POLITICAL NOTES: Genial Jeffersonian

Genial Jeffersonian

Last week a man sat on an Indiana front porch, stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat as is his habit, put his straw hat on the back of his head. Grey-mustachioed, wrinkle-eyed Tom Taggart, owner of French Lick Springs and Democratic boss of Indiana meditated: To sue or not to sue. . . .

Once a youth—no common youth—wore a soiled waiter's apron as he hustled behind the counter of the old Indianapolis Union Station. People called him "Tom." Even Republicans liked this jovial pushing Irishman, were glad to help him when later he bought the eating-house, hustled still more, bought the Grand Hotel. More people called him "Tom," so he entered politics, became identified with every state campaign for 20 years and more. Indiana took to its dusty bosom this free-and-easy politician without any "dog"* who accepted and played politics with good-humored cynicism.

The nation tried to like him, too. In 1904, as chairman of the Democratic National Committee, Tom's squeaking tan shoes paced the floors of Manhattan's Hoffman House. He slapped the back of August Belmont, swapped yarns with Colonel Clayton of Alabama, Jim Griggs of Georgia and John R. McLean of Ohio, best-dressed man at the convention. But the Democrats had had but one U. S. President* since before the Civil War, and Judge Alton B. Parker, Democratic nominee for 1904, did not increase the list.

Overseer Taggart returned home with his sheen but little dimmed by a Roosevelt victory. Curiously, inexplicably he has retained his power—one of the oldtime "Bosses" who figure in a national way. With Charles F. Murphy (Tammany), and Roger Sullivan (Illinois), Tom Taggart in 1912 manoeuvred so as to control apparently the balance of power in the famed Baltimore Convention, to the academic Mr. Wilson's distaste. Indicted in 1915 for election frauds, he nevertheless was appointed Senator by Governor Ralston the next year to fill the unexpired term of Senator Shively. Again in 1924 politicians journeyed to French Lick Springs for a "chat" with old Tom, who was then endeavoring to secure for the late Senator Ralston the Democratic presidential nomination.

And recently this same French Lick Springs and the neighboring town of West Baden were mentioned in Edna Ferber's new novel—Show Boat. A famed gambling house in the vicinity was likewise mentioned—was referred to as "Tom Taggart's place." It had been often similarly spoken of before and the whole question taken up before the courts which had completely acquitted Mr. Taggart. People marvelled at Miss Ferber's statement that she "desired above all to avoid further publicity," for the affair looked like a shrewd stunt to make Show Boat re-Ferberate through the land. Anyway, Tom threatened suit against her† for $100,000, and the name "Tom Taggart" was subsequently changed to "Sam Maddock" (same number of letters to avoid typographical difficulty). But 135,000 copies had already been sold and there had been publicity, desirable or otherwise.

Last week able Jeffersonian Taggart could not decide whether or not to sue. Onetime waiter and still professional politician, yes; professional gambler, no. So he sat on his Indiana front porch, rocked.