A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [14]
The next night, the issue was settled: Cleveland and Bass met for drinks, and each ordered a glass—but the “glass” was a capacious German stein. So four glasses of beer was fine, as long as each glass was the size of a tankard, which in the 19th century was about forty eight ounces. In this manner, they could consume well over a gallon of beer a night.
Bass was a brilliant orator and debater, but Cleveland, after three years as a prosecutor, was the better-known candidate. Even so, this was 1865, and with the North rejoicing in victory, Cleveland’s political timing was all off. Running as a Democrat, he found himself on the wrong side of history and went down to defeat by 600 votes. Although Cleveland outpolled his roommate in seven of Buffalo’s thirteen wards, Bass’s electoral strength lay in the towns outside Buffalo’s city limits. There were no hard feelings; Cleveland offered his congratulations to Bass and cleared out his desk at the district attorney’s office. Part of him was probably relieved; now he could go about the business of building a lucrative law practice. He opened a firm in partnership with a politically connected lawyer, Isaac K. Vanderpoel, who had been state treasurer of New York from 1858 to 1859.
With all that drinking, Cleveland’s weight had ballooned, and he grew a large paunch. Folks who knew him back when remarked on how “husky” he had grown, and his friends took to calling him “Big Steve”—a throwback to his birth name, Stephen Grover Cleveland. Most of his socializing took place at German beer halls, and it was said that he also knew the “inside of dozens of saloons.” A perfect evening for Cleveland was playing poker or pinochle or the popular card game euchre with the boys. Everything about saloons he found irresistible: the lusty male camaraderie, the thick fog of cigar smoke, and the crunch of sawdust under his boot. His memory held a library of jovial drinking songs. A favorite was, “There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea.”
In this atmosphere of swaggering spirits and alcohol, brawls were inevitable. After one genial evening at a saloon, Cleveland was heading home when he got into an argument over Democratic Party politics with one of his drinking companions, Mike Falvey. When Falvey called Cleveland a liar, the future president squared off against the Irishman. Falvey raised his fists, but Cleveland landed the first punch. Then they went at it hammer and tongs. The fight spilled down Seneca Street, with Cleveland and Falvey raining blows on each other, and they did not call it quits until they reached Swan Street. At that point, the breathless brawlers had had enough. They dusted off their hats, shook hands, and everyone adjoined to the nearest saloon, Gillick’s, whereupon the armistice was sealed with drinks to everybody’s health.
Cleveland usually took his meals at local saloons. A scruffy place called the Shades, at Main and Swan, was a favorite watering hole. It had no bar, no chairs, and not even a bartender. You stood as you ate and drew your own liquor. There were clean glasses on one table and linen and silverware on another, and the place was run on the honor code. You left money in a pot on a counter in the center of the tavern and made your own change. The absentee bar owner claimed that not one of his patrons had ever cheated him. Another bar, Boas’s, had better accommodations, but not by much; it had five chairs, but the proprietor discouraged his customers from sitting on them.