Hot Time in the Old Town - Edward Kohn [58]
McKinley returned the proffered words of respect: “We are all of us proud of our country’s history, and we should all be determined to make this Government in the future as in the past the best Government in the world. Of you who disagree with me politically, it is very grateful to have assurance of your personal good will.” The Bryan men applauded and pressed forward to shake McKinley’s hand before returning to the station.
Two Bryan supporters, however, stayed to speak to McKinley and his wife. Richard “Silver Dick” Bland of Missouri, the likely Democratic nominee before Bryan gave his “Cross of Gold” speech in Chicago, had finally caught up to Bryan’s train. Originally he and his wife were scheduled to depart from Lincoln with the Bryans as a show of support from the most important silver advocate of the day, not to mention a senior Democratic Party leader. But Bland had begged off several days ago, citing the extreme heat. The Blands had also failed to appear in Chicago to meet the candidate’s train, even though the Bryans had stayed overnight in order to attend church on Sunday.
Their failure to meet before the halfway point of Bryan’s trip, in Ohio, was open to interpretation. Was Bland distancing himself from a Bryan candidacy? Did he feel robbed of the nomination and now took revenge by way of a small slight? As temperatures throughout the Midwest and the East approached 100 in some places, Bland’s original excuse for not catching up to the Bryan train rang true: The sixty-one-year-old Bland and his wife simply thought it too hot—and dangerously so—to travel, accompanying the Bryans on a slow, exhausting, and uncomfortable train trip halfway across the continent. But a half hour sitting in the McKinley parlor chatting with the enemy allowed the press to speculate about Bland’s motives. After their visit the Blands returned to the station to join the Pittsburgh reception committee as it prepared for Bryan’s arrival.
By the time the train arrived, Bryan had already had a busy and eventful day—and night. “Night is supposed to be a season of rest,” he would later write, “but I found during the campaign that the rule could not always be observed.” The Bryans had departed from Chicago on the Pittsburgh-bound train just before midnight, planning to sleep for the duration of their trip through Indiana. But just as they did during the day throughout the trip, supporters and the merely curious had turned out in every town along the way. At South Chicago a large crowd, including a brass band, prepared to give the candidate a rousing reception, even though it was past midnight. The beat of the bass drum must have resounded in the exhausted Bryan’s head, while the shrilling of the trumpets flayed his nerves.
At Delphos, Ohio, the next morning, disaster nearly struck. The train arrived just after 7:00 AM, and already the crowd was too large. The streets around the station were jammed, and people packed the rooftops. Bryan emerged from the train only to offer his apology that he could not make a speech. Just as he finished, the wooden awning of a store only twenty feet from him collapsed with an enormous crash, sending nearly a hundred people tumbling down with it. As people in the crowd began to panic, threatening a crush, Bryan shouted, “Stand still, don’t move.” Incredibly, no one was hurt, and he joked, “If you would get on our platform it would not fall down.” Recovering from their fright, the spectators laughed and cheered as the train moved off. Platform collapses became a common hazard of Bryan’s groundbreaking cross-country campaign, which attracted record crowds.
The next day at Crestline, Ohio, an onlooker snapped a picture of the Bryans. Both William Jennings and Mary Bryan look directly into the camera. Mr. Bryan wears a dark suit with his trademark kerchief tied around his neck, and his hat tilts back from his face, slightly covering his bald pate. A watch chain hangs from his waist, and his hand is being