A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [17]
Mrs. Ganson ran a tight ship. No cooking was permitted in the rooms. Dinner was served at a certain hour in the formal dining room downstairs. All the boarders had to adjust their eating habits to the schedule of the landlady. As a prominent lawyer in town, Cleveland held an honored position at the head of the long common table. To his left sat Edward Hawley, a well-liked insurance salesman and volunteer fireman. After dinner, Cleveland and the other bachelors gathered in the drawing room to smoke cigars—just about every man smoked. There in the wood-paneled parlor they relaxed and engaged in casual conversation about politics or current events. In other words, all the comforts of home without the wife.
By 1870, when Grover Cleveland was thirty-three, there was talk of him running for Congress, but when Erie County Democrats held their convention in late September, party elders, put off by Cleveland’s identification with saloons and what was called the “livery-stable set,” steered the congressional nomination to a retired railroad executive, David Williams. Cleveland was awarded a consolation prize: the nomination for Erie County sheriff, and he surprised everyone by accepting. Sheriffs were responsible for enforcing the local gaming and liquor laws—vices Cleveland was certainly acquainted with, so in that regard, he was eminently qualified. But his heart did not seem to be in the race, and he ran a feeble campaign. Part of the problem was his opponent, the war hero John Weber. At age nineteen, Weber had enlisted as a private in the Civil War. By war’s end, he had attained the rank of colonel, serving with the Eighty-ninth Colored Infantry. Perhaps deep inside Cleveland considered Weber the more deserving candidate, because he made just five campaign speeches. But Cleveland had the backing of party loyalists and the Buffalo Daily Courier, which called him the “most popular man in the Democratic Party of the county.... so true a gentleman, so generous, modest, and lovable a man, that we have never heard of anybody’s envying him.” Cleveland could not have asked for a heartier endorsement had he paid for a full-page ad himself.
Electioneering in those days required candidates to solicit votes where men congregated in packs. That meant saloons. Cleveland was at a saloon in the twelfth ward when he declared an open bar, on his tab.
“Come on up, boys, have a drink with the next sheriff. My name is Cleveland, and I want you all to vote for me.”
Just as he said this, a gentleman strolled into the saloon. Cleveland saw him and said, “Come on up, little fellow, have a drink with me.”
The man came over to Cleveland. “Who did you say you were?”
“I am Grover Cleveland.”
“I am the other fellow.” It was Cleveland’s opponent, John Weber. The two candidates had never met before.
Cleveland burst into laughter and said, “Well, let’s have a drink together.”
The year 1870 was a Democratic year in New York. When the votes were tabulated, Cleveland squeaked past Weber by just 303; but although he won, he came in last among the Democrats running for office in Erie County. Once again, the base of his popular support had come from the German American wards. They had taken to Grover Cleveland as if he were one of their own.
Cleveland took office on New Year’s Eve 1871. His predecessor had invited all his friends over for a big send-off, and Cleveland took the oath of office in an atmosphere of revelry and high spirits—liquor and cigars for everyone. He had his work cut out for him; Buffalo, it was said, had more saloons and taverns per head than any other city in the world. It seemed there was a bar on every corner—more than six hundred saloons for a population of less than 150,000. Sailors, canal hands, and roustabouts working the city’s ports roamed the tenderloin district looking for a good time. Brothels operated in the open seven