“Kokomo, January 4, 1883.“Dear Sister—Father’s letter, containing the sad news of the death of your little Frank was received to-day, and I hasten to write you. Our hearts are full of loving sympathy for you in this terrible affliction and we would like to be able to be with you to mingle our tears with yours, and try to say something to break the force of the overpowering sorrow which has come so heavily upon you. The brave, sturdy little fellow. We imagined him in perfect health, rollicking about your fireside enjoying the holiday season—the pride and joy of all of you. And to hear of his death. It startled and shocked us and saddened our household almost as much as though it had been our child, for we had all become so attached to him during our long stay with you. While death is terrible, and while great heart-breaking grief always follows, yet there are other matters to be considered in the case of the death of children especially which ought to go a long way in the direction of comforting the heart.“He is safe. The possibilities of evil, which go along with all boys and which increase as they grow older, are no more. There is now no danger for little Frank. His footsteps need not now be guarded—there need be no anxiety in the mother’s heart for the future of her boy. His future is not only secure, but it is a future resplendent with glory. Had he liveda long, useful life, he could never have attained that happiness which is now and always will be his.“I was thinking to-day of the comfort there is in afflictions like this in the religion of the Bible. Without it what gloom and utter hopelessness. With it the future is full of good cheer and joyous anticipations. Accepting it as true—and let no doubt ever obtrude itself—then must we not believe that our good, pure angel mother who has been waiting over there so long welcomed little Frank with exceeding great joy as the representative of her own children whom she left so long ago and toward whom her heart went in such tender solicitude?“My dear sister, your little boy is safe. He was the first of our family to be welcomed by her whose memory we treasure so fondly. From this on there will be more frequent additions to the family in the summerland of happiness—one by one we will be summoned there, until, ere long, the family circle will be completed, and every sorrow and pang of grief will be forgotten in the perfect happiness of heaven. Let not this picture be marred. We must all see to it that it is not. We must. I feel that we will all gather together over there, parents, children, grandchildren, and together enjoy forever the glories of the land of love.“Let not your heart be troubled. There can be no more sorrow for the little boy. No ill can ere betide him now. Trust in God who doeth all things well. Let His will be done. God bless and comfort you.“Your loving brother,“John.”
“Kokomo, January 4, 1883.
“Dear Sister—Father’s letter, containing the sad news of the death of your little Frank was received to-day, and I hasten to write you. Our hearts are full of loving sympathy for you in this terrible affliction and we would like to be able to be with you to mingle our tears with yours, and try to say something to break the force of the overpowering sorrow which has come so heavily upon you. The brave, sturdy little fellow. We imagined him in perfect health, rollicking about your fireside enjoying the holiday season—the pride and joy of all of you. And to hear of his death. It startled and shocked us and saddened our household almost as much as though it had been our child, for we had all become so attached to him during our long stay with you. While death is terrible, and while great heart-breaking grief always follows, yet there are other matters to be considered in the case of the death of children especially which ought to go a long way in the direction of comforting the heart.
“He is safe. The possibilities of evil, which go along with all boys and which increase as they grow older, are no more. There is now no danger for little Frank. His footsteps need not now be guarded—there need be no anxiety in the mother’s heart for the future of her boy. His future is not only secure, but it is a future resplendent with glory. Had he liveda long, useful life, he could never have attained that happiness which is now and always will be his.
“I was thinking to-day of the comfort there is in afflictions like this in the religion of the Bible. Without it what gloom and utter hopelessness. With it the future is full of good cheer and joyous anticipations. Accepting it as true—and let no doubt ever obtrude itself—then must we not believe that our good, pure angel mother who has been waiting over there so long welcomed little Frank with exceeding great joy as the representative of her own children whom she left so long ago and toward whom her heart went in such tender solicitude?
“My dear sister, your little boy is safe. He was the first of our family to be welcomed by her whose memory we treasure so fondly. From this on there will be more frequent additions to the family in the summerland of happiness—one by one we will be summoned there, until, ere long, the family circle will be completed, and every sorrow and pang of grief will be forgotten in the perfect happiness of heaven. Let not this picture be marred. We must all see to it that it is not. We must. I feel that we will all gather together over there, parents, children, grandchildren, and together enjoy forever the glories of the land of love.
“Let not your heart be troubled. There can be no more sorrow for the little boy. No ill can ere betide him now. Trust in God who doeth all things well. Let His will be done. God bless and comfort you.
“Your loving brother,“John.”
In personal appearance Senator Kern was always slender and never very robust, and in his younger days this was the more noticeable because of his custom of affecting the Prince Albert coat of the period and the high silk hat. Soon after leaving Ann Arbor he permitted his beard to grow to a considerable length and as the political “speaker with the long black beard” he was known through the length and breadth of the state for many years. His height, slender form, black beard, and keen, penetrating dark eyes, an inheritance from his mother, made him in his youth an impressive figure. In later years he abandoned the Prince Albert for a business man’s sack suit, and seldom wore a silk hat except on state occasions. His beard, now gray, was cropped short and little more than covered his chin, but the memory of the flowing beard persisted in the minds of the cartoonists and curbstone wits, and constant reference, which was offensive to him, was made to his beard which differed little from that of Harrison or Fairbanks and was a very modest affair compared to that of Hughes. He never indicated, however, that he cared for the strained witticisms about his beard, and when an acquaintance, presuming upon his friendship, wrote him and suggested that he part with it after his election to the senate he merely wrotethat “the beard has been attached to me so long it would be an act of base ingratitude to desert it now.” His eyes, always his finest feature, never lost their luster or fire. He was always perfectly groomed without being noticeably so.
In some quarters he had the reputation of being cold and unappreciative, but this was due to his temperamental inability to gush, and he had more of a tendency among men to conceal rather than reveal his affections. No senator was ever served by assistants with greater zeal, fidelity or personal devotion, and yet with one or two exceptions he never by word of mouth in the course of six years gave any expression of his appreciation; and this reticence, together with an apparent coldness, due to preoccupation, was discouraging to them at first. Then during some recess or absence and when many miles away and without any special occasion for it he would write a letter teeming with affectionate appreciation. Perhaps a little later on he would return, and entering the office as though he had just left it, he would sometimes pass by with a scant nod and a faint smile and without pausing for a chat. He had a great heart, but he did not carry it upon his sleeve.
This was shown in his attitude toward members of his family, to whom he was tenderly devoted—heseldom mentioned them even among his intimates. That he kept for and to himself.
And yet, as the old viking, Andrew Furseth, who knew, said few men were more prone to take unto themselves the troubles and sorrows of others. After hearing the pathetic story of the suffering of the wives and children of the striking miners of Colorado, and looking upon the pictures of some of the slaughtered innocents, he sat smoking in silence for a long while, with the saddest expression on his face and in his eyes that I have ever seen. And that was not a pose—there was only one there to see, and Kern was scarcely conscious of his presence. Finally coming out of his revery and observing the presence of another, he smiled rather sadly and remarked, “Well, I guess God reigns and the government at Washington still lives.”
