Traveler wryly observed that “it was very unkind of those Canadians to deprive President Taft of his best argument for reelection just when he needed it most.”
Taft remained disconsolate for days, though he gamely pushed on with his impossible schedule, eventually covering twenty-eight states, making two hundred stops, and delivering nearly four hundred speeches. In Archie Butt’s estimation, Taft’s peace and arbitration talks, designed to spur public demand for the Senate to pass the treaties, were “by all odds” his best and most successful. Yet, even as his passionate appeals reached audiences, the Senate was busily crafting amendments to render the treaties impotent.
The rest of Taft’s speeches, “dry and full of statistics,” were not well received. Crowds often drifted off before he finished. “As I see him sometimes laboring to interest an audience and failing to do so,” Butt lamented, “I feel so sorry for him I could almost cry.” Correspondents generally deemed the trip a failure. And while people came “to see him and hear his voice,” there was “no sign” that public opinion had shifted in his direction. “The Taft trip has proved,” William Allen White proclaimed, “that he cannot regain the people’s confidence, that he cannot know their language, and that he cannot hold their allegiance.”
During the dispiriting days on his tour, Taft found comfort in food; by the time he returned home, he weighed 332 pounds. Butt worried constantly about the state of the president’s health. His tendency to fall asleep during carriage rides or even in the midst of conversations had markedly increased. In church, where long sermons provoked drowsiness, Butt kept a watchful eye. If he saw the president’s head beginning to nod, Butt would fall into a coughing spell to wake him up. Such discretion was not always possible; on one occasion, Butt recorded, “I had not suspected that he was falling asleep until I heard an audible snore, and then I punched him, and he woke with such a start as to attract the attention of everybody around him.” After returning to the White House, Taft acknowledged to Aunt Delia that he was “too heavy,” and intended to begin a new diet. “You will see I am not very ambitious,” he confessed, “when I say that I shall be entirely satisfied if I can get down to three hundred pounds.”
ROOSEVELT DELIVERED A HARSH ASSESSMENT of the president’s tour. “I absolutely agree with everything you have written about poor Taft,” he told California’s progressive governor Hiram Johnson in late October. “When he started on this trip I still had some flickering hope that when he got out into the West, among the people who are heading the new movement . . . he would become infected with the spirit and would rise to a higher level than that on which he has carried on his presidency, but I am afraid it simply is not in him.” Taft’s problem, Roosevelt elaborated, was not that he had “gone wrong,” but that he had stayed put while the country was moving ahead. “He never thinks at all of the things that interest us most,” Roosevelt continued; “he does not appreciate or understand them.” While he had been an exemplary lieutenant, serving the public well as governor general of the Philippines and as secretary of war, he appeared oblivious to the monumental changes taking place in his own country. “As for my ever having any enthusiasm for Taft again, it is utterly impossible,” Roosevelt concluded. Nonetheless, “I shall support him if nominated because I do not believe that there is any ground for permanent hope in the Democratic Party.”
The train of events that altered Roosevelt’s perspective about the nomination began on October 27, his fifty-third birthday. Banner headlines across the country that day announced the Taft administration’s anti-trust suit against the U.S. Steel Corporation, its allied holdings, and its officials, including J. P. Morgan, John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie, Judge Gary, George Perkins, and Henry Frick. Labeling U.S. Steel “a gigantic monopoly, acting illegally in restraint of trade, and attempting to stifle competition,” the Justice Department sought “the dissolution” of the corporation’s seventeen “constituent companies” and its twenty “subsidiaries.” Citing a history of illegal actions, the government focused particularly on the acquisition of Tennessee Coal and Iron Company—the transaction President Roosevelt had sanctioned during the Panic of 1907. If the president had understood the facts of the situation, the petition read, he would have understood “that a desire to stop the panic was not the sole moving cause, but that there was also the desire and purpose to acquire control of a company that had recently assumed a position of potential competition of great significance.”
This reference to the former president’s decision generated a series of unflattering bylines: “Roosevelt Was Deceived”; “Roosevelt Fooled”; “Ignorance as a Defense.” In essence, the Philadelphia Record observed, Roosevelt had “been named as a co-respondent in the Government’s suit to divorce the Steel Corporation and Tennessee Iron. He cannot be indicted and fined; he cannot be enjoined and dissolved. But all the same he is on the defensive and on trial, and he is smarting as he has seldom smarted before. . . . Mr. Taft has kicked him on the shins and hustled him into the witness box for cross-examination.” For those convinced that Roosevelt had exceeded his authority and facilitated an illegal merger, the government’s brief promised vindication: “This is an official statement,” the St. Louis Post-Dispatch rejoiced, “that, as president, Theodore Roosevelt was concerned in a lawless act.”
