The Bookkeeper

New York's Democratic Governor-elect Averell Harriman last week paid the first installment on a debt owed to a careful political bookkeeper. As his secretary of state, he named Tammany Hall Leader Carmine G. (for Gerard) De Sapio, without whose help Harriman would still be a wistful political aspirant. Since New York is willing to pay its secretary of state $17,000 (plus $3,000 expenses) for such light-housekeeping duties as licensing hairdressers and sitting as chairman of the Cemetery Board, De Sapio will still be able to devote full time to his real job: that of managing New York Democratic politics.

In his managerial function, Carmine De Sapio is a man to watch. Averell Harriman and New York City Mayor Robert Wagner hold two of the nation's most important political offices--and both are immensely beholden to De Sapio. Moreover, De Sapio's probable control of the largest bloc of delegate votes at the Democratic National Convention in 1956 gives him a rich chunk of political capital that he can be expected to invest shrewdly.

Have a Tangerine? Late one afternoon last week, a steady stream of would-be De Sapio visitors poured into the cramped offices of the Democratic state headquarters, on the second floor of Manhattan's Biltmore Hotel. Campaign photographs of Averell Harriman were plastered everywhere. A picture of Harry Truman, in pastel shades, managed to make the wall of the main reception room. Franklin Roosevelt (senior) and Alben W. Barkley were relegated to the hall. Adlai Stevenson was stuck away in another room.

In an austerely furnished side office Carmine De Sapio held forth in his role of Democratic national committeeman. Talking by telephone to a political colleague, De Sapio's voice was rasping, his diction marked by such New York pronouns as "dese" and "dem." Hanging up the phone, he picked up a plump tangerine from his desk and tossed it to a political lieutenant, who peeled it and offered half to De Sapio. When he spoke to his visitors, De Sapio's voice changed. His tone was soft, his diction near-faultless. He told of his appointment as secretary of state, and it was clear he thought it no more than his due in the world of political give and take.

Up from the Picket Line. That world is one that Carmine De Sapio, at 46, has good reason to view realistically. The son of Italian-born parents, he grew up on Manhattan's lower West Side (where he lives today in a four-room apartment with his wife and daughter). His father ran a two-truck hauling outfit for which Carmine worked--in the office, carefully keeping the accounts.

He worked while attending Fordham University and went to Brooklyn Law School for a year. Then iritis, a chronic eye inflammation, forced him to quit school. Today he often wears dark-tinted glasses, cannot stand bright lights or smoke-filled rooms, must rinse his eyes some half a dozen times a day.

Even before he quit school, however, he was in politics. Around the corner from his home was the old Huron Club, a Tammany tepee. Carmine took to hanging around the club, was given some errands to run, moved up to precinct captain and deputy sheriff under Sheriff Daniel E. Finn--whose family had ruled the First Assembly District West for more than 70 years. In 1939, taking advantage of a factional split in the district, De Sapio ran against Finn for district leader. He won--but Tammany Hall refused to recognize him. Insurgent De Sapio and his followers picketed Tammany Hall. When De Sapio's men tried to argue their case at a Tammany meeting, the lights were promptly switched off. The De Sapio people left shouting, "To hell with Tammany Hall!" Not until 1943 did Tammany finally take De Sapio in.

De Sapio soon became the leader of a group attempting to loosen the strangle lock held on Tammany for generations by Irish-Americans. He got his break in 1949, when three incumbent leaders quit in "rapid succession under fire from Mayor William O'Dwyer. De Sapio was elected Tammany leader. But it was hardly an honor.

Mediators & Fumblers. He took over the dirty shell of a 150-year-old organization that had outlived its function. It still reeked from the scandals of power abused, and the base of its power was gone. New York, like many another American city, had once been a teeming jungle of half-broken Old World cultures, uprooted, insecure, warring, misunderstanding each other and the new world around them. After its fashion, Tammany mediated conflicts, spoke for the immigrant masses. The Statue of Liberty said, "Give me your tired, your poor," but it was Tammany that really opened palpable arms of help and advice. This was not a job that respectable New Yorkers were willing and able to do. Tammany's great service was performed for a great price.

Boss William Tweed (1860-71) and his henchmen had fleeced New Yorkers of some $200 million while he was Tammany's head. Boss Richard Croker (1886-1901) continued the Tammany rule that Lincoln Steffens described as "government of the people, by the rascals, for the rich." Boss Charles Murphy was the last successful leader of the old Tammany. When

Murphy died in 1924, Mayor Jimmy Walker mourned: "The brains of Tammany Hall lie buried in Calvary Cemetery." Jimmy was right; fumbler followed fumbler at Tammany Hall.

The leaders did not understand that the American school system had done its work. New roots had grown. Tammany's favor-doing had become socialized by the incipient welfare state. The Irish Tammany bosses lived on sentimental memories of past grandeur, and were puzzled and hurt when the Tiger's roar made no man cringe. De Sapio had far more modest and realistic views of the new Tammany's scope.

He began with a success so small that his predecessors would have been humiliated to stoop to it. Forming a coalition with Republicans, he ousted Red-lining Vito Marcantonio from his congressional seat. But De Sapio also took another step --and fell flat on his face. In the 1950 mayoralty race, De Sapio backed Ferdinand Pecora, a born loser, against Vincent Impellitteri, who won easily. Tammany's impotence was measured by the fact that it could not even beat Impy, an insurgent organization man with no machine of his own.

From the 1950 mayoralty fiasco, however, De Sapio drew an invaluable lesson that his predecessors had ignored. He realized that never again would hack candidates be elected merely because Tammany Hall had so ordained. Was there still a place for Tammany? De Sapio thought there was. As the regular New York County Democratic organization, working with party leaders in other boroughs, Tammany could 1) select popular candidates, and 2) manage their campaigns, keeping them on a straight, carefully planned track. Unwittingly, the New York newspapers helped him by vastly exaggerating Tammany's power, persuading many an ambitious young lawyer that Tammany could give him what he wanted.

The Herbivorous Kitten. Consolidating his leadership, De Sapio played for time, fighting off rebellion from within Tammany and constant attack from without. At one time, less than two years ago, he came within three votes of losing his leadership post. But when the time came (in the 1953 mayoralty primary) to take the offensive, De Sapio was ready with Robert Wagner Jr., the politically popular son of a politically famed father. Wagner won overwhelmingly (Impy ran a sorry second). The victory came because New Yorkers had wanted to vote for Wagner, not because Tammany Hall had told them to. Nevertheless, De Sapio and Tammany were back in the sun.

This year De Sapio greatly multiplied his gains by selecting Harriman to run for governor instead of Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr., who, before the elections, was believed by many to be a stronger candidate. The election proved De Sapio right. Harriman was narrowly elected, while Roosevelt was trounced for attorney general.

The revival of Tammany does not mean that the voracious Tiger prowls the streets of New York again. In U.S. politics, as in business, the age of the carnivores is past. Where the great bosses of yesterday gave orders to Senators and governors, De Sapio will give technical political advice --sorely needed in an age of amateur politics. Where the old bosses hammered out tickets by the skillful balancing of desperate rivalries, De Sapio, like any political-science professor, makes postcard polls of voter preference. Where they had satchelmen to carry bribe money, De Sapio has bright young ghosts to write solemn speeches on good government. Where they had plug-uglies, he has a tangerine peeler.

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