The Kern of the out-of-doors was not the same man as the Kern of the closet, and popular and likeable as the Kern of the out-of-doors was, the Kern of the closet was infinitely the greater—and the real Kern.
As a companion in moments of relaxation Kern had few equals, and no one appreciated this more than his congressional cronies at Congress Hall Hotel, where he made his home during his service in the senate. When he first went to Washington hetook up his residence here, but in the fall of 1911 he went to the Arlington, near the White House, feeling that this would encourage him to walk more. But the somber dignity and aloofness of that ancient hostelry soon palled upon him, and a longing for the companionship of his friends soon drove him back to Congress Hall.
I am indebted to Henry A. Barnhart for a picture of the Kern of Congress Hall:
“Socially speaking, Senator Kern gave little attention to society functions in the national capital and yet he was a social favorite. He rarely went out except on state occasions, when his leadership in the senate necessitated his presence to add dignity or importance to occasions; where the foremost of the nation’s official leaders assembled in social formality. Seldom, indeed, did he ever attend the theater, while golf, baseball and other like recreations, resorted to by many great men as relaxation for tired minds and bodies, had no attraction for him. Likewise he was not a churchgoer and yet he had a sacred and profound regard for the church and for sincere religious convictions. Although a constant reader, cheap fiction was not a pastime for him and in his reading, like his physical relaxations, he did everything to rest except rest. When he read he worked industriously at it and it was something worth while.“The senator was socially at his best when in an environment of informality, and gained largest relief from fatigue or responsibilities when surrounded bya group of congenial friends at Congress Hall Hotel, where he lived during his official career in Washington. His hotel life was methodical. He went to bed at ten o’clock every night and was at the breakfast table at eight in the morning. After supper each evening (or dinner, as fashionable Washington calls it) he would retire to his room and recline in a comfortable chair and there for an hour, under canopy of smoke from a ‘home made’ cigar, he would read the evening papers. Then he would go down to the lobby of the hotel and there join the ‘statesman’s circle’ and lightly or seriously discuss the issues of the day, swap refreshing anecdotes of laughable incidents on the hustings, in the courts and in politics, and rarely failing to illustrate some feature of the conversation by recounting some misfortune or act of unsophistication of his boyhood career in a village neighborhood near his dear Kokomo, or of his struggles to gain a footing in law or politics. Not only did he love to indulge in personal reminiscences, but even more did he enjoy communing with memories of happy association with brilliant and picturesque men of other days in every county in Indiana. His fund of true-to-life stories was voluminous and ever delightful. He could not ‘hold a candle’ to Champ Clark in recital of rare and fascinating biography of great men, but in dramatic or quaint description of their striking or peculiar characteristics and in portrayal of the attributes which made them conspicuous as state or national figures he was a delight extraordinary.“Also in friendly repartee and ready wit he was a great favorite. Speaking of his passive regard for the theater, the wife of a well-known Indiana congressman one evening approached her husband and the senator, as they were indulging in their daily visit, and inquired of the former if she should order tickets for an evening with the drama, then on at a Washington playhouse. When advised to do so she invited the senator to accompany them. ‘Is it a good laugh?’ he inquired. ‘No,’ she said, ‘but next week Montgomery and Ward (slip of the tongue for Montgomery and Stone) are to be here in the Red Mill and that will be a laugh for you.’ ‘Delightful,’ the senator replied, ‘when will Sears and Roebuck be here?’“One evening the lone Socialist of the house was regaling a group, of which Senator Kern was one, with an impassioned screed against whatever was and reached a climax in the vociferous explosion, ‘My God, Senator, has reason been entirely dethroned?’ ‘I guess it has,’ was the senator’s meek and pacific reply.“At another time the senator and one of his Democratic congressional associates had been out to address a mass meeting and the congressman spoke first and used almost an hour of the hour and a half allotted to the two. When they returned to the hotel several gentlemen who had accompanied them gathered about them and one said, ‘Congressman, better have a chair, you have made a very vigorous speech and are doubtless tired.’ ‘No, thank you,’ replied thecongressman, ‘I do not care to sit down.’ ‘I noticed that when you were speaking,’ was Kern’s pat and mirth-provoking injection.“Two middle-aged Indiana congressmen always occupied connecting bachelor apartments when their families were not with them, and one was telling the senator how the other seemed to be growing old and childish. ‘Why, he sleeps with his watch under his pillow,’ the solon said, ‘to help him wake up in the morning and when I go in and call to him and tell him it is time to look at his watch he rears up like a wild horse and acts like one.’ ‘Probably frightened, in his half-awake condition,’ said the senator, ‘with apprehension that you are some constituent about to ask him a direct question as to where he stands on free garden seed.’“But the real milk of human kindness in Senator Kern’s life was not touchingly revealed in his tireless devotion to the needy—to the underdog in the struggle for existence—and his patience with these was none the less marked than with the most influential in the country. And therefore what little social life he enjoyed was constantly invaded by innumerable callers with a mission of self help, to be relieved by the senator, and he would leave the social circle, leave his dinner table, and leave the helpful comfort of his bed when in ill health to see them, not only once, but again and again.“Indeed, none ever came to him for an audience and for hope in vain. Sometimes he would go to his room immediately after his supper and take one ofhis congenial friends with him to get much-needed freedom from official cares and to rest through an informal chat. Once on such occasion, the writer saw him take down the telephone receiver and leave it off the hook, explaining that he did it that the hotel telephone operator could not ring him a call down into the lobby to give audience to some one who wanted official assistance. The receiver had been off the hook but a short time when the senator put it back, saying, ‘Possibly some poor mortal might want to see me on a matter in which prompt action would mean happiness to him and delay would cause him despair, and I’d rather be harassed and nerveworn by ninety-nine undeserving than to disappoint one in actual need of help.’ So whether it was some dignified message bearer from the administration suggesting congressional action or some earnest representative of labor with a plea for legislative justice, or some agent of business interests about to be affected by revenue taxes, or some governmental clerk ‘in bad’ with his chief, or some Oliver Twist in politics shoving up his plate for more, or some poor old woman with no family and few friends begging that the wolf scratching at the door of her abode of squalor be driven away by official interference, all were alike patiently heard and so kindly treated that they went away with a lump of sugar in the mouth and a rising tide of hope eternal in the heart.“Therefore Senator Kern’s social life while in congress consisted in evening indulgence in conversational round tables with friends, who talked both business and pleasure, frequently interrupted by requests of never-ending procession of favor hunters for official influence in their behalf. He disliked so-called caste and blue-blood breeding and society shams of whatsoever kind, preferring the companionship of men and women of strength of character which lifted them above the frivolous, the irresponsible and the pretentious.“And so his social life was really a busy and a cheering life, and while in no sense a society man, socially he was the noble Roman par excellent.”
