The rise of Theodore Roosevelt - Edmund Morris [276]
NOW THAT ROOSEVELT and Parker had made a public spectacle of their hatred for each other, they no longer attempted to conceal it from their colleagues, nor from the force, nor from the reporters who twice weekly attended open sessions of the Police Board. Consequently “the Mulberry Street Affair” became something of a running entertainment for New Yorkers. The popular press treated it as a circulation-boosting suspense serial, and described every new flare-up at headquarters with shrewd attention to dramatic detail. The Sun warned its readers to “LOOK OUT FOR EPITHETS—the Row in the Police Board Approaches the Danger Point,” while the Evening News wondered when “Montague Parker” and “Capulet Teddy” would stop biting their thumbs at each other and engage in armed combat.56
The former was too agile an adversary, however, to allow himself to be directly challenged. Whenever Roosevelt seemed to be on the point of exploding, Parker would unfold a deft compliment, or make some unexpected conciliatory gesture, which suddenly relieved the pressure. A case in point occurred on 1 May, when Parker interrupted a regular meeting to announce that it was time for the “annual election” of the president of the Board. There was an amazed silence. Roosevelt said that he “did not understand.” Avery Andrews challenged the legality of such a step. Surely a president, once elected, remained so for the duration of the Board? Parker suggested that somebody consult the statute-book. Tension mounted while a clerk flicked the pages over: Parker had never yet been proved wrong on any point of law. Not until the moment of confirmation did Parker propose, with a smile, that Theodore Roosevelt be renominated.57
“What are you doing it for?” Lincoln Steffens asked. “Oh, just for ducks,” said Parker, “just to see the big bomb splutter, the boss leader of men blow up.”58
HE CONTINUED TO EVADE Roosevelt so successfully that when the long-threatened explosion came, its victim was not himself but City Comptroller Ashbel P. Fitch. The latter was a waspish, bearded Democrat whose habit of rejecting the Police Department’s more questionable bills—such as payment for children reporting Sunday Excise Law violations—was a constant irritation to Roosevelt.
On 5 May the president of the Police Board arrived at City Hall for a meeting of the Board of Estimate, attired in a new tweed suit whose checks, according to the World, were “distinctly audible at twenty paces.”59 He was seen to admire himself in a looking-glass before sitting down and facing Fitch across the Mayor’s table.
The Comptroller listened impassively while Roosevelt requested that $11,000 of surplus construction funds be transferred to finance his second annual campaign against the saloons, just then beginning. “I doubt that we can do it legally,” Fitch replied, and launched into a speech about the “impropriety” of taxpayers’ money being used to bribe stool-pigeons on a Sunday.
Roosevelt, his choler visibly rising, explained that policemen could not arrest saloonkeepers for selling liquor illegally without buying it themselves, or paying somebody to buy it for them. The money came out of their own pockets, and they were entitled to be reimbursed. “Yes, yes,” Fitch interrupted, “the same old story, we’ve heard it before.”
“If we are brought to a standstill,” Roosevelt hissed with clenched fists, “if we have to shut down in our work it is your fault!”
“Oh, stop scolding,” said Fitch. He suggested that Roosevelt ask a court for the money. The dialogue, which was transcribed by several eyewitnesses, continued as follows:
ROOSEVELT (white with rage, jumping to his feet) You are