A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [116]
The Tribune reporter posed a touchy question in the most delicate manner he could muster. “It is charged that you were compromised by Mr. Oscar Folsom in Buffalo.”
“I never spoke a word to that man in my life. I know his wife because she traded with me in Buffalo. The statement I made last night is true, and nothing on earth could make me sign the one offered me by Grover Cleveland, which is false in every particular.”
“Where is your son?”
“God knows.” Maria refused to be diverted off the subject of Grover Cleveland. “Allow me to tell you the meanness of the man. When I sent for him and informed him of my condition, he said, ‘What the devil are you blubbering about? You act like a baby without teeth. What do you want me to do?’ I got no satisfaction from him and never saw him again to speak to him. How he acted toward me after that the world well knows.”
“So you can’t tell me anything about the boy?”
“Only this: A friend of mine wrote to me from Buffalo the other day, telling me that he is there.”
“Has anyone induced you to make these statements?”
“No one. I never go out of the house. I do not know any politicians and would not make a statement for any one. I don’t want a penny from anybody. If the statements I have made will do any party any good, they may have them as freely as the air.”
Grover Cleveland never uttered a single word to challenge the allegations made in Maria Halpin’s affidavits, right to the end of the 1884 campaign, and beyond.
14
PRESIDENT-ELECT
IT WAS WEDNESDAY, October 29, less than a week to go before the election. Senator Arthur Pue Gorman breathed in the crisp fall air as his carriage trotted up 5th Avenue. With him was political aide William Hudson. The forty-five-year-old national chairman of the Democratic Party was not his usual upbeat self; Hudson thought he looked despondent. Gorman sighed; he was reflecting on the state of the campaign. Things were not looking promising. Maria Halpin’s affidavit, which stated that Cleveland had raped her, had been the fitting wrap-up to the nastiest presidential campaign in American history.
Hudson listened as Gorman surveyed the political landscape: New England, with the possible exception of Connecticut, was solid for Blaine; out West, Kansas, Ohio, and Iowa were also likely for Blaine; the Democrats could count on Wisconsin, Michigan, and Indiana; Illinois was a toss-up. So was Colorado. The sixteen Southern states were solidly behind Cleveland. The country was evenly split. It all came down to New York, as had been prophesized since July. Gorman spoke of the Blaine campaign with the admiration of a professional in awe of his opponent’s know-how. He marveled at the efficiency of the Republican machine and extolled the energy of the fifty-four-year-old Blaine, crisscrossing America, while Cleveland sat in Albany, immobile and morose. Blaine was leading an “almost perfect organization,” Blaine told Hudson, while Cleveland’s efforts had been marked by a kind of artless “spontaneity.”
“And spontaneity will win?” Hudson asked hopefully.
With a shrewd grin, Gorman said, “Usually organization wins.”
That very day, Gorman had received some disturbing canvas reports about where things stood in New York State. Manhattan would go for Cleveland with a 40,000 plurality. It would have been 60,000 had Tammany Hall’s mischief-makers not sabotaged the campaign. Brooklyn was expected to deliver a 20,000 plurality in Cleveland’s corner—thank you, Henry Ward Beecher. Outside of those downstate counties, however, Blaine was expected to take the rest of New York by 63,000 votes.
Hudson made his own mental calculations: “That means that Cleveland will be at least 5,000 votes behind in the whole state.”
“It means that Cleveland will be beaten in the nation,” said Gorman. “I regret exceedingly that I permitted myself to be persuaded to take charge of this campaign. I yielded against all my instinct.” It was, Gorman said bitterly, “the mistake of my life.” Hudson