Roosevelt was livid. “What I did was right,” he truculently declared to a New York lawyer. “I would not only do it again under like conditions if I had the power, but I should esteem myself recreant to my duty if I failed to do it again.” At the time, the crisis had spread rapidly and was threatening to destabilize the entire economy. “It was not a question of saving any bank or trust company from failure,” he insisted; “the question was of saving the plain people, the common people, in all parts of the United States from dreadful misery and suffering; and this was what my action did.” Moreover, the government’s implication that he “was misled” by inaccurate facts was simply “not correct.” The steel men had told “the truth” when they explained that the acquisition of Tennessee Coal would not produce a monopoly. U.S. Steel was not a monopoly then, nor was it one now. Indeed, Roosevelt pointed out, the market share controlled by U.S. Steel in 1911 was less that it had been in 1907.
The Colonel was particularly infuriated by the perceived hypocrisy of his successor. “Taft was a member of my cabinet when I took that action,” he stressed. “We went over it in full and in detail, not only at one but at two or three meetings. He was enthusiastic in his praise of what was done.” Any objections “should have been made instantly, or else from every consideration of honorable obligation never under any circumstances afterwards.” While Taft might not have personally perused the final brief that cited Roosevelt’s action, the Colonel’s “own conception of the office of President is that he is responsible for every action of importance that his subordinates take.” Roosevelt told his sister Corinne he could “never forgive” Taft for allowing this injustice. That it had “been done without his knowledge” was “the worst feature of the case.”
Never content to remain in a defensive position, Roosevelt used the incident to launch a searing attack on the administration’s entire anti-trust policy. During his three years in office, Taft had actually instituted more anti-trust suits than his predecessor. The Steel Corporation was simply the latest in a long series of enterprises—including the Electrical Trust, the Bath-Tub Trust, and the Tobacco Trust—that had “felt the heavy hand of the Government laid upon them.” With Taft’s wholehearted support, Attorney General Wickersham had “embarked upon a regular program of prosecutions and dissolutions and reorganizations.” The Department of Justice had become a “juggernaut rolling over the trusts,” winning one case after another. Earlier that fall, Wickersham had predicted that “probably one hundred additional corporations would be called to account under the Sherman Act, that their guilty officials would go to jail.”
Though Roosevelt had gained great popularity as the nation’s “trust-buster,” Taft found himself the subject of constant criticism for pursuing the same objective. “The times have changed,” one newspaper observed. Public expectation had moved beyond “old fashioned” trust busting, preferring government regulation designed to prevent the formation of monopolies in the first place. Litigation after the fact took on an aura of mean-spirited persecution. Roosevelt’s indictment of Taft’s anti-trust policy was perfectly timed to catch the shifting current in public opinion.
During his first years in the White House, Roosevelt explained in his Outlook article, corporations had viewed the Anti-Trust Law and the Interstate Commerce laws as “dead letters.” He had instituted suits against Northern Securities and Standard Oil “because it was imperative to teach the masters of the biggest corporations” that they “would not be permitted to regard themselves as above the law.” And when these corporations were truly “guilty of misconduct,” these suits resulted in “a real and great good.” He had never proceeded against corporations simply because they were big, but on evidence of “unfair practices.” Moreover, he had expanded regulatory powers for the Bureau of Corporations as a better solution.
The Taft administration, by contrast, he argued, was apparently determined “to break up all combinations merely because they are large and successful.” An endless “succession of lawsuits” threatened “to put the business of the country back into the middle of the eighteenth century.” The “sharp practice” of corporate lawyers would inevitably delay decisions for years, ensuring insufficient punishment for the guilty and substantial harm to “the innocent.” The job of controlling monopolies belonged to the federal executive, not the courts.
