A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [111]
“How old are you?”
“Frank Beard.”
“What is your name?”
“Eighteen years old.”
The officer burst out laughing and told Beard to go home, but a captain with the Seventh Ohio Regiment figured that if Beard wanted to sign up that badly, he’d be willing to offer him a uniform, a musket, and a posting as a private—without pay. Beard signed on and served gallantly for the duration of the war. When peace came, he settled in New York, hoping to find work as a sketch artist. It was a struggle. Sometimes, when he couldn’t afford lodging, he had to walk the streets at night. He survived on crackers and cheese for years before he eventually became one of the best-known political cartoonists in America.
Beard’s most famous work appeared on the cover of Judge’s issue of September 27, 1884. It was an unforgettable cartoon titled “Another Voice for Cleveland.” Depicted was a weeping Maria Halpin holding a baby, who, with his arms outstretched, was hysterically howling, “I want my Pa!” A rotund Grover Cleveland, so shocked that his tophat was flying off, completed the caricature of a politician caught with his pants down.
Cleveland must have been mortified when he saw the Judge cover.
Unsurprisingly, Republicans loved it—loved anything that kept the Halpin scandal alive and kicking. “I want my Pa!” became the Republican Party battle cry, and as Cleveland campaign rallies crisscrossed America, they drew GOP hecklers, chanting “Ma, Ma, where’s my Pa?” in a babylike falsetto.
James G. Blaine made a campaign swing through Western New York, and at a rally in Buffalo, seven thousand enthusiastic supporters turned up. Cleveland’s hometown was now in play, and his staff told him that he had to go to Buffalo and shore up support. He still found it hard to believe that George Ball and so many other Buffalo clergymen had turned on him. The city that had made him great was causing him so much grief. Losing Buffalo would be a crushing blow.
Preparations for Cleveland’s return to Buffalo got under way, and no one could predict whether it would end in triumph or embarrassment. It was his first outing on the campaign trail since his nomination. As usual, Charles McCune’s Courier went all out, instructing its readers that it was their patriotic duty to give Cleveland a warm welcome.
“We trust the skies will smile upon our festival . . . and welcome the next president of the United States,” cooed the Courier.
Cleveland left Albany on the Atlantic Express, with stopovers in Rochester and Syracuse to take on coal and water. It was twilight when the train pulled into the Exchange Street depot in Buffalo. The city Cleveland saw through the window was illuminated by skyrockets and fireworks—and when he stepped off the train, a steady drizzle that turned into a chilling downpour. He climbed into a carriage drawn by eight snow-white horses.
The procession passed through streets that glowed with candlelight from Chinese paper lanterns that adorned the houses. At the sight of Cleveland’s carriage, cheers rang out from the crowds that gathered along the route. Cleveland’s friend from Albany, Erastus Corning, who was riding in the carriage with the candidate, was pleased with what he saw. “O hell! A man don’t decorate or illuminate his house unless he wants to,” Corning said.
Four twisting miles later the march ended at the Genesee Hotel where a banner reading Man of Destiny graced the portico. After Cleveland dried off in his three-bedroom suite, he stepped out on the balcony. It was 11:25 p.m. Before him was a crowd of about