“Socially speaking, Senator Kern gave little attention to society functions in the national capital and yet he was a social favorite. He rarely went out except on state occasions, when his leadership in the senate necessitated his presence to add dignity or importance to occasions; where the foremost of the nation’s official leaders assembled in social formality. Seldom, indeed, did he ever attend the theater, while golf, baseball and other like recreations, resorted to by many great men as relaxation for tired minds and bodies, had no attraction for him. Likewise he was not a churchgoer and yet he had a sacred and profound regard for the church and for sincere religious convictions. Although a constant reader, cheap fiction was not a pastime for him and in his reading, like his physical relaxations, he did everything to rest except rest. When he read he worked industriously at it and it was something worth while.
“The senator was socially at his best when in an environment of informality, and gained largest relief from fatigue or responsibilities when surrounded bya group of congenial friends at Congress Hall Hotel, where he lived during his official career in Washington. His hotel life was methodical. He went to bed at ten o’clock every night and was at the breakfast table at eight in the morning. After supper each evening (or dinner, as fashionable Washington calls it) he would retire to his room and recline in a comfortable chair and there for an hour, under canopy of smoke from a ‘home made’ cigar, he would read the evening papers. Then he would go down to the lobby of the hotel and there join the ‘statesman’s circle’ and lightly or seriously discuss the issues of the day, swap refreshing anecdotes of laughable incidents on the hustings, in the courts and in politics, and rarely failing to illustrate some feature of the conversation by recounting some misfortune or act of unsophistication of his boyhood career in a village neighborhood near his dear Kokomo, or of his struggles to gain a footing in law or politics. Not only did he love to indulge in personal reminiscences, but even more did he enjoy communing with memories of happy association with brilliant and picturesque men of other days in every county in Indiana. His fund of true-to-life stories was voluminous and ever delightful. He could not ‘hold a candle’ to Champ Clark in recital of rare and fascinating biography of great men, but in dramatic or quaint description of their striking or peculiar characteristics and in portrayal of the attributes which made them conspicuous as state or national figures he was a delight extraordinary.
“Also in friendly repartee and ready wit he was a great favorite. Speaking of his passive regard for the theater, the wife of a well-known Indiana congressman one evening approached her husband and the senator, as they were indulging in their daily visit, and inquired of the former if she should order tickets for an evening with the drama, then on at a Washington playhouse. When advised to do so she invited the senator to accompany them. ‘Is it a good laugh?’ he inquired. ‘No,’ she said, ‘but next week Montgomery and Ward (slip of the tongue for Montgomery and Stone) are to be here in the Red Mill and that will be a laugh for you.’ ‘Delightful,’ the senator replied, ‘when will Sears and Roebuck be here?’
“One evening the lone Socialist of the house was regaling a group, of which Senator Kern was one, with an impassioned screed against whatever was and reached a climax in the vociferous explosion, ‘My God, Senator, has reason been entirely dethroned?’ ‘I guess it has,’ was the senator’s meek and pacific reply.
“At another time the senator and one of his Democratic congressional associates had been out to address a mass meeting and the congressman spoke first and used almost an hour of the hour and a half allotted to the two. When they returned to the hotel several gentlemen who had accompanied them gathered about them and one said, ‘Congressman, better have a chair, you have made a very vigorous speech and are doubtless tired.’ ‘No, thank you,’ replied thecongressman, ‘I do not care to sit down.’ ‘I noticed that when you were speaking,’ was Kern’s pat and mirth-provoking injection.
“Two middle-aged Indiana congressmen always occupied connecting bachelor apartments when their families were not with them, and one was telling the senator how the other seemed to be growing old and childish. ‘Why, he sleeps with his watch under his pillow,’ the solon said, ‘to help him wake up in the morning and when I go in and call to him and tell him it is time to look at his watch he rears up like a wild horse and acts like one.’ ‘Probably frightened, in his half-awake condition,’ said the senator, ‘with apprehension that you are some constituent about to ask him a direct question as to where he stands on free garden seed.’
“But the real milk of human kindness in Senator Kern’s life was not touchingly revealed in his tireless devotion to the needy—to the underdog in the struggle for existence—and his patience with these was none the less marked than with the most influential in the country. And therefore what little social life he enjoyed was constantly invaded by innumerable callers with a mission of self help, to be relieved by the senator, and he would leave the social circle, leave his dinner table, and leave the helpful comfort of his bed when in ill health to see them, not only once, but again and again.
“Indeed, none ever came to him for an audience and for hope in vain. Sometimes he would go to his room immediately after his supper and take one ofhis congenial friends with him to get much-needed freedom from official cares and to rest through an informal chat. Once on such occasion, the writer saw him take down the telephone receiver and leave it off the hook, explaining that he did it that the hotel telephone operator could not ring him a call down into the lobby to give audience to some one who wanted official assistance. The receiver had been off the hook but a short time when the senator put it back, saying, ‘Possibly some poor mortal might want to see me on a matter in which prompt action would mean happiness to him and delay would cause him despair, and I’d rather be harassed and nerveworn by ninety-nine undeserving than to disappoint one in actual need of help.’ So whether it was some dignified message bearer from the administration suggesting congressional action or some earnest representative of labor with a plea for legislative justice, or some agent of business interests about to be affected by revenue taxes, or some governmental clerk ‘in bad’ with his chief, or some Oliver Twist in politics shoving up his plate for more, or some poor old woman with no family and few friends begging that the wolf scratching at the door of her abode of squalor be driven away by official interference, all were alike patiently heard and so kindly treated that they went away with a lump of sugar in the mouth and a rising tide of hope eternal in the heart.
“Therefore Senator Kern’s social life while in congress consisted in evening indulgence in conversational round tables with friends, who talked both business and pleasure, frequently interrupted by requests of never-ending procession of favor hunters for official influence in their behalf. He disliked so-called caste and blue-blood breeding and society shams of whatsoever kind, preferring the companionship of men and women of strength of character which lifted them above the frivolous, the irresponsible and the pretentious.
“And so his social life was really a busy and a cheering life, and while in no sense a society man, socially he was the noble Roman par excellent.”
No one is so well qualified to tell the story of John Kern, the campaigner and man, as members of the newspaper fraternity who were assigned to “cover” him on many a tour, and called regularly at his office for many years. There was something in the temperament of the average newspaper man that appealed to him, and for practically all the reporters and correspondents who came into contact with him he formed personal friendship that was very real. This feeling was almost invariably reciprocated. The fact that many of these represented politically hostile papers made no difference with him. He was broad enough to understand.