Roosevelt’s first significant attack on the president made headlines: “Taft Wrong, Says Roosevelt”; “Colonel Finds Taft Policy Bad”; “Roosevelt Takes Issue with Taft.” The entire edition of The Outlook immediately sold out and the publisher reprinted “tens of thousands” of copies to meet the overwhelming demand. “Roosevelt’s broadside was the only topic of discussion today,” reported the Chicago Daily Tribune. Progressive Republicans were thrilled that Roosevelt had finally declared publicly against Taft. More conservative Republicans, frightened by the Osawatomie speech, found comfort in the Colonel’s carefully reasoned position on trusts. The New York Times reported “a striking revival of Roosevelt talk,” and the National Tribune told of “a thousand questions” raised concerning his availability as a candidate. Roosevelt himself later credited the trust article for “bringing [him] forward for the Presidential nomination.” The turbulence surrounding this piece, he believed, had lifted “a strong undercurrent of feeling” for him “to the surface.”
IN LATE NOVEMBER AND EARLY December 1911, public excitement for Roosevelt’s candidacy began to develop “in an almost astonishing fashion.” A poll taken by three leading Ohio papers revealed that of more than 16,000 Republican voters questioned, nearly three out of four supported Roosevelt, with the remaining votes scattered between Taft and La Follette. Nebraska Republicans announced that Roosevelt’s name would be included on their presidential primary ballot. “Events in all parts of the country,” a Pennsylvania paper observed, “point to a growing and irresistible demand on the part of his countrymen that Colonel Roosevelt again enter public life.”
Though Roosevelt coyly continued to disclaim any intention of candidacy, his refusal to issue “a flat-footed denial” kept his name everywhere in contention. His sudden resurgence produced “anxious days” for La Follette, whose campaign was finally gathering steam. Earlier that fall, The American Magazine had begun publishing a ten-part series by the Wisconsin senator entitled “The Autobiography of an Insurgent.” Written with the assistance of Ray Baker, the series proved immensely popular, generating support for both progressivism and its most notable champion. In mid-October, a Progressive Conference in Chicago had given La Follette its “almost unanimous” endorsement for president. At an Insurgents’ Club dinner that fall, Gifford Pinchot had enthusiastically come out for La Follette, labeling him “the logical successor to Roosevelt.” The mere mention of the senator’s name had provoked “loud and prolonged applause.” Yet, so long as Roosevelt’s candidacy remained a possibility, however remote, La Follette found it challenging to raise funds or build a national organization.
On November 26, Ray Baker joined a small group of La Follette supporters for a dinner meeting at the senator’s Washington home. “Will Roosevelt be a candidate? That is the great question,” Baker recorded in his journal. If Roosevelt did run, Baker acknowledged, he would draw away much of La Follette’s following, though the senator was “bearing the heavy brunt & toil of the work of making the progressive campaign.” They would have to reach some resolution, for if both men “split the progressive vote,” Taft might well “slip in.” John Phillips was concerned that Roosevelt was playing a deft political game by “encouraging La Follette and the Progressives” with the idea of eventually moving in “and appropriating the goods.” Conceding that Roosevelt remained one of the most “extraordinary, vital and energetic” people he had ever known, Phillips nonetheless considered Roosevelt’s candidacy a powerful “setback for the Progressive or Liberal Movement.”
Two weeks later, Baker traveled to New York to sound out the Colonel. Roosevelt still insisted that he was not a candidate, but he seemed to Baker “like a war horse beginning to sniff the air of distant battles.” Roosevelt revealed “with evident delight” that two delegations, one from New Hampshire and the other from Ohio, had recently come to visit. Both were unhappy with Taft, but neither was prepared to support La Follette. Unless Roosevelt decided to run, both delegations would end up backing Taft. The conversation between Baker and Roosevelt continued as they walked from the Outlook office to the Long Island train station. “Fully a third of the people we met in the hurrying crowds,” the journalist remarked, “recognized him & turned toward him or whispered to their companions.” Roosevelt kept moving forward, shouldering his way through the crowded streets “as if he were in a football scrimmage.” In parting, Baker reminded Roosevelt that the first presidential primaries were three months away. “Come to see me again in January,” Roosevelt responded. Their conversation left it “absolutely plain” to Baker that “if the demand is loud and long enough, and if the prospects seem right . . . he will certainly jump into the game.”
That same week, after lunching with her father at Oyster Bay, Alice Longworth carried a cryptic message to Archie Butt. “Now, Butt,” Alice began, “you know that we are all devoted to you. Father looks upon you as a son, almost. Certainly I have never known him to be fonder of anyone outside his own family than he is of you, so you must understand what he meant when he told me to give you this message.” Then she hesitated, afraid that Archie would not want to hear her out, but the major insisted she continue. “Alice, when you get the opportunity,” Roosevelt had requested of his daughter, “tell Archie from me to get out of his present job. And not to wait for the convention or election, but do it soon.”