IN January, 1916, I applied to the State Department for a leave of absence, so that I might pay a visit to the United States, which I had not seen for more than two years. I had begun to feel the effects of the nervous strain of my labours to avert the terrible fate of the Armenians and Jews. These labours, and my experiences with German diplomatic intrigue in Constantinople during the war, have already been described in my earlier book, published in 1918 under the title, “Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story,” to which I must refer any of my readers who are interested to pursue my Turkish experiences further.

I spent the first few days after my return to the United States with my old political friends in Washington, and I was shocked at the prevailing political atmosphere. Not one of the numerous men high in the Administration with whom I talked had the slightest hope that President Wilson could be reËlected that fall. They were all convinced that, as the breach in the Republican Party had been healed, our political opponents were prepared to present a united front and were determined to win; and that, on the other hand, the Administration had made so many enemies in the preceding three years that the President’s defeat in November was a foregone conclusion. Tammany had received no consideration at his hands, and was very bitter; and hence there was little likelihood of our carrying New York. “Organization leaders,” otherwise the bosses, generally, had been ignored, and the party machinery was rusty from disuse, where it was not actually broken down by dissension. William G. McAdoo told me frankly of his intention shortly to resign from the Cabinet and return to private business. Josephus Daniels spoke hopelessly of the political outlook. Frank L. Polk and Franklin D. Roosevelt gave me the same picture of party dissension, apathy, and despair. Even Senator James A. O’Gorman of New York, whom I had known for many years as a man of native optimism and Irish courage, said to me: “Henry, it is sheer insanity to talk of reËlecting President Wilson. He hasn’t a ghost of a chance. I am convinced that the Democratic Party will be buried under a Republican landslide this fall.” But after listening to my enthusiastic arguments to prove that the President simply must be reËlected and that we could convince the country of this necessity, he shared my conviction. He said: “Henry, if I had had your viewpoint on this matter earlier, I would have modified my attitude. But I have gone too far now: with my record behind me, I cannot make a fight for reËlection as Senator.”

My conversation with these men shocked me, but did not depress me. It aroused my fighting spirit. To my mind, the reËlection of President Wilson offered not merely an opportunity for partisan advantage, but I felt profoundly that the condition of international affairs made it a vital necessity to our safety as a nation, and to the cause of humanity the world over, because the rest of the world was looking to Mr. Wilson to be ultimately the man who should bring about peace. I pointed out to my friends the force of these arguments, and the folly, from our national point of view, of changing Administrations at such a critical juncture in our history. If a Republican were elected in November, Mr. Wilson’s hands would practically be tied for the remaining four months of his Administration, while the President-Elect would be equally impotent to take effective measures to safeguard our interests in international affairs.

I stressed the need to arouse the party from its lethargy, and to begin at once a powerful and nation-wide campaign to reËlect the President. The Cabinet officers at Washington responded to the enthusiasm which I poured into this enterprise, and I soon had some members of the National Committee awake and actively coÖperating. At a conference with Mr. Burleson, I discovered that the Congressional Campaign Committee had done nothing. He sent for Mr. Doremus of Michigan, whose duty it was to launch this Congressional campaign. He painted a gloomy picture of the outlook for the Congressional elections. “We have no money to help the boys make their fights for reËlection, and we have no one to whom we can go and get it. Many of them are thoroughly discouraged, and see no use in trying to do anything for the party, so they are just waiting for the end and planning to go back into private life.” I asked Mr. Doremus: “What is the minimum amount necessary to start vigorous work for their reËlection? I don’t want to know how much you want, but how little you can possibly get along with.” He named a modest figure, but declared that even this was impossible to raise. I promptly under-wrote it personally, and he went to work eagerly; and he afterward reported to me that this action greatly changed the attitude of the Congressmen when they realized that help was at hand to make a real fight for the election. It practically created several hundred active campaign managers at a stroke.