Among the gentlemen of the press peculiarly qualified to speak, not only because of extensive experience with him, but because of the personal friendship that existed between him and them, are Louis Ludlow, the Washington correspondent, for many
MR. KERN MEETS A PARTY WHEEL HORSE AT JASONVILLE. Hub 1904. From Kin Hubbard’s Sketches of His Tour with Kern in 1904—Indianapolis News
years representative ofThe Indianapolis SentinelandThe Indianapolis Star; W. H. Blodgett, the veteran political writer ofThe Indianapolis News, and Kin Hubbard, the cartoonist and creator of “Abe Martin,” who frequently accompanied Kern upon his tours sketching the crowds, and whose work was a delight to the senator. These men knew the Kern of the campaign more intimately than the politiciansfor he unburdened himself to them with greater freedom and his confidence was never betrayed.
Among the press correspondents with whom Senator Kern was associated for many years none were more intimately identified with him than Louis Ludlow, the Washington correspondent, for many years the representative at the national capitol ofThe Indianapolis SentinelandThe Indianapolis Star. I am indebted to Mr. Ludlow for the following reminiscences:
“The writer of this article campaigned with John W. Kern for five weeks in 1910 when he was contesting with Mr. Beveridge for the senatorial toga. We shared together the exhilarating novelties and disappointing hardships, the bitter and the sweet, of that five weeks’ strenuous tour. We rode together in the same rickety day-coaches and stuffy interurban cars, bunked at the same hotel and rooming houses, participated in the same miseries and inconvenience of travel inflicted upon us by a campaign schedule that knew neither rhyme or reason, and whatever social recognitions came his way he very considerately insisted that I should share. He treated me in every respect as a comrade, although the paper I was writing for at the time was politically hostile to him and was giving him an editorial wallop every day.“This was the longest period of intensive campaigning I ever had with Mr. Kern, and it gave mea clearer insight into his human trait and interesting mental processes, as well as his breadth of vision and nobility of character, than I ever had before; but compared with my long association with him, he as a leader of his party in state and nation and I as a newspaper writer, this five weeks’ tour was but a brief span. I had long before and on many occasions campaigned with Mr. Kern up and down Indiana, criss-cross and in every other way, and his office in the Stevenson, afterward the State Life building, was one of the stations on my daily beat at Indianapolis. I would no more have thought of letting a day pass without calling on Mr. Kern at least once than I would of going without my breakfast. In fact, as a zealous news gatherer I thought infinitely more of having my daily (often twice-daily) talk with Mr. Kern than of any mere culinary diversion.“Our acquaintance had extended over a rounded period of an even quarter of a century when this good man was called to his reward. When, as a green country boy from the backwoods with hayseed—lots of it—in my hair, I went to Indianapolis in 1892 to get a job on a newspaper, Mr. Kern took a friendly interest in me. Perhaps he thought I needed some attention; at any rate from that time to the hour of his death he was a true and loyal friend. He was even then a leader at the bar, and with the passing of Thomas A. Hendricks he easily held first rank as the most popular Democrat in Indiana. His office on North Pennsylvania street, Indianapolis, was a mecca for Democrats from every nook and corner of the state. I remember him as a tall, slender distinguished-looking man with jet black whiskers, worn much longer than the style of beard he affected in later years.“About that time the Indianapolis National Bank blew up, precipitating a train of sensations that shook the foundations of the state. Mr. Kern, who was in all the big cases in those days, was appointed attorney for the receiver of the bank. I was assigned byThe Indianapolis Sunto cover the developments, and, speaking in the vernacular, it certainly was ‘some’ job for a cub reporter. I think I must have driven Federal Judges Baker and Woods nearly crazy trying to extract some news from the court, for I even called on them at their homes at unseemly hours, and if I had been a sophisticated reporter and they had not possessed a benevolent disposition they probably would have haled me up for contempt of court for some of the irregularities I committed. Mr. Kern was my particular prey. On one occasion, after I had had the boots scooped off me by a virile opposition, I went to Mr. Kern, determined that henceforth not the slightest atom of news about that bank failure should escape me.“‘There isn’t any news to-day; not a bit in the world,’ he told me.“‘Well,’ I said, making my last stand, ‘have you heard any rumors?’“Mr. Kern often told me in after years that, considering all the circumstances, my positiveness and the comical way I spoke, that was the funniest question ever put to him. He never got over it. The last time I called on him for news at his office in the
“The writer of this article campaigned with John W. Kern for five weeks in 1910 when he was contesting with Mr. Beveridge for the senatorial toga. We shared together the exhilarating novelties and disappointing hardships, the bitter and the sweet, of that five weeks’ strenuous tour. We rode together in the same rickety day-coaches and stuffy interurban cars, bunked at the same hotel and rooming houses, participated in the same miseries and inconvenience of travel inflicted upon us by a campaign schedule that knew neither rhyme or reason, and whatever social recognitions came his way he very considerately insisted that I should share. He treated me in every respect as a comrade, although the paper I was writing for at the time was politically hostile to him and was giving him an editorial wallop every day.
“This was the longest period of intensive campaigning I ever had with Mr. Kern, and it gave mea clearer insight into his human trait and interesting mental processes, as well as his breadth of vision and nobility of character, than I ever had before; but compared with my long association with him, he as a leader of his party in state and nation and I as a newspaper writer, this five weeks’ tour was but a brief span. I had long before and on many occasions campaigned with Mr. Kern up and down Indiana, criss-cross and in every other way, and his office in the Stevenson, afterward the State Life building, was one of the stations on my daily beat at Indianapolis. I would no more have thought of letting a day pass without calling on Mr. Kern at least once than I would of going without my breakfast. In fact, as a zealous news gatherer I thought infinitely more of having my daily (often twice-daily) talk with Mr. Kern than of any mere culinary diversion.
“Our acquaintance had extended over a rounded period of an even quarter of a century when this good man was called to his reward. When, as a green country boy from the backwoods with hayseed—lots of it—in my hair, I went to Indianapolis in 1892 to get a job on a newspaper, Mr. Kern took a friendly interest in me. Perhaps he thought I needed some attention; at any rate from that time to the hour of his death he was a true and loyal friend. He was even then a leader at the bar, and with the passing of Thomas A. Hendricks he easily held first rank as the most popular Democrat in Indiana. His office on North Pennsylvania street, Indianapolis, was a mecca for Democrats from every nook and corner of the state. I remember him as a tall, slender distinguished-looking man with jet black whiskers, worn much longer than the style of beard he affected in later years.
