Master of His Fate James Tobin (free e books to read online .txt) 📖

to turn Roosevelt’s infirmity against him. By the rules of good sportsmanship, it would be bad behavior to strike at a man who was physically vulnerable. A boxer drew a penalty if he hit an opponent who was down on one knee. Boy Scouts were forbidden from hurting “the weak and helpless.” Even in the tough game of politics, voters didn’t like it if you took a cheap shot at an opponent with a visible weakness.

Albert Ottinger had no taste for exploiting FDR’s handicap. He announced he would make no speeches until the last two weeks of the campaign, and when he did speak, he would refrain from any “mudslinging” or “destructive criticism.”

So editorial writers for the state’s powerful Republican newspapers stepped up to fight on Ottinger’s behalf.

Some went right ahead and broke the rules of good sportsmanship, saying FDR was “a sick man … in a sanitarium,” that he “cannot stand the strain.”

But most were more clever. They saw a chance to undermine confidence in FDR by striking at the bigger target of Al Smith himself.

Franklin Roosevelt, the Republican writers said, was the finest of men, “a thorough gentleman,” “able and honest.” The one who deserved the public’s scorn, they said, was not FDR but Al Smith, who had cruelly pressured his friend to sacrifice his health to advance Smith’s chances for the White House.

“There is something both pathetic and pitiless in the ‘drafting’ of Franklin D. Roosevelt by Alfred E. Smith,” said the Republican editorial page of the New York Evening Post. Even FDR’s closest friends should refrain from voting for him, the Post argued, since “they will know that not only the ‘cold climate’ of Albany but also its killing hard work are no curatives for a man struggling out of one of the most relentless of modern diseases.”

“Nothing has been more amazing in the career of Gov. Smith,” said the Buffalo News, “than his display of callousness with respect to his friend’s health.”

FDR hit back hard and fast. Even before he left Warm Springs for New York, he had a statement dictated to New York reporters by telephone.

“I am amazed to hear that efforts are being made to make it appear that I have been ‘sacrificed’ by Gov. Smith to further his own election,” he said, “and that my personal friends should vote against me to prevent such sacrifice. Let me set this matter straight at once. I was not dragooned into running by the governor … I was drafted because all of the party leaders … insisted that my often-expressed belief in the policies of Governor Smith made my nomination the best assurance to the voters that these policies would be continued … I trust this statement will eliminate this particular bit of nonsense from the campaign from the very beginning.”

Smith, too, debunked the charge that he had forced a sick man to do his bidding.

No, he told reporters at the state capital, of course he had not promised Roosevelt that if the Democratic ticket was elected, Herbert Lehman, as lieutenant governor, would do most of the governor’s day-to-day work—that was an “absurdity.” (In fact, Smith had proposed just that to FDR.)

“The real fact is this,” Smith said. “Frank Roosevelt is mentally as good today as he ever was in his life. Physically he is as good as he ever was in his life. His whole problem is in his lack of muscular control of his lower limbs. But the answer to that is a governor does not have to be an acrobat. We do not elect him for his ability to do a double back flip or a handspring. The work of a governor is brain work. Ninety-five percent of it is accomplished sitting at a desk. There is no doubt about his ability to do it.”

But just a few hours earlier, aboard his private railroad car, Smith had said something quite different. He’d been riding from Rochester back to Albany with a few pals from Tammany Hall, sharing in the general satisfaction over getting FDR on the ticket. But one of the men, Daniel Finn, an up-and-comer in the Tammany organization, wasn’t so sure that nominating Roosevelt would work out well for Smith.

“Al,” Finn said, “aren’t you afraid you’re raising up a rival who will one day cause you trouble?”

According to a Democratic official who got the story from a man who was listening in, Smith replied: “No, Dan—he won’t live a year.”

That sounds unbelievably cold. It was true that Smith “could be extremely harsh on occasions in private conversation,” as a politician who knew him well put it, “and he always said what was on his mind regardless of the effect it had on the other fellow’s feelings.” But harsh though he might have been, Smith was not a cold man. So maybe that report of what he said got a word or two wrong. Maybe what Smith really said was: “He won’t last a year,” meaning he thought simply that FDR lacked the physical stamina to remain in office for long. If so, Lieutenant Governor Herbert Lehman would succeed to the governorship, a result that Smith probably would have preferred in the first place.

But whether he said “live” or “last,” it’s clear that Governor Smith had deep doubts about FDR’s fitness either to make the campaign or to hold the governorship.

Al’s political chieftains—the ones who kept pressing for a draft of FDR—harbored the same doubts. They said he should take the campaign slow and easy, giving just a few major speeches.

Louis Howe was pressing the same advice on his boss. “Insist on limiting speeches to the four big cities with a radio hookup,” he urged FDR. And he was all for having Lehman do most of the campaigning. “He wants to relieve you of all routine work as Governor, and it is a grand time to start now.”

Howe was still distraught over the nomination, which he had opposed with every argument he could muster. On the morning after FDR signaled his consent to be drafted,