I then returned to New York, and on my own responsibility, leased national headquarters at No. 30 East Forty-second Street, signing the lease in my own name, after I had shown the rooms to Colonel House and Charles R. Crane, who approved my selection. I bought and rented furniture, typewriters, and other supplies, and got everything in shape so that the moment the approaching Convention was over, and the new Campaign Committee named, they would find the tools for their work ready to hand, and could go on the job without the delay we had experienced in 1912.

In view of the hopelessness which I had found among the party leaders, and in view of the very narrow margin by which Mr. Hughes was defeated the following November, I take pride in the consciousness that my activities were one of the necessary factors that led to Mr. Wilson’s reËlection in 1916.

I shall return later in this article to other dramatic incidents of that campaign, including some of the exciting events of Election Night that are not generally known.

Meanwhile, in addition to the negative difficulties of apathy and despair, there were numerous positive troubles that needed immediate attention. I shall describe one of these problems in which I was called upon to take a hand personally in straightening it out. It concerned the appointment of a Postmaster for New York City. Here was a dangerous political situation. The late John Purroy Mitchel was then Mayor of New York City, and was making a splendid record. His presence in that position was of course a standing annoyance to Tammany Hall, which he had fought all his life. Tammany was already irritated enough at the Administration, because of President Wilson’s unbending opposition. Some of the party managers in the Administration at Washington had thought to placate Tammany by a tardy recognition of the “Wigwam” in the shape of an appointment of a Postmaster agreeable to Murphy. Postmaster General Burleson had manipulated this arrangement, and when I arrived in Washington, I found that the appointment of a Tammany man to be Postmaster had proceeded so far that the commission was on President Wilson’s desk for him to sign. The man to be named was Joseph Johnson, who was an intimate associate of Murphy’s, and who had done some very aggressive publicity work for Tammany Hall. Murphy had had him appointed Fire Commissioner of New York under Mayor Gaynor, and Mayor Mitchel had displaced him when he succeeded Gaynor. In retaliation, Johnson had taken great pleasure in spreading political propaganda adverse to Mitchel, so that there was an intense political feud between the two men. I realized that Johnson’s appointment as Postmaster would deeply offend the better element of the Democrats in New York, and would cause such dissension as probably to result in our losing the state and national election. I knew, too (and this was perhaps of even greater importance), that Johnson’s appointment would be so repugnant to the New York World that this brilliant champion of President Wilson and his policies would be disgusted and would lose the fine enthusiasm that made its support so effective. I therefore went to the White House, and called upon President Wilson.

I presented my arguments against Johnson’s selection with all the force of which I was capable, but found that the President took only a languid interest in my attempt to re-open a subject which he considered closed. The nearest approach to rousing him which I achieved, was when I pointed out to the President that Johnson’s appointment would alienate John Purroy Mitchel. He thereupon flashed out with, “Mitchel is no help to us anyway.” I then realized the President’s deep irritation at Mitchel’s active campaign for military preparedness, which he had pushed so vigorously that it amounted, on the one hand, to a threat that he would leave the party if a preparedness programme were not undertaken, and on the other, to a serious embarrassment of the President’s carefully considered foreign policy. The President finally tried to dismiss the subject by saying that I had come too late, that Burleson had arranged the whole matter, and that the commission was on his desk for signature. I then asked him as a personal favour not to sign the commission for a few days, and to this he consented.

I then made a call upon the Postmaster General. Mr. Burleson evidently misjudged the temper of my resolution. In our association in the campaign of 1912 he had never seen me thoroughly aroused, and did not realize that I was so now. He argued the matter in a soothing manner, and at length made me the astounding proposal, not only that I should assent to the nomination of Johnson, but that I should write a letter to the President commending it. I evidently astonished the General with the vigour of my reply. I informed him emphatically that I would not write such a letter, and practically challenged him to see which of us would have the final say regarding the nomination.