“About that time the Indianapolis National Bank blew up, precipitating a train of sensations that shook the foundations of the state. Mr. Kern, who was in all the big cases in those days, was appointed attorney for the receiver of the bank. I was assigned byThe Indianapolis Sunto cover the developments, and, speaking in the vernacular, it certainly was ‘some’ job for a cub reporter. I think I must have driven Federal Judges Baker and Woods nearly crazy trying to extract some news from the court, for I even called on them at their homes at unseemly hours, and if I had been a sophisticated reporter and they had not possessed a benevolent disposition they probably would have haled me up for contempt of court for some of the irregularities I committed. Mr. Kern was my particular prey. On one occasion, after I had had the boots scooped off me by a virile opposition, I went to Mr. Kern, determined that henceforth not the slightest atom of news about that bank failure should escape me.
“‘There isn’t any news to-day; not a bit in the world,’ he told me.
“‘Well,’ I said, making my last stand, ‘have you heard any rumors?’
“Mr. Kern often told me in after years that, considering all the circumstances, my positiveness and the comical way I spoke, that was the funniest question ever put to him. He never got over it. The last time I called on him for news at his office in the
MR. KERN CROSSING WHITE RIVER ON A FERRY AT ELLISTON. Hub 1904. Kern’s Favorite Kin Hubbard Sketch—Indianapolis News
federal capitol he looked up from behind a stack of letters and said, quizzically:“‘Any rumors to-day?’“While Mr. Kern, while not in the public service, enjoyed a large law practice, he had a greater non-paying clientele than any other lawyer I ever knew. He was always giving freely of his time and talent, without money and without price. Sometimes he made charges that were ridiculously nominal, but in cases of poverty and distress he was more likely to make no charges at all, even in cases that involved a great deal of work. If all those whom he helped to get out of difficulties and keep out of trouble, without one cent of recompense, could be compiled it would be a long one. His law practice, to a very extraordinary extent, was made of unrewarded kindnesses to others.“One day on entering his office I saw lying on a table a shining new quarter. I also saw at a glance that Mr. Kern was very much amused about something. Then he told the story.“One of his numerous impecunious but devoted admirers had been in difficulties and had come to him for advice on a law point. It was not an easy nut to crack and Mr. Kern spent the greater part of two days looking up the authorities and had given him a decision that fit the case and ended the trouble. The client was fully grateful and asked the amount of his bill.“Not a cent,” was the reply.“The client was one of those self-important individuals. He insisted.“‘There is no charge; it’s all right. Good luck to you,’ protested Mr. Kern.“‘Now I’ll tell you, John,’ said the benevolent client with the air of one who was conferring a great favor, ‘I never get anything without paying for it. Here’s a quarter and if you’ll stand by me I’ll bring you some more business some time.’“So saying, he laid the twenty-five-cent piece on the table and Mr. Kern was so flabbergasted he let him go without saying another word.“Mr. Kern’s honor shines through all his professional transactions with an illuminating glow. I know an instance where a well-to-do man employed Mr. Kern as attorney in an alienation suit. The man was not altogether to blame; there were extenuating circumstances, but enough guilt to make the outcome exceedingly precarious if the aggrieved party carried out his threat to file suit, to say nothing of the notoriety. Mr. Kern was not one of those lawyers who believed in fostering litigation. In this case, as many others, he advised settlement out of court. His client virtually turned over his fortune to Mr. Kern with authority to affect a settlement on the best terms possible.“After exercising his wonderful powers of diplomacy and persuasion he (this was in his early days at the bar) returned to his client.“‘What would you say if I told you that I had settled your case for $10,000?’ he asked.“‘I would say it is pretty high, but you have performed a real service for me and I’m glad to get out of it.’“‘What would you say then if I told you I had settled for $8,000?’“‘That would be better; I would indorse that settlement right from the start.’“‘Then,’ persisted Mr. Kern, ‘what would you say if I told you I had settled for $5,000.’“‘I’d be tickled to death.’“‘Well,’ said Mr. Kern, ‘at the risk of a sudden termination of your earthly career I will tell you that this whole matter has been adjusted and that you are to pay only $1,000.’“And then, to top it all off, Mr. Kern charged him a nominal fee, finding his reward mainly in the satisfaction of having got somebody out of trouble.“Mr. Kern’s sense of humor was exquisite. Whether in the court room or on the hustings the ‘human side’ of things appealed to him with mighty force and often, especially in his younger days, when he was practicing in the courts of Kokomo his quick wit won his cases. On a certain occasion a Kokomo roisterer got into trouble and engaged Mr. Kern to defend him in a justice of the peace court. A hog knows infinitely more about Sunday than that justice knew about law. Mr. Kern saw that the only salvation for his client was to force through an immediate trial. It was after dark when his client was haled into court. The squire adjusted his spectacles in a knowing way and said:“‘This case will be continued until to-morrow and the defendant will be remanded to the county jail.’“‘May it please the court,’ said the young attorney, ‘nothing of the kind will be done. We are entitledto justice speedily and without delay and this trial goes on.’“‘Will the attorney at the bar consent to tell this here court what is his authority for that statement?’“‘Certainly; it is contained right here in the bill of rights.’“Then Mr. Kern read that part which says that justice shall be speedy and without delay.“‘Would this court presume that it has the power to set aside that fundamental guarantee?’ he asked dramatically.“The court remarked that he guessed his young friend ‘knowed what he was talkin’ about’ and ordered the trial to go on. A jury was impaneled, the trial lasted all night, and at daybreak Mr. Kern’s client was cleared. This was one of many stories that Mr. Kern used to tell about justice as she was dispensed at Kokomo in his early manhood.“Mr. Kern had a way of making use of ridicule as a very effective weapon in a law suit. He could lampoon an adversary out of court and do it in a way that left no sting. A Republican state administration a decade or so ago started a crusade against Thomas Taggart’s establishment at French Lick. A constable from the vicinity swooped down and made a raid. This was followed by proceedings brought in Judge Tom Van Buskirk’s court at Paoli, looking, as I recall it, toward a revocation of the charter. I was sent down to report the trial for an Indianapolis paper. Mr. Kern was attorney for Mr. Taggart and one of his first acts was to give me an interview, which he wrote in long hand, setting forth an imaginary description of the raid that had been conducted by the ‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’ It so happened that the valorous constable did have one eye as Mr. Kern, who knew everybody, was aware. The interview made bully copy and it caused that case to be laughed out of court. Thereafter the issues involved were obscured by the one outstanding feature—the ‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’“As a campaigner Mr. Kern never indulged in camouflage. He disdained, for instance, to resort to the usual artifices to work up a crowd. If people came to hear him he was glad, but he would not permit any spectacular side shows to drum up audiences. In some places during the memorable campaign of 1910 the crowds that turned out were distressingly small, but those who attended came because they were earnestly seeking to be enlightened and not solely to be entertained. Therefore it could always be said that his speeches rated very high from the standpoint of effectiveness. While he interspersed many stories and jokes throughout his speeches he never did so without pointing a moral and he often rose to the sublime heights of eloquence. He was so sociable, so easily approached, so companionable that he made friends everywhere and riveted them to him with hooks of steel.