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Kup's Chicago - Irv Kupcinet [60]

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threw a punch at a laggard subordinate. He was called before the Colonel. Instead of reprimanding the fiery young executive, the Colonel congratulated him warmly on having the courage to assert his authority – and gave him a fifty-dollar-a-month raise!

“You gotta be a boss” was Kelly’s motto, and he was seldom outdone at it. During the tense 1940 Democratic convention, he even outbossed Jim Farley, who, as National Committee Chairman, was technically in charge. Farley, working desperately to block Roosevelt’s nomination for a third term, had instructed the organist to play a certain sentimental tune at a crucial moment. When the time arrived, instead of Farley’s tune out came a song that Kelly preferred: the rousing “Franklin D. Roosevelt Jones.” Farley was astounded. I was with Kelly when Farley came steaming up, demanding to know who was running the show and how Ed had managed to outflank him. Kelly only smiled and changed the subject. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him,” he said later, “but I had Jimmy Petrillo instruct the organist to play that song. I knew Petrillo’s word would carry more weight with a musician than Farley’s.”

Few persons realize it, but Kelly did much to influence Franklin D. Roosevelt’s decision to seek an unprecedented third term. As the 1940 convention drew near, even such Roosevelt intimates as Harry Hopkins had been unable to persuade the President to declare for renomination. Fearful of employing too many New Deal amateurs in their efforts, the leaders of the pro-third-term faction of the party summoned Kelly, a stanch Roosevelt supporter but still a wise and objective old pro and a major power in the regular Democratic Party organization. In a long session at the White House, Kelly talked to FDR like a Dutch uncle, pointing out that the nation, the world, and the party needed him. Later Kelly reported back: “He didn’t commit himself, but I think I just did my greatest selling job.” History soon proved him right.

In 1944, Big Ed also helped plan the strategy that won the Vice-Presidential nomination – and eventually the nation’s highest office – for Harry S. Truman.

Kelly enforced an iron discipline within his organization, but he often showed a soft side as well. Through the efforts of Mayor Kelly and his wife, Margaret, Chicago’s Servicemen’s Centers in World War II won the reputation for being the most fabulous anywhere – regularly mustering two thousand hostesses to distribute millions of free cakes, hot clogs, beverages, and transportation and amusement tickets.

Kelly had a sharp Irish wit. Once, after playing host to General De Gaulle at a civic reception, Kelly was asked whether the Frenchman, as is the custom in his country, had kissed him. “Why, no,” replied the mayor. “In fact, I’ve been with him all day and didn’t see him kiss anybody.” But, it was objected, hadn’t the tall general been photographed embracing the diminutive Fiorello La Guardia, the Mayor of New York? Kelly chuckled. “That wasn’t a kiss. De Gaulle merely was taking his bending exercises.”

Kelly’s successor as Cook County Democratic Chairman, Colonel Jacob M. Arvey, is another who worked his way up through the ranks into national prominence. Now Democratic National Committeeman from Illinois and a law partner in a LaSalle Street firm, Jack Arvey has long ranked as one of the most astute political brains in the nation. Even as a student at John Marshall Law School, his unusual qualities were apparent. Stumped by a difficult question on an examination, he deliberately ignored the specific issue and handed in a twenty-page essay on what he did know, in which he expressed some strong and unorthodox personal opinions. When he saw his grade, he found that the professor had written:

“You don’t know a damn thing about the case referred to in this examination. For that you flunk. But you show an amazing instinct and feel for the law and its ultimate purpose. For that you would get an A. The two grades average C – so you pass.” In further good humor, he had added: “Just between us, Arvey, you’re lucky you’ve got a professor

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