Woodrow Wilson As I Know Him | Page 9

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 and coercion upon a beaten, sullen,
spiritless body of delegates. One could easily discern that there was no
heart in the delegates for the job on hand. To them, the active forces in
the Convention, the Princeton president was, indeed, a man of mystery.
Who could solve the riddle of this political Sphinx? Who was this man
Wilson? What were his purposes? What his ideals? These questions
were troubling and perplexing the delegates. Colonel Harvey, the
commander-in-chief of the Wilson forces, when interrogated by us,
refused to answer. How masterfully the Old Guard staged every act of
the drama, and thus brought about the nomination of the Princeton
president. The Convention is at an end. Wilson has been nominated by
a narrow margin; the delegates, bitter and resentful, are about to
withdraw; the curtain is about to roll down on the last scene. The
chairman, Mr. John R. Hardin, the distinguished lawyer of Essex, is
about to announce the final vote, when the clerk of the Convention, in a
tone of voice that reached every part of the hall, announces in a most

dramatic fashion: "We have just received word that Mr. Wilson, the
candidate for the governorship, _and the next President of the United
States_, has received word of his nomination; has left Princeton, and is
now on his way to the Convention." Excellent stage work. The voice of
the secretary making this dramatic statement was the voice of Jacob,
but the deft hand behind this clever move was that of Colonel Harvey.
This announcement literally sets the Convention on fire. Bedlam breaks
loose. The only sullen and indifferent ones in the hall are those of us
who met defeat a few hours before. For us, at least, the mystery is about
to be solved. The Princeton professor has left the shades of the
University to enter the Elysian Fields of politics.
At the time the secretary's announcement was made I was in the rear of
the convention hall, trying to become reconciled to our defeat. I then
wended my weary way to the stage and stood close to the band, which
was busy entertaining the crowd until the arrival of Mr. Wilson. I
wanted to obtain what newspaper men call a "close-up" of this man of
mystery.
What were my own feelings as I saw the candidate quietly walk to the
speakers' stand? I was now to see almost face to face for the first time
the man I had openly and bitterly denounced only a few hours before.
What reaction of regret or pleasure did I experience as I beheld the
vigorous, clean-cut, plainly garbed man, who now stood before me,
cool and smiling? My first reaction of regret came when he uttered
these words:
I feel the responsibility of the occasion. Responsibility is proportionate
to opportunity. It is a great opportunity to serve the State and Nation. I
did not seek this nomination, I have made no pledge and have given no
promises. If elected, I am left absolutely free to serve you with all
singleness of purpose. It is a new era when these things can be said, and
in connection with this I feel that the dominant idea of the moment is
the responsibility of deserving. I will have to serve the state very well
in order to deserve the honour of being at its head.... Did you ever
experience the elation of a great hope, that you desire to do right
because it is right and without thought of doing it for your own interest?

At that period your hopes are unselfish. This in particular is a day of
unselfish purpose for Democracy. The country has been universally
misled and the people have begun to believe that there is something
radically wrong. And now we should make this era of hope one of
realization through the Democratic party.
I had another reaction of regret when he said:
"Government is not a warfare of interests. We shall not gain our ends
by heat and bitterness." How simple the man, how modest, how
cultured! Attempting none of the cheap "plays" of the old campaign
orator, he impressively proceeded with his thrilling speech, carrying his
audience with him under the spell of his eloquent words. How tense the
moment! His words, spoken in tones so soft, so fine, in voice so well
modulated, so heart-stirring. Only a few sentences are uttered and our