“The campaigning was strenuous and Mr. Kern was no longer young in years, but his buoyancy and ability to accommodate himself to situations as they arose enabled him to see the silver lining to every cloud. We had to arise in all hours of the night tomake train schedules. One night, in making the jump from Brownstown to Washington, Indiana, the train was due to arrive at Ewing, which is connected with Brownstown by two streaks of rust, shortly after midnight. It was several hours late, however, and in a frolicsome mood Mr. Kern insisted that we arouse a village restaurateur and have him cook us a breakfast of his favorite kind, consisting of bacon and eggs. This the restaurateur did gladly and sent us on our way rejoicing.“An interesting contretemps occurred down in a town in the First district. The reception committee slipped a cog and we arrived without attracting attention and made our way to the best hotel in the town, which was none too good. No sooner had we deposited our luggage on the floor than in came the reception committee in a state of breathless agitation. Mr. Kern was beckoned to one side and the startling information was imparted to him that it would never do for him to stop at that hotel and that quarters had been reserved for him at a rooming house down the street. It seemed that there were two hotels in the place, both run by Democrats. Representative Boehne had been there a short time before and had stopped at the crackerjack hotel, and now it was imperatively necessary, in order to preserve the political equilibrium, that Mr. Kern should stop at the place down the street. Being myself under no such restrictions of political expediency I turned in at the best hotel and had a good night’s rest. Before I did so I went down the street to see how Mr. Kern was faring. His room was over a billiard hall and thecracking of the ivories resounded for half a block. If I were made to guess I would say that he did not sleep a wink that night, but he accepted the situation with sweet resignation, just as he did every other situation in life.“On the interurban car returning to Evansville something happened. The car came to a standstill with a suddenness that caused everybody to pitch forward and then the lights went out. Without was Stygian darkness. It was a darkness that was absolutely black. After what seemed an interminably long time the motorman returned to the car, the conductor and motorman indulged in the usual bell talk preliminary to getting away and the car proceeded.“‘What did we hit back there?’ Mr. Kern asked the motorman.“‘We hit a cow,’ replied the motorman, none too pleasantly.“Quick as a flash Mr. Kern said: ‘Permit me to congratulate you on being able to tell the gender of the animal on a night like this.’“The senatorial campaign ended with both of the candidates speaking in their home city, Indianapolis. The Republicans arranged as a grand finale a monster meeting at Tomlinson Hall, preceded by a street parade in which it seemed that half of Marion county participated. On the Democratic side the plan was for a number of ward meetings, to be addressed by the Democratic senatorial candidate. The brilliant genius who made the arrangements staged the last of these meetings, the very closing of the campaign, to take place in a south-side saloon. Itwas to be a sort of hand-shaking affair. Mr. Kern was ushered into the room before he recognized the character of the place. He left immediately and that was the only time during the campaign when he showed any manifestations of anger. He expressed in plain terms his opinion of the dunderhead who had made the arrangements.“As a senator of the United States Mr. Kern at once took high rank in Washington and advanced in position and influence with a swiftness that was amazing. His election to the leadership of the controlling party after he had been a senator only a fraction of his first term was wholly without precedent. Hard, intelligent work, combined with personal popularity, won for him a prestige never before accorded to a first termer. He saw through the thin veneer of Washington society and formed an intense dislike for its sham. Aside from White House functions and those of a few senatorial friends, about the only dinners and receptions he attended were those occasionally given by Indianians, and then he sometimes got his dates curiously mixed. An instance that Vice-President Marshall relates occurred one night when Mr. Kern was discovered by the vice-president groping his way through one of the halls of the Willard Hotel. The vice-president hailed him.“‘Where do you think you are going, John?’ he asked.“‘I am going to your apartment to take dinner with you,’ was the reply.“‘That can’t be because I am going out to dinner now.’“‘But you invited me,’ said the senator.“‘Look at your invitation,’ came back the vice-president, who could hardly restrain his mirth.“Senator Kern did so and a light broke. The invitation was for the next night. They had a good laugh together. On the next night the senator forgot all about the invitation and did not attend. All of which illustrates the fact that when it came to society matters he was not a J. Hamilton Lewis.“It would be impossible to speak of Senator Kern’s successful regime as a leader of the greatest law-making body in the world without paying a high tribute to the personal equation.“His magnetic and lovable personality held sway in the senate and made him the greatest conciliator among all the leaders that held that position of high responsibility. In ironing out differences and bringing contending elements together he was the master.“It would be impossible to speak of Senator southern senator once remarked, ‘except to say that you can’t talk with him two minutes without falling in love with him. He captivates you, suh.’“Perhaps this explains why Senator Kern, a northern man, never lacked southern support in the senate, although the party leaders almost invariably have been southern men. Nor was there any semblance of the mailed fist in his leadership. He made it a point to cultivate friendly relations with all the senators. They regarded him as a companion and a comrade. He had a joke for every occasion and sometimes a playful senator would perpetrate a joke on the leader.“I shall never forget an occasion, for instance,when Senator Kern received a letter from Senator Saulsbury of Delaware, now the president pro tem. of the senate. Senator Kern had been lecturing Democratic senators on the necessity of maintaining a quorum and the evils of absenteeism. Senator Saulsbury had planned a cherished trip to Europe and one fine day, unknown to Senator Kern, he set sail from New York. When the outgoing vessel passed Sandy Hook he sat down and wrote a letter to Senator Kern that bristled with belligerency. He told him he had grown tired of his ‘tyrannical rule’ of the ‘autocratic’ senate leader and had decided to ‘set himself free.’ He bade defiance to the senate ‘boss’ and dared him to cross the pond and get him. Of course the anger assumed in the letter was all camouflage, as better friends than Senators Kern and Saulsbury never lived. Some months later when Senator Saulsbury returned they had a merry laugh over it. One could as easily imagine the Washington monument bending over to salute the morning sun as to think of a kittenish senator issuing such a challenge for example to Senator Martin, the predecessor and successor of Senator Kern in the senate leadership.