The rise of Theodore Roosevelt - Edmund Morris [272]
Roosevelt protested in dismay. Brooks and McCullagh had been “acting” now for nine months; the force was expecting their immediate promotion; “it was not keeping faith with the men” to delay matters any longer. He insisted that the motion be voted on. Commissioners Andrews and Grant added their ayes to his. Commissioner Parker refused to vote at all.
Had the motion been on some trivial item of agenda, such as the issuance of a mask ball license, or the sale of a police horse, Parker would have been overruled by the majority. But on matters of promotion the Board’s “Polish” constitution required a full vote of four—or, three votes plus the written approval of Chief Conlin.28 Roosevelt was puzzled and frustrated. He did not like to resolve a Board dispute by enlisting the aid of a man in the ranks. However, since Parker was adamant—and remained absent from the next few meetings—the other Commissioners had no choice but to summon Conlin before them on 12 March. They were confident that he would be agreeable. Unlike his formidable predecessor, Chief Byrnes, Conlin was a quiet, unassuming officer who generally did what he was told.29 Roosevelt asked bluntly if he would recommend the promotion of Brooks and McCullagh. Conlin replied that he would not.30
What was more, the Chief went on, he would no longer tolerate promotions or assignments within the force unless they were submitted to him in advance. He had not exercised this, his legal right, in the past, but in future he would insist upon it.
It was evident to the three flabbergasted Commissioners that they were listening to the voice, not of Peter Conlin, but of their absent colleague. For some reason, Parker wished to stop the reorganization of the force, and by some power he had been able to recruit Conlin as his ally. Whatever his motives, the consequences threatened to be serious. Already the failure of Roosevelt’s 28 February motion was having its effect on police morale. Some “acting” officers, pessimistic of advancement under a deadlocked Board, refused to act at all until they got job security. Those who did try to give orders found the lack of gold on their sleeves acutely embarrassing. The Commissioners were obliged to pass a resolution on 13 March ordering Conlin to make a formal reply to their request in writing, as required by law.31
That very evening Parker was due to dine with Roosevelt at 689 Madison Avenue, in response to a long-standing invitation.32 Under the circumstances a note expressing polite regrets might have been understandable, but none was forthcoming, and at the appointed hour Parker coolly showed up. It is unlikely either he or his host so much as mentioned the Brooks-McCullagh affair. Their social relations were still cordial,33 and both men were too well-bred to argue over the dinner table. Besides, there were four other guests, including the Reverend Charles H. Parkhurst, president of the Society for the Prevention of Crime, and Roosevelt’s good friend Joseph Bucklin Bishop, an editor of the Evening Post. The subjects discussed were mainly political—“Platt, Tammany, reorganization, political treachery, the German vote, etc.”34 Roosevelt must have hogged the conversation as usual, for Parker was in an ill humor by the end of the evening. Walking home with Bishop, he suddenly said, “I wish you would stop him talking so much in the newspapers. He talks, talks, talks all the time. Scarcely a day passes that there is not something from him in the papers … and the public is getting tired of it. It injures our work.”
Bishop laughed. “Stop Roosevelt talking! Why, you would kill him. He has to talk. The peculiarity about him is that he has what is essentially a boy’s mind. What he thinks he says at once, says aloud. It