I next sought Colonel House to get his advice and coÖperation. I got only the advice—and a glimpse into the true nature of his relationship with the President. He told me that it was his custom to present freely to the President his views upon questions of the moment, but that he believed that it was the President’s duty to decide, and that once the President had expressed an opinion, it was not proper for him to argue the matter with him.

I did not accept Colonel House’s advice. I was confident that my judgment of the Johnson appointment was sound, and I felt no hesitation in renewing my effort to convince Mr. Wilson. I returned to the White House, and resumed my argument. I pointed out to the President the danger of losing the enthusiasm of the New York World and the extreme importance of carrying New York in the fall election, and the embarrassment which Johnson would cause us in that effort. “Do you mean to say,” demanded the President, “that if I appoint Johnson Postmaster, it will cost us New York in November?”

I understood the President’s psychology well enough not to answer with a direct affirmative. If I had said “Yes,” the Scotch-Irish in him would have instantly replied, “Then, I don’t care if we do lose it.” Worse yet, he would have doubted my own loyalty and fighting spirit. I replied, therefore, somewhat less directly. Recalling Mr. Wilson’s enthusiasm for golf, I said: “No, Mr. President, I do not mean that. What I do mean is that you will put an enormous bunker in our way and it will require great skill for us to get over it.” This answer pleased him, and we continued the discussion. “Whom else could I name?” he asked me. I answered truthfully that I had no candidate; and that I was concerned only to prevent Johnson’s selection, and had not the slightest objection to his selecting a good Tammanyite for the position. I added that two Tammany men occurred to me as being unobjectionable, State Senator Robert E. Wagner, or Assemblyman Alfred E. Smith.

The President finally agreed not to appoint Johnson, and several days later, telegraphed me in New York, asking me to offer the position to Senator Wagner. I did so, and almost persuaded him to accept it, with his proviso that he should get Murphy’s consent. This he failed to obtain, so that for the rest of the year the Republican incumbent continued to hold the office. Tammany would not have been placated anyway by this one sop thrown to them at the last minute, and, on the other hand, I had the satisfaction of preventing the defection of Mitchel and the weakening of the New York World’s support.

President Wilson was re-nominated unanimously at the Convention at St. Louis in July. The next question was to name the Chairman of the Campaign Committee so that we could proceed at once to vigorous action. I was suggested for the position, and I promptly refused to consider it, pointing out that my antagonism to Tammany would certainly cause the organization in New York to resent my appointment. The various state organization leaders were already irritated enough over the lack of consideration that they had received throughout the Wilson Administration. Some of them were determined to revolt unless a chairman should be named from the recognized party workers of the National Committee. The President has the right to name the man who shall manage his campaign for reËlection, and his advisers were distinctly worried over the attitude of the organization leaders. I was asked to suggest someone to act as Treasurer of the Campaign Committee, and I mentioned Vance McCormick of Pennsylvania. This probably suggested a solution of the difficulty, and the President shortly afterward named McCormick chairman of the Campaign Committee. As McCormick was a regular party leader, and was besides very popular, there could be no objection to this choice. It proved indeed a very happy one. All who know McCormick personally are unanimous in their appreciation of his high character and of his utterly charming personality. He is a most unusual mixture of forcefulness and sweetness of spirit. His selection was an ideal one. The concord which prevailed at Democratic headquarters throughout the campaign of 1916 was in pleasing contrast to the fretful bickerings of 1912, and this difference was due chiefly to McCormick’s influence.

I devoted myself, as I had in 1912, chiefly to the financial side of the campaign. This time I had powerful assistance. Thomas L. Chadbourne, Jr., and Bernard M. Baruch were particularly valuable allies. I had only to suggest, to one or the other, where I thought they might find some prosperous and as yet untaxed Democrat, to have him eagerly exclaim, “I’ll get him,” and neither of them ever failed to make good his boast. Some gave cheerfully out of their abundance, as did Edward L. Doheny, whom I personally solicited and who contributed $50,000, which he later got back, and a quarter of a million more, by taking a sporting chance on a close election and betting heavily on Wilson’s success. Others gave equally greatly out of meagre resources. Of these, the most touching was the gift from the late Franklin K. Lane, who had saved up a thousand dollars in the preceding six months and gave it out of the fulness of his patriotism and his personal affection for the President.

