The Mystery of Woodrow Wilson

1916

Oswald Garrison Villard writes in part in the North American Review: There are many mysteries connected with Woodrow Wilson. But the greatest is the transformation the day he became President and was no longer governor. He left Woodrow Wilson, the accessible tribune of the people, and became Woodrow Wilson the least accessible and most secluded of all our Presidents. It was not merely that he was oppressed by magnitude of his new task; not that the office of President has grown enormously in routine duties since the days of the last democratic President; not that a private bereavement soon bore him down; not that a physical strength none too great must be husbanded, nor even that problems of state almost unparalleled in gravity and import took their toll of hours for waking and for sleeping. These all had their influence, but at bottom it was the policy that was changed.

He no longer worked in any degree in the open; he sought council of fewer and fewer; his door no longer stood ajar; even his cabinet knew him not for days and weeks, becoming often a mere chorus of ratification. Visitor and volunteer advisers were no longer welcome — more than that, they were under suspicion of some ulterior motive. The burden of proof that they were not secretly in pay of the magnates of Wall street rested upon them. Notably has this been the case with those having knowledge of Mexico. To have capital invested in that country is as effective a disbarment from the Presidential ear as to be doing business in Wall street itself. Our leading financiers have been denied a hearing — to their complete puzzlement. He will not stoop to smuggle captains of industry into the White House by the back door. They are beyond the pale and must be kept there. The President in a recent speech has made it clear that success in business puts one without the Presidential ken. He stated that he did not care to hear from men who had done well under present conditions; when he wished a real insight into conditions he wanted to hear from the little fellows who were bucking the tide and the currents that make against success.

But there are still other tests employed to keep men and women out of the White House. Can they interest the Presidential mind? Have they anything to give to one who communes so freely with himself and works out such vital problems of state on his little typewriter? If not, they may cool their heels in Mr. Tumulty's outer office as long as they please. It availeth them not. Some of the strongest and most loyal supporters of Mr. Wilson have been denied a word, and the sole explanation is the Presidential theory that they had nothing to give him. Here we have considerable light on much that is puzzling. The President seems never to ask what he can do for others, particularly those who have worked for him with complete and devoted enthusiasm. Their homage is accepted; but it never occurs to Mr. Wilson there might be a reciprocal obligation. He has been a stranger even to his own lieutenants.

In May, 1915, I met an official of high position in one of the departments, in whose hands were matters of the utmost moment. His confidential reports would profoundly have affected the whole country had they seen the light of the day. They were constantly placed upon the President's desk. Yet I found this official had never seen the President except to shake hands with him in the lineup at an official reception. Dozens of similar cases could be cited. Even diplomatic officers returning from positions on some of our international "fronts" with first-hand information have been thunderstruck to find their opinions were neither sought nor desired.

Take the case of the federal reserve board. A year after its appointment its members had never met the President save at an official reception to which they were not even invited until attention of some White House functionary was called. Toward members of Congress his attitude is similar, save that these are sent for when the President wants them to do something for him.

Being completely self-sufficient, it never occurs to Mr. Wilson that a word of instruction or inspiration or praise or just a bit of human interest would mean much.

It must be said in Mr. Wilson's favor that he plays no favorites beyond one or two intimates. Men who expended large sums for him in 1912, who nearly worked their heads off for him in New Jersey, have all experienced equality of treatment.

Sometimes, however, the President's refusal of himself to others has more important results. Thus there was a governor once, who, being in Washington, had to go his way without a glimpse of the head of the nation. I have always wondered whether the governor did not remember this when, a few weeks later, the President was asking him to spare the life of a convict of international interest, only to have his request refused.

The Cabinet does not come in for many special privileges. Some of his ablest ministers have known him only in so far as routine demanded his attention. One of the strongest assured me he had never been asked an opinion in three years save at Cabinet meetings — not even during the Lusitania crisis.