“In my capacity as one of the correspondents at the capitol I naturally was brought into close contact with the leader. Senator Kern was fond of taking long walks and frequently I was with him on these strolls. His high position did not make the slightest modification in his democratic ways. Correspondents could go to him at any hour of the day or night with perfect assurance that they would receive courteous treatment and straightforward answers.We met on unusual occasions as, for instance, when we stood up as witness at the wedding of two dear friends, now Mr. and Mrs. W. S. Ryan.“This same Mr. Ryan was the ‘Bill’ Ryan who was featured in some of Mr. Kern’s speeches back in the 1910 campaign. He would challenge the correctness of statistics presented on the stump by the Republican speakers to prove that their administration of affairs had been a success. He would point out that figures are misleading unless one knows how to analyze them.“‘They remind me of Bill Ryan’s watch,’ he would say. ‘When the hour hand points to eight and the minute hand to three Bill knows it is half past four.’“The brightest senate page I ever knew bore the euphonious nickname of ‘Christopher Columbus.’ His real name was Weirisk, but in a moment of facetiousness I bestowed the name of ‘Christopher Columbus’ upon him for no other reason than that he was born and reared at Columbus, Ohio. Though the name finally came to be abbreviated down to ‘Chris’ it was as ‘Chris’ that he was known to scores of correspondents, to whose service he was assigned. He was as keen as a whip and bright as a new dollar, and, withal, had a sense of the dignity of his position and a constant care not to offend any one.“One afternoon I sent ‘Chris’ into the senate chamber to ask Senator Kern if I could see him. When the lad returned he was plainly agitated. He hemmed and hawed and made no response that I could understand.“‘Mr. Ludlow,’ he finally said, ‘I don’t like to tell you what Senator Kern told me.’“That was interesting.“‘Why?’ I asked.“‘Because it is not a bit favorable to you.’“‘Oh, pshaw, Chris,’ I insisted, ‘I haven’t got all afternoon to waste. What did he say?’“‘Senator Kern told me to tell you to go to the hot place,’ answered ‘Chris,’ who looked as if he would gladly have sacrificed his right arm rather than have delivered that message. Just then the senator came out of the chamber shaking with laughter.“A little later another page nearly fell over when Senator Kern, on being told that I would like to see him, asked whether I was ‘drunk or sober.’ Subsequently he made that inquiry so often that the pages, who were my friends, learned to respond instantly, ‘Sober, sir.’“Senator Kern’s kind heart made him the prey of impecunious and designing individuals who were always trying to ‘touch’ him and seldom unsuccessfully.“One day the senator was called into the marble room by a smooth citizen who said he lived at Elwood, Indiana, and told of meeting the senator there when he was one of the appreciative and applauding auditors. After recalling these pleasant and circumstantial facts he wound up by asking the senator for the loan of the small sum of a dollar, which the senator readily granted, thankful that the request was not for ten dollars, the usual amount.“The senator then returned to the chamber andwas sitting by the side of his colleague, Senator Shively, when the same man sent in a card to the latter. Senator Shively went into the marble room and when he resumed his seat five minutes later Senator Kern asked:“‘Who was your friend?’“‘He was from Elwood and he just wanted to talk to me about old times. He recalled one occasion when I spoke at Elwood and he was kind enough to say it was a corking good speech.’“‘Honest Injun, Ben,’ how much did he touch you for?’Senator Shively jumped as if startled.“‘Fifty cents,’ he answered.“‘Well, that shows he thinks I am the better senator. He stung me for a dollar,’ said Kern.“‘No, I think he sized you up as the easier mark,’ came back Shively, and they then adjourned to the cloak room and told the story to a group of senators, who enjoyed it hugely.“Reminiscences with Senator Kern as the central and radiating figure might be told by the hour, but even reminiscences must come to an end. It so happened that I was the last man in Washington to bid him a final good-bye. He had come from his room at the Congress Hall Hotel and summoned a taxi to take him to the depot. Passing me at the entrance of the hotel he extended his hand and said, brave:“‘Good-bye; I am going down to the sanatorium at Asheville to take a post-graduate course.’“I was inexpressibly shocked a few days later tolearn that his spirit had winged its flight to the blessed Summerland.”
federal capitol he looked up from behind a stack of letters and said, quizzically:
“‘Any rumors to-day?’
“While Mr. Kern, while not in the public service, enjoyed a large law practice, he had a greater non-paying clientele than any other lawyer I ever knew. He was always giving freely of his time and talent, without money and without price. Sometimes he made charges that were ridiculously nominal, but in cases of poverty and distress he was more likely to make no charges at all, even in cases that involved a great deal of work. If all those whom he helped to get out of difficulties and keep out of trouble, without one cent of recompense, could be compiled it would be a long one. His law practice, to a very extraordinary extent, was made of unrewarded kindnesses to others.
“One day on entering his office I saw lying on a table a shining new quarter. I also saw at a glance that Mr. Kern was very much amused about something. Then he told the story.
“One of his numerous impecunious but devoted admirers had been in difficulties and had come to him for advice on a law point. It was not an easy nut to crack and Mr. Kern spent the greater part of two days looking up the authorities and had given him a decision that fit the case and ended the trouble. The client was fully grateful and asked the amount of his bill.
“Not a cent,” was the reply.
“The client was one of those self-important individuals. He insisted.
“‘There is no charge; it’s all right. Good luck to you,’ protested Mr. Kern.
“‘Now I’ll tell you, John,’ said the benevolent client with the air of one who was conferring a great favor, ‘I never get anything without paying for it. Here’s a quarter and if you’ll stand by me I’ll bring you some more business some time.’
“So saying, he laid the twenty-five-cent piece on the table and Mr. Kern was so flabbergasted he let him go without saying another word.
“Mr. Kern’s honor shines through all his professional transactions with an illuminating glow. I know an instance where a well-to-do man employed Mr. Kern as attorney in an alienation suit. The man was not altogether to blame; there were extenuating circumstances, but enough guilt to make the outcome exceedingly precarious if the aggrieved party carried out his threat to file suit, to say nothing of the notoriety. Mr. Kern was not one of those lawyers who believed in fostering litigation. In this case, as many others, he advised settlement out of court. His client virtually turned over his fortune to Mr. Kern with authority to affect a settlement on the best terms possible.
“After exercising his wonderful powers of diplomacy and persuasion he (this was in his early days at the bar) returned to his client.
“‘What would you say if I told you that I had settled your case for $10,000?’ he asked.
“‘I would say it is pretty high, but you have performed a real service for me and I’m glad to get out of it.’
“‘What would you say then if I told you I had settled for $8,000?’
“‘That would be better; I would indorse that settlement right from the start.’
“‘Then,’ persisted Mr. Kern, ‘what would you say if I told you I had settled for $5,000.’
“‘I’d be tickled to death.’
“‘Well,’ said Mr. Kern, ‘at the risk of a sudden termination of your earthly career I will tell you that this whole matter has been adjusted and that you are to pay only $1,000.’
“And then, to top it all off, Mr. Kern charged him a nominal fee, finding his reward mainly in the satisfaction of having got somebody out of trouble.
“Mr. Kern’s sense of humor was exquisite. Whether in the court room or on the hustings the ‘human side’ of things appealed to him with mighty force and often, especially in his younger days, when he was practicing in the courts of Kokomo his quick wit won his cases. On a certain occasion a Kokomo roisterer got into trouble and engaged Mr. Kern to defend him in a justice of the peace court. A hog knows infinitely more about Sunday than that justice knew about law. Mr. Kern saw that the only salvation for his client was to force through an immediate trial. It was after dark when his client was haled into court. The squire adjusted his spectacles in a knowing way and said:
“‘This case will be continued until to-morrow and the defendant will be remanded to the county jail.’
“‘May it please the court,’ said the young attorney, ‘nothing of the kind will be done. We are entitledto justice speedily and without delay and this trial goes on.’
“‘Will the attorney at the bar consent to tell this here court what is his authority for that statement?’
“‘Certainly; it is contained right here in the bill of rights.’
“Then Mr. Kern read that part which says that justice shall be speedy and without delay.
“‘Would this court presume that it has the power to set aside that fundamental guarantee?’ he asked dramatically.
“The court remarked that he guessed his young friend ‘knowed what he was talkin’ about’ and ordered the trial to go on. A jury was impaneled, the trial lasted all night, and at daybreak Mr. Kern’s client was cleared. This was one of many stories that Mr. Kern used to tell about justice as she was dispensed at Kokomo in his early manhood.
“Mr. Kern had a way of making use of ridicule as a very effective weapon in a law suit. He could lampoon an adversary out of court and do it in a way that left no sting. A Republican state administration a decade or so ago started a crusade against Thomas Taggart’s establishment at French Lick. A constable from the vicinity swooped down and made a raid. This was followed by proceedings brought in Judge Tom Van Buskirk’s court at Paoli, looking, as I recall it, toward a revocation of the charter. I was sent down to report the trial for an Indianapolis paper. Mr. Kern was attorney for Mr. Taggart and one of his first acts was to give me an interview, which he wrote in long hand, setting forth an imaginary description of the raid that had been conducted by the ‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’ It so happened that the valorous constable did have one eye as Mr. Kern, who knew everybody, was aware. The interview made bully copy and it caused that case to be laughed out of court. Thereafter the issues involved were obscured by the one outstanding feature—the ‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’
“As a campaigner Mr. Kern never indulged in camouflage. He disdained, for instance, to resort to the usual artifices to work up a crowd. If people came to hear him he was glad, but he would not permit any spectacular side shows to drum up audiences. In some places during the memorable campaign of 1910 the crowds that turned out were distressingly small, but those who attended came because they were earnestly seeking to be enlightened and not solely to be entertained. Therefore it could always be said that his speeches rated very high from the standpoint of effectiveness. While he interspersed many stories and jokes throughout his speeches he never did so without pointing a moral and he often rose to the sublime heights of eloquence. He was so sociable, so easily approached, so companionable that he made friends everywhere and riveted them to him with hooks of steel.
“The campaigning was strenuous and Mr. Kern was no longer young in years, but his buoyancy and ability to accommodate himself to situations as they arose enabled him to see the silver lining to every cloud. We had to arise in all hours of the night tomake train schedules. One night, in making the jump from Brownstown to Washington, Indiana, the train was due to arrive at Ewing, which is connected with Brownstown by two streaks of rust, shortly after midnight. It was several hours late, however, and in a frolicsome mood Mr. Kern insisted that we arouse a village restaurateur and have him cook us a breakfast of his favorite kind, consisting of bacon and eggs. This the restaurateur did gladly and sent us on our way rejoicing.
“An interesting contretemps occurred down in a town in the First district. The reception committee slipped a cog and we arrived without attracting attention and made our way to the best hotel in the town, which was none too good. No sooner had we deposited our luggage on the floor than in came the reception committee in a state of breathless agitation. Mr. Kern was beckoned to one side and the startling information was imparted to him that it would never do for him to stop at that hotel and that quarters had been reserved for him at a rooming house down the street. It seemed that there were two hotels in the place, both run by Democrats. Representative Boehne had been there a short time before and had stopped at the crackerjack hotel, and now it was imperatively necessary, in order to preserve the political equilibrium, that Mr. Kern should stop at the place down the street. Being myself under no such restrictions of political expediency I turned in at the best hotel and had a good night’s rest. Before I did so I went down the street to see how Mr. Kern was faring. His room was over a billiard hall and thecracking of the ivories resounded for half a block. If I were made to guess I would say that he did not sleep a wink that night, but he accepted the situation with sweet resignation, just as he did every other situation in life.
“On the interurban car returning to Evansville something happened. The car came to a standstill with a suddenness that caused everybody to pitch forward and then the lights went out. Without was Stygian darkness. It was a darkness that was absolutely black. After what seemed an interminably long time the motorman returned to the car, the conductor and motorman indulged in the usual bell talk preliminary to getting away and the car proceeded.
“‘What did we hit back there?’ Mr. Kern asked the motorman.
“‘We hit a cow,’ replied the motorman, none too pleasantly.
“Quick as a flash Mr. Kern said: ‘Permit me to congratulate you on being able to tell the gender of the animal on a night like this.’
“The senatorial campaign ended with both of the candidates speaking in their home city, Indianapolis. The Republicans arranged as a grand finale a monster meeting at Tomlinson Hall, preceded by a street parade in which it seemed that half of Marion county participated. On the Democratic side the plan was for a number of ward meetings, to be addressed by the Democratic senatorial candidate. The brilliant genius who made the arrangements staged the last of these meetings, the very closing of the campaign, to take place in a south-side saloon. Itwas to be a sort of hand-shaking affair. Mr. Kern was ushered into the room before he recognized the character of the place. He left immediately and that was the only time during the campaign when he showed any manifestations of anger. He expressed in plain terms his opinion of the dunderhead who had made the arrangements.
“As a senator of the United States Mr. Kern at once took high rank in Washington and advanced in position and influence with a swiftness that was amazing. His election to the leadership of the controlling party after he had been a senator only a fraction of his first term was wholly without precedent. Hard, intelligent work, combined with personal popularity, won for him a prestige never before accorded to a first termer. He saw through the thin veneer of Washington society and formed an intense dislike for its sham. Aside from White House functions and those of a few senatorial friends, about the only dinners and receptions he attended were those occasionally given by Indianians, and then he sometimes got his dates curiously mixed. An instance that Vice-President Marshall relates occurred one night when Mr. Kern was discovered by the vice-president groping his way through one of the halls of the Willard Hotel. The vice-president hailed him.
“‘Where do you think you are going, John?’ he asked.
“‘I am going to your apartment to take dinner with you,’ was the reply.
“‘That can’t be because I am going out to dinner now.’
“‘But you invited me,’ said the senator.
“‘Look at your invitation,’ came back the vice-president, who could hardly restrain his mirth.
“Senator Kern did so and a light broke. The invitation was for the next night. They had a good laugh together. On the next night the senator forgot all about the invitation and