War and Peace

The artifice of paradox is essential to the art of politics. Desiring peace among themselves, the Democrats dined together last week in the name of their greatest fighter--Andrew Jackson. Desiring to unite behind one man and on one platform, they suppressed their enthusiasm for their most popular man--Alfred Emanuel Smith, who was not present--and they tiptoed across a central plank in his platform--Prohibition, which loomed in the minds of all.

They met in the ballroom of the Mayflower Hotel in Washington. When crowds of ticket-holders had been told there was no more room, when the galleries had been packed with Democrats who could not get tickets, the important ones sat down to eat, 1,300 strong.

Clem L. Shaver, National Chairman, introduced as toastmaster John William Davis, last Democratic Presidential nominee and still technical head of the party. Toastmaster Davis explained that the Democracy must be something between an army of generals and a set of political chessmen. He called upon all Democrats to unite for victory, and upon famed Democrats around the tables to tell how and why victory must come.

During speechmaking, the room was darkened and spotlights played on a life-sized oil portrait of Andrew Jackson, the hardbitten, relentless foe of Federalism. Andrew Jackson was the President who introduced the "spoils system" of patronage into national government, but that did not deter Claude Gernade Bowers, editorial writer for the New York Evening World, from excoriating the "Harding Gang." As historian and first speaker of the evening, Mr. Bowers had first chance to attack the Republicans; he did it so thoroughly that subsequent speakers felt free to talk mainly about themselves or other Democrats.

Stony-jawed Senator James A. Reed of Missouri fired a few salvos at the routed Republicans, took a fling at Prohibition and then, himself hopeful of his party's highest favor, paid dutiful compliments to Democratic heroes, including the hero whom he had fought most bitterly, Woodrow Wilson.

Governor Albert Cabell Ritchie of Maryland praised Senator Reed, Grover Cleveland and the outstanding absentees, Dry Senator Thomas James Walsh of Montana and Wet Governor Smith of New York. About the latter. Governor Ritchie waxed fervent: "He has proved himself, of course, the great Governor of a great State and an honest, fearless and efficient administrator. But more than that, the masses sense that here is an authentic voice, not only of the Democratic Party but of the democracy of the nation, too."

"He justifies the people's faith in democracy. They feel that Wall Street and Main Street look the same to him. They note that his idea seems to be the simple one of giving an honest and practical people as honest and practical a government as he knows how."

About Prohibition, Governor Ritchie was not nearly so outspoken as Senator Reed. The Ritchie point is states' rights; the Reed, political rancor. Yet it was after the Ritchie speech that Toastmaster Davis saw fit to depart from routine to "restore harmony." The U. S. people, said he, were divided in three classes, not two, on Prohibition--the third being "those who believe the present law is the best way to deal with this great governmental experiment, at present."

The Dry element, minus Senator Walsh, was not as formidable as the Wet among those present. But trepidation was felt until William Gibbs McAdoo began to be heard from. That he would not be "unharmonious" was apparent as soon as he said: "When I ran into Will Rogers today. . . ."

Mr. Rogers was also present, to clown shrewdly.

If there was a "moment" in the extravagantly long evening, it came when George R. Lunn, onetime Lieutenant Governor of New York, lifted his voice above a typewritten document which few but himself had read--a letter from "Al" Smith. Governor Smith was absent if for no better reason than that Mrs. Smith's appendix was just out, but his presence was announced by a demonstration brief and sincere. None interrupted with conventional shouts while Mr. Lunn read: " . . . The declaration of party principles might well be tentatively drafted at the earliest possible moment. . . . In the heat and rush of the Convention the platform when finally written is, to my way of thinking, not sufficiently understandable to the masses of the people. . . .

"We cannot carry water on both shoulders. The Democratic party must talk out. . . ."

''The success of the Democratic Party in the State of New York lies in the fact that it has had a clearcut and definite program. . . ."

In other words: For Jackson Diners, the paradox of a Democracy without definition. From the Democratic nominee-presumptive, a demand for definition beyond doubt.

Others present at the Jackson Dinner: Mrs. Woodrow Wilson, who sat on the right hand of John William Davis and was shouted at when she entered.

Governor Dan Moody of Texas, aged only 34. The 1928 Democratic Convention is in his State, and he in a Vice Presidential state (see "To Houston").

Evans Woollen, Indianapolis banker. He is sincere; he talked low tariff; but his boom did not impress.

Representative William A. Oldfield of Arkansas, chairman of the Democratic Congressional Committee. He spoke, but none remembered the gist.

Mrs. Nellie Tayloe Ross, onetime (1925-27) Governor of Wyoming. Sloganed she: "Away from normalcy and back to idealism!"

Leading newspapers commented on the Jackson Dinner with satisfaction.

Said the New York Times (Democratic): "For the first time in a good many years . . . Democrats behaved like Republicans."

Said the New York World (Democratic): "For the first time in four years one felt that under good leadership the party might once again shake itself together and earn the right to be considered fit to govern."

Said the Washington Post: "The harmony climax at the Jackson day dinner was almost too good to be true, and too exquisite to last long."

Said the Christian Science Monitor: " 'What good times Democrats do have--before election.' "