In the Lusitania crisis we can see clearly the theory of office of President maintained by the author of congressional government and constitutional government in the United States. The writer believes Mr. Wilson laid the country under lasting obligation by his successful handling of that situation, and that history will accord a high place to the extraordinary series of Lusitania notes. But even an admirer of this fine statesmanship may look with uneasiness upon a policy by which in so great a crisis the way out is found in almost solitary[*] communion. Mr. Wilson held no Cabinet meetings at that grave time save to lay before his constitutional advisers the fruits of his meditation. Mr. Wilson, in the midst of the crisis, went to Cornish and secluded himself absolutely for 25 days.

Wilson government is one-man government. It is not party leadership, but party dictatorship.

The democratic party has been committed by Mr. Wilson personally to various new policies. Until he swung the party to advocacy of a large army and navy, to government by protectorate of Haiti and San Domingo, to purchase the Danish West Indies, the party had always been the anti-imperialistic party. When Mr. Wilson decided the time had come to reverse his position on "preparedness," he neither took a vote of his Cabinet nor of the party leaders. He refused to receive a group of citizens, chiefly of his supporters, who wished to urge him not to change his position. This kind of leadership is not responsible party leadership. His changes of base on the trade commission, woman suffrage, a child-labor law, and the tariff itself — to mention only a few complete reversals — were made without party consultation. The President's policy appears to be purely opportunist as well as purely individual. Members of Congress have been afraid to utter the usual campaign speeches lest the President in his bed chamber change the party policy overnight.

The mystery of the change in Mr. Wilson is intensified by his treatment of Washington newspaper men. The first day upon which he greeted them they were to be his bosom friends. Unfortunately they had a habit of asking searching questions. Soon there were subjects about which correspondents were forbidden to ask — for state reasons. Next, the conference became irregular, and ceased in July, 1915.

It is now reported that in deference to political exigencies and urging of Vance McCormick these conferences are to be resumed. Nothing can make them a success, for mutual trust and cordial friendship are lacking.

What is true of these relationships is true of Mr. Wilson's life in the White House. It is reserved and retired, notably so in contrast to the Roosevelt regime. Mr. Wilson entertains but little. What his warmest admirers have kept on hoping for is that others besides themselves might have access to that bonhomie they enjoy, and thus be disabused of any idea that the President is a mere thinking-machine without any heart and interested in people only so far as they have something to give.

If Mr. Wilson's failure in these relationships merely affected himself, they could be dismissed as individual idiosyncrasies. But these Wilson traits have a distant bearing on the future of the democracy. They must be taken into account by any voter who would forecast the kind of President Mr. Wilson would be in a second term, when temptation will be behind him to lower the public service by bestowing offices for political reasons, by surrendering to organized labor, by frequently reversing his positions. They throw important light upon Mr. Wilson's attitude toward his office.

They explain why whereas there were once notable bodies of young Cleveland men, there has been no similar raising up of young Wilson men to carry on the standard in years to come. There was a beginning in early efforts to oppose Tammany Hall, but with surrender to Murphy, as illustrated by the Johnson case, no more is heard of a reform democracy in New York.

As for the leader in the White House, no fair man doubts his extraordinary ability, his frequent lofty statesmanship, his rare wit, his unbounded power to charm when he will but unbend. He can rise to great heights both in words and deeds. Despite many base anonymous rumors, his private life is all that it should be.

The tragedy of it is that there are those who ought to know who believe the President desires nothing so much as to be loved, not for what he has achieved, nor for his intellectual powers, but for himself alone.

Note: [*] The article used the word 'coliary,' which isn't a word so far as I can determine, and 'solitary' fits the context a lot better.

—The Fryeburg Post, Fryeburg, Maine, Sept. 26, 1916, p. 8.

Jesse Pomeroy Ends 40th Year in Prison

1916

Notorious Prisoner Longer in "Solitary" Than Any Other "Lifer" in Country.

BOSTON, Massachusetts — Jesse Pomeroy, serving a life sentence for murder, has just completed his fortieth year in solitary confinement at the state prison in Charlestown. Pomeroy is said to have served in solitary longer than any other prisoner in this country, and, unless the commitment order is changed, he will have to be kept in that manner until he dies.

He began his sentence at the age of 16, after having been convicted of diabolical attacks on several small children. In recent years numerous efforts have been made to secure for him the privileges of a "trusty," but all of these have been unavailing.

Numerous attempts at escape have been made by the notorious prisoner, and these, together with his known predilection for taking human life, have influenced the authorities in strictly adhering to the conditions of the original sentence which prescribed solitary imprisonment.

While "solitary imprisonment" is the name given to the punishment Pomeroy is undergoing, it does not mean that he never leaves his cell. He goes out in the yard every day in charge of a guard and spends an hour there. But that is while the other prisoners are at work in the shops. During the forty years that he has been confined Pomeroy has seldom seen the face of a human being other than those of his keepers and of his aged mother, who died several years ago.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 5.

Had Forty Homes

1901

Vollon, the painter, was a unique personage even among the old characters of Paris. While he was essentially a Bohemian there were times when even his patience was taxed to the utmost, and to obviate the necessity of meeting unwelcome people he conceived the idea of multiplying his lodging places.

At the time of his death he owned no less than 40 homes, all in apartment houses, situated in all the out of the way corners of Paris, plainly furnished and with just enough accommodation for himself. He changed from one to the another all the time, in order to escape importunate acquaintances and to take refuge from his friends. It was in order to throw them all off the scent that he engaged rooms all over the city.

He finally died in the Rue de Dunkerque, where he had as many as three different apartments, all within a stone's throw of one another.

Secluded Veteran Dies After Five Years of Leprosy

1910

Badger Leper Dies

Passes Away After Five Long Years of Affliction

Lived Life of Seclusion in Building Set Apart for Him at the National Soldiers' Home In Milwaukee.

Milwaukee, Wis. — Albert S. O'Gorman is dead. Milwaukee's leper, after nearly five years of retreat in a little brick house on the grounds of the Soldiers' home, is no more. Death came quietly. It was the gradual dissolution of a body wasted by disease, that could no longer find strength to meet the daily strain demanded of it.

O'Gorman was a soldier. He served many years in the regular army, seeing service throughout the east and west. He joined the ranks when the war with Spain broke out, and was one of the foremost in Cuba and the Philippines. It was while with the army in the islands that he contracted the disease which brought his death.

Upon his return from war, O'Gorman entered the regular service in various army posts. Then he was taken ill. He asked a pension, and permission to enter a soldiers' home. The request was readily granted. A monthly income of $72 was allowed him by the government. He was ordered to the Milwaukee national home.

Then, and not till then, did O'Gorman learn the true character of his malady. He was examined by staff physicians, who diagnosed his disease as leprosy. There was no help for him, they said, and preparations were made to arrange for his comfort during his lifetime.

In a corner of the grounds a small brick house, once the home of one of the officials, was set aside for him. It was a two-story structure, with three rooms — a living room, a kitchen and a bedroom. Furniture and books, utensils and regulation clothing were furnished him, and he settled down to live the life of a recluse during the remainder of his days.

That was five years ago. During the intervening time, O'Gorman lived almost happily. Two of his daily meals he prepared himself on the cook stove in his little kitchen. Each day an orderly brought his dinner to him. Tobacco was supplied in abundance. Papers and books were plentiful. He was a deeply religious character, and spent much time reading the Bible, sitting on the low steps of his dwelling, basking in the sun.

To look at the man, one would not realize that he was the victim of the most horrible of diseases. He was inclined to a pleasant personality. None of the horror or fear of the evident indications of leprosy were shown.

O'Gorman suffered especially during the winter time. Cold weather, he complained, increased the steady aches and pains to which he was subjected. During last winter, he failed slowly but steadily. Spring came, and he rallied slightly; but his system was too far gone, and the convalescence proved only temporarily.

O'Gorman was born in Ireland in 1856 It was in 1874 that he came to the United States. He settled near St. Paul, Minn., and it was from there that he was recruited into the regular army.

The case of the patient attracted much attention throughout the country. He was one of two individuals in the United States afflicted with the plague.

Several times the state department and the secretary of war considered transferring his case from Milwaukee, but there were no leper colonies where he might be sent, and it was decided finally, that he could be best cared for in the little brick building in which he made his home.

—Suburbanite Economist, Chicago, Aug. 26, 1910.