Monday, Oct. 07, 1940
Mr. Barton is Drafted
In the 20 years since a Republican was elected Governor of New York,* Empire State Republicans have become connoisseurs of defeat. Close races, hot races, dull races--Republicans lost them all. As years passed, the moth-eaten oldsters who ran the party were succeeded by youngsters, but their goal of dignified defeat and their manner of well-bred defeatism remained the same.
About 1937, three men began to change all that: tough Thomas E. Dewey, tweedy Kenneth F. Simpson, bland Bruce Barton. In an amateurish but effective way, all were political hot stuff. And all had a belief --in the pros' eyes almost atheistic--that the thing to do was to win.
Messrs. Dewey and Simpson quarreled, developed a mutual hatred, energetically sabotaged each other. Racket-Buster Dewey went over to the pros, began acting and talking like one, finally lost the GOPresidential nomination to a man with an amateur status--Wendell Willkie. Among the key men in the Willkie fight at Philadelphia were Messrs. Simpson and Barton, who allowed they knew a fighting amateur when they saw one.
Last week came the time to nominate a Republican to run for the Senate seat now occupied by toothy, handshaking James M. Mead, Buffalo Democrat who helped Jim Farley parcel out post offices in the House until Senator-Doctor Royal S. Copeland's death in June 1938 brought him promotion. Tom Dewey's professional friends got together to plan the biennial Republican defeat. Kenneth Simpson was not consulted. Tom Dewey didn't want the job, said he couldn't afford the financial sacrifice (Senate salary: $10,000). Hopefully the G. 0. P. bosses scanned the list of dignified likely losers.
Mr. Barton's name was timidly mentioned. The bosses smiled patiently, tolerantly. Mr. Barton was a fine man, they agreed, but he would never do. Too charming, too intelligent, too able, too many ideas, too much Simpson, too amateurish.
They had decided Mr. Barton would never do. They planned the ticket--only Dewey men. At noon that day came a message from the Republican National Committee's Executive Assistant John Hamilton. Willkie wants Barton. The meeting did not take the message too seriously. Then two more messages came. The G. 0. P. bosses grew worried. Perhaps Willkie meant it. They got in touch with a Willkie associate. Had Willkie really sent such a message? He had. There was consternation. But gloomily they agreed: if Willkie wanted Barton, Barton it must be. Composing their faces to exude radiant good cheer, the bosses left, roaring happily, "It's Barton."
Redhaired, blue-eyed Bruce Barton, 54-year-old advertising tycoon, made millions selling Americans on reading (Dr. Eliot's Five-Foot Shelf); on clean collars (Cluett-Peabody collar ads); on shaving (Gillette); on working (Alexander Hamilton Institute); on Jesus and the Bible (The Man Nobody Knows, The Book Nobody Knows). Barton, a born preacher and sloganeer, a superb luncheon-club speaker, son of a Tennessee clergyman, implemented his creed of service by fighting his way into Congress in 1938 as an amateur from Manhattan's only Republican district--the Silk-Stocking Seventeenth, compounded of Park Avenue and nearby slums.
Next day, in accord with the bosses' announcement, Bruce Barton was nominated for the Senate. The demonstration for him from the aggrieved pros was pathetically feeble, but Tom Dewey, in an atmosphere of sportsmanship, revived the convention into fighting mood with a cutlass-sharp, partisan speech.
Amateur Simpson smiled a sly smile: with Amateur Barton out of the way, he could now run for Barton's seat in Congress, where a New York Republican stands out in lonely grandeur.
So the bosses had only one really happy moment: the vicarious thrill when irate, 200-lb. James Bruno, Harlem district boss, slugged Mr. Simpson to the ground with one mighty smash on the mouth. Mr. Bruno was angry at Mr. Simpson's unprofessional interference.
If the G. O. P. carried New York State --as it must to win the Presidential election--thanks would be due to Wendell Willkie, Kenneth Simpson, Bruce Barton, amateurs all.
*Nathan L. Miller, 1921-23.
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