A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [112]
“What I have seen and heard tonight has touched me deeply. It tells me that my neighbors are still my friends.” The spectators roared for their favorite son.
The next morning, Cleveland took a late breakfast in his suite, and local power brokers like Charles McCune came to call. McCune was in high spirits. He thought the outpouring of adoration, and in such adverse weather conditions, was a “balm to the wounds of slander” and heralded the promise of victory in November. That fifteen thousand citizens had stood in a downpour for two hours to hear Cleveland speak also sent a compelling message to the whole country that the presidential candidate was still dearly loved in his hometown. There was more encouraging news on the home front: The Buffalo Times, up until then a reliable organ of the Republican Party, announced that it was endorsing Cleveland for president.
That evening, Cleveland attended a private dinner held in his honor at the Delaware Avenue mansion of Mrs. Julia Cary. The widow of a Buffalo physician, Mrs. Cary was said to be a “lady of the highest social station and of the most rigid code of social and moral ethics.” The Cleveland organization made sure the word got out that Mrs. Carey would never have invited the candidate to set foot in her home unless he met the highest standards of decency.
Around 11:00 p.m., Cleveland boarded a private sleeper car to make his way back to Albany. The governor went straight to the office and put in a good day’s work. Overall, he thought the Buffalo campaign swing had been successful “beyond anticipations.” To Wilson Bissell he said, “And now that the Buffalo rumpus is over, I want to tell you how fully I appreciate all that you and Charles (Goodyear) have done to make it a success and how grateful I am to all my friends in Buffalo who had management of the affair.”
The Rink was the largest indoor arena in Brooklyn, usually used for professional bare-knuckle boxing matches. On the night of October 22, 1884, however, it was the place where a major political rally was being held, at which Henry Ward Beecher was to officially endorse Cleveland.
On the evening of the rally, sheets of rain descended on Brooklyn. There were also rumors of an outbreak of diphtheria. No one in his right mind would venture out on a night like this. Beecher must have thought the heavenly powers were conspiring against him. But at 7:00 p.m., when the colossal doors on Clermont Avenue swung open, the Rink quickly filled to capacity—five thousand—with the front rows reserved for Brooklyn’s “best families.” It was testament to how devoted the people of Brooklyn were to the great Beecher. One fellow, shaking off the rain, was overheard to say that nothing could have kept him from hearing Beecher’s speech, even if he’d had to swim there. Every seat was filled—and even the windowsills and the aisles were solidly packed with standing-room-only humanity.
The event was scheduled for 8:00 p.m., but by seven thirty, everyone who could get in had done so. Waiting in a room off stage, Beecher announced that there was no point in dithering; the speech would begin at once.
With the instincts of a born showman, Beecher strutted out just as the Twenty-third Regiment Band came to the end of “The Star Spangled Banner.” The preacher’s long silver-grey hair was brushed back behind his ears, and he wore a simple broadcloth suit. His face was still ruddy from a fresh shave.
“Three cheers for Henry Ward Beecher!” somebody shouted. “Hip! Hip!”
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” The Rink shook. Men waved their hats and stomped their feet. Women signaled their support