Woodrow Wilson As I Know Him | Page 8

state. "How the hell do I know whether he'll make a good governor?" he replied; "he will make a good candidate, and that is the only thing that interests me."
Shortly after, those of us who banded together to oppose the bosses in their efforts to force Doctor Wilson upon us began to the feel pressure of the organization's influence. Many of our friends left us in despair and in fear of the power of the machine. The movement toward Woodrow Wilson in the state was soon in full swing. The Davis-Smith-Nugent-Ross machine was in fine working order on the day and the night of the Convention.
I was not even a delegate to the Convention, but I was present and kept in close touch by contact with my friends with every phase of the convention fight. Colonel Harvey was again on the scene as the generalissimo of the Wilson forces, quietly and stealthily moving about, lining up his forces for the memorable battle of the morrow. There was bitter but unorganized opposition to the favourite son of the state machine, Woodrow Wilson. The Convention itself presented an unusual situation and demonstrated more than anything I ever saw the power of the "Old Gang" to do the thing its masters had in mind. As I look back upon the great event of this convention, the nomination of Woodrow Wilson for the governorship of New Jersey, I feel that destiny was inscrutably engaged there, working in mysterious ways its wonders to perform, working perhaps through strange, incongruous instrumentalities to bring the man of destiny into action, led by those who were opposed to everything Woodrow Wilson stood for, opposed by those who were yearning for and striving for just the dawn of political liberalism that his advent in politics heralded. The conflict of the Trenton Convention about to be enacted was an illustration of the poet's line, "Where ignorant armies clash by night." The successful side of the Convention was fighting for what they least wanted; the defeated against what they most wanted. Here in this convention, in truth, were in aggressive action the incongruities of politics and in full display were witnessed the sardonic contrasts between the visible and the invisible situations in politics. All the Old Guard moving with Prussian precision to the nomination of the man who was to destroy for a time the machine rule in New Jersey and inaugurate a new national era in political liberalism while all the liberal elements of the state, including fine old Judge Westcott of Camden and young men like myself were sullen, helpless. Every progressive Democrat in the Convention was opposed to the nomination of the Princetonian, and every standpatter and Old Guardsman was in favour of Woodrow Wilson. On the convention floor, dominating the whole affair, stood ex-Senator James Smith, Jr., of New Jersey, the spokesman of the "highbrow" candidate for governor, controlling the delegates from south and west Jersey. Handsome, cool, dignified, he rose from the floor of the convention hall, and in rich, low tones, seconded the nomination of the man "he had never met," the man he would not "presume" to claim acquaintance with, the man whose life had lain in other fields than his. Very close to him, "taking his orders," and acting upon every suggestion that came to him, sat Jim Nugent, grim, big-jawed, the giant full-back of Smith's invincible team, the rising star of machine politics in New Jersey. Down the aisle sat the "Little Napoleon" of Hudson County, Bob Davis, wearing a sardonic smile on his usually placid face, with his big eyes riveted upon those in the Convention who were fighting desperately and against great odds the effort of the state machine to nominate President Wilson. Across the aisle from me sat "Plank-Shad" Thompson, of Gloucester, big and debonair, a thoroughly fine fellow socially, but always ready to act upon and carry out every tip that came to him from the master minds in the Convention--Davis and Smith.
These were the leading actors in this political drama. Behind the lines, in the "offing," was the Insurgent Group, young men like Mark Sullivan and John Treacy of Hudson, stout defenders of the liberal wing in the Convention, feeling sullen, beaten, and hopelessly impotent against the mass attack of the machine forces. What a political medley was present in this convention--plebeian and patrician, machine man and political idealist--all gathered together and fighting as leading characters and supernumeraries in the political drama about to be enacted.
Not three men outside of the leading actors in this great political drama had ever seen the Princeton professor, although many had doubtless read his speeches. I watched every move from the side-lines. The bosses, with consummate precision, moved to the doing of the job in hand, working their spell of threats