Perhaps the most amusing episode of our campaign for party finances was our experience with Henry Ford. One of our plans called for an extensive campaign of newspaper advertising, which would require a large sum of money. Someone suggested that Mr. Ford, in view of his interest in world peace and in President Wilson’s peace record, might be willing to supply the funds. After some correspondence, Ford agreed to meet Vance McCormick in New York, and in August, 1916, they met at luncheon in McCormick’s rooms at the Biltmore Hotel. The luncheon party consisted of Ford, McCormick, Thos. A. Edison, and Josephus Daniels. All four men are well known for their temperance proclivities, and doubtless they lived up, on this occasion, to their professions and their usual practices. It must have been either the intoxication of political ideas, or the effervescence of youthful spirits which prompted them after luncheon to dispense temporarily with the serious business in hand, and enter into a lively competition in high kicking in the sitting room of the suite in friendly but vigorous rivalry to see which could first kick the chandelier. None of them reached this goal, but Henry Ford, who started his business life by repairing bicycles, set a new world’s record by topping the other three several inches in this pedal competition. To make sure that my memory of this event was correct, I wrote to Vance McCormick for verification. His reply is worth repeating:

This expansion of movement on Ford’s part, however, suffered a severe contraction when the subject of finances was resumed. He interposed objections to every argument that was made for his contribution to the advertising campaign. He objected to giving money for political purposes, because he had heard so much about improper expenditures, and he was afraid that some of his money might go that way. He stood firm in that position even after it was pointed out to him that advertising rates were easily determined, and the expenditures could be checked.

Exhausted by their efforts to pin Ford down to a definite proposal, McCormick and Daniels brought him over to Democratic headquarters, introduced him to me, and, as McCormick expressed it, left him to my tender mercies. I re-argued the points they had covered, and found out Ford’s real position. He would contribute, but he wanted terms that would advertise himself and his cars. The advertisements, when published, must be in the form of a statement of Ford’s personal views on the campaign, and must bear his signature. In addition, as compensation, we were to guarantee him the privilege of calling upon the President, so that he might lay before him the plan which he contemplated of adding the women in his employ to the men who were already benefitting by the minimum wage of $5 a day. He wanted the President, he said, to get the credit for advising him to make this arrangement. No doubt, he was even more anxious to get the publicity that would come from making the announcement after the visit.

We accepted Ford’s proposition, but he drove a hard bargain, for, after all, his contribution was a small one, and absurdly disproportionate to his means and to his professions of interest in the election.

One minor incident of the campaign had a significant bearing on the subsequent career of Senator Carter Glass of Virginia. President Wilson asked me to see Mr. Glass and persuade him to accept the position of secretary of the Democratic National Committee. He gave no reason for this request, and I had considerable difficulty with Mr. Glass, who shied away from the suggestion. I assured him that we did not expect him to perform any routine duties. We wished him to accept the post only so that we might have him at hand to consult upon questions of campaign strategy as they arose. He finally consented. From subsequent developments, it was evident that Mr. Wilson even then had Mr. Glass in mind for higher honours, and wished to use this means of bringing him more prominently before the general public, so that he would be more readily accepted by national opinion when the day came for an appointment.

We realized that the election at best was going to be a very close one. We felt reasonably sure that the disaffection of Tammany in New York, and of the Roger Sullivan organization in Illinois, would cost us those two states. We had to make up their expected loss in other directions, and for this reason we concentrated on Ohio and the states of the Pacific Coast. I was very much astonished when Mr. Elbert H. Baker, the proprietor of the Cleveland Plain Dealer, came into headquarters one day and assured us that we would carry Ohio by 75,000 votes. I had no such hopes, and regarded Mr. Baker as a well-meaning enthusiast. Some days later, however, in conversation with Secretary of War Newton D. Baker, he assured me that his namesake was not far wrong in his estimate. Both were subsequently justified by events, as Ohio gave President Wilson 90,000 more votes than Mr. Hughes.

One of the most useful individual contributions to our ultimate success in the Pacific Coast states was the vigorous campaign waged in the West by Mr. Bainbridge Colby on his own initiative. Mr. Colby, it will be recalled, had been a Republican, but in 1916 he was attracted by the progressive character of Woodrow Wilson. He therefore aligned himself as a member of the Democratic Party, and became one of President Wilson’s most ardent supporters. His services were of the greatest value.

Despite our anxieties, we came to Election Day with hopes so high that they amounted to complete confidence in the result. So sure was I of the outcome, that I invited as many of my political friends as remained in New York (most of the National Committeemen had gone to their homes to vote) to join me at a dinner at the Biltmore on Election Night, November 6th. We arranged to receive the returns at the table, and planned that the occasion should be one of progressive jubilation.

When the dinner began, we were a happy party. Mrs. McAdoo’s vivacity was the keynote of an evening full of jest and laughter, and of confident anticipation of victory and four years more of Democratic control of National policies. Everything went merrily until about nine o’clock, when unfavourable returns began to filter in, and gloom began to settle on the assembly. Nervousness gave way to consternation when, about ten o’clock, we received word that the New York Times and the New York World had flashed their beacon lights to announce that the Republicans had won. Mr. McAdoo sank deep in his chair, the picture of dejection. Mrs. McAdoo’s vivacity and appetite fled together. They excused themselves comparatively early, and departed. Our dinner soon became, what it was afterward aptly called, a “Belshazzar’s Feast.” The party broke up, and those of us who had been active in the campaign, headed by Vance McCormick, hurried back to headquarters on Forty-second Street. The news from New Hampshire, Minnesota, and California was especially encouraging. We resolved that, whatever else happened, this should not be another Tilden-Hayes defeat. We sent for Attorney General Gregory, and at our request, he telephoned to United States District Attorney Anderson in Boston, ordering him to send deputies at once into New Hampshire, to see that no violations of the election laws were permitted, and especially to guard against the reported intimidation of election officials preparing their returns.

The newspaper reporters were flitting back and forth between our headquarters and the Republicans, and we got from them a report that financial men were gathering in the headquarters of the enemy, and were raising an enormous fund to affect the returns from the West. We used the reporters to carry an ultimatum to the Republicans. We reminded them that we had control of the Federal legal machinery, warned them that we had already put the United States authorities in all doubtful states on the watch, and assured them that if the proposed fund were raised, it could only be for illegal purposes, and that if this effort were not instantly stopped, the whole crowd would find themselves in jail on the following morning. If they seriously contemplated such action, this threat was effective to stop it, and no effort was made by the Republicans to use funds improperly.

We then concentrated our attention upon California. Within an hour had secured a through telegraph wire to Democratic headquarters in San Francisco and arranged that every precaution be taken to secure a fair count throughout the state.

We kept a close watch also on Minnesota, where, if we had needed it, I have always been convinced a recount would have given us a majority that would have made the loss of California a matter of no moment. We all spent the entire night at headquarters, my son going out at three o’clock in the morning to bring us in hot rolls and coffee. At six o’clock in the morning, our collars wilted, our dress shirts soiled, and looking generally bedraggled, we took taxis to our several residences to refresh ourselves with bath and breakfast, and to change into business garments. By eight o’clock everyone was back at headquarters, and we worked through that entire day and until midnight without sleep. Our reward was the final assurance of victory.

Woodrow Wilson was again President of the United States. The nation could count upon an uninterrupted and consistent policy through the critical winter of 1916-1917, and the world was the gainer by the exalted leadership and sustained nobility of policy which marked our reluctant, but high-minded, entrance into the World War, and its progress to a victorious conclusion.