A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [51]
“I’ll be damned if I’ll run with that Irishman,” he said.
Three days later, when the convention was called to order at Tivoli Hall, Cleveland was still dithering. Three party honchos were delegated to track him down and inform him that all his conditions had been met: Sheehan was done for, and in his place the nominee for comptroller was Timothy J. Mahoney. This was the same neighborhood rascal who in his youth had sneaked into Lewis Allen’s orchards to pilfer peaches. Mahoney had joined the police force, and political connections had aided his rise through the ranks, to captain and then inspector. All that time, he had stayed in contact with Cleveland. He was now the city auditor. Given the ethnic politics in play, with his Irish name, he made a credible replacement for Sheehan.
The committee caught up with Cleveland in court, where he was arguing a case before New York State Supreme Court Justice Albert Haight. They pulled him aside to inform him of his man Mahoney’s nomination. Cleveland listened to the news, then went over to Justice Haight. Cleveland and Haight had been friends since 1872, when Cleveland was sheriff and Haight, at age thirty, had been elected to the county bench. Back then, he had been known as “the Boy Judge.”
Nodding at the three men hunched over in the corner, Cleveland told the justice, “This is a committee from the Democratic city convention, and they want to nominate me for mayor. They’ve come over to see if I’ll accept. What shall I do about it?”
“I think you’d better accept,” Haight replied. “Your chances may be pretty good.”
“But I’m practicing law, and I don’t want it interfered with.”
“The mayoralty is an honorable position,” Justice Haight countered. “You haven’t any family to take care of. I’d advise you to accept.”
Cleveland pondered what Haight had to say, but just didn’t know what to do. Was a life in the public spotlight really for him? He asked the justice to adjourn the case to give him a chance to think things through.
“Court stands in recess for half an hour,” Justice Haight announced.
While the committee waited, in the courtroom Cleveland reviewed the pros and cons for a final time, then said, “Go back and place me in the running.” In the interest of party harmony, he added, “Make up the rest of the ticket to suit yourselves.” With that, at 4:30 p.m., a keyed-up committeeman ran back to Tivoli Hall to break the news to the “great unwashed,” as a Republican newspaper referred to the packed convention hall. He elbowed his way through the throng and announced, “He’s accepted, boys! He’s accepted! Let’s have a drink!”
Meanwhile, Cleveland had made his own way up Washington Street to Tivoli Hall. When he strode in at 5:00 p.m., wild cheers erupted. He took the stage and announced, “I accept the nomination tendered to me.” Then he put forth his vision of low taxation and integrity in government. Right after his brief remarks, Cleveland returned to his case in Justice Haight’s courtroom and picked up his argument where he had left off.
During that mayoral campaign of 1881, Cleveland hoisted many a stein of beer. Most of the electioneering took place in the city’s saloons, where men congregated in large numbers. (Women’s suffrage was still four decades away). Cleveland made his stump speech standing not behind a rostrum but atop a beer barrel. He rallied the citizenry under the banner of good government, striking a bipartisan tone of contempt for machine politics: “A Democratic thief is as bad as a Republican thief,” he said.
The Courier and other pro-Democrat newspapers in Buffalo conspired to assist Cleveland in discreet ways. When he spoke at a rally at Diebold’s Saloon in the first ward, the Courier, mindful that conservative church elders might take offense at the venue, altered it to Diebold’s Hall. Those in the know had a good laugh when they read the article the next day, though the mischief went over the heads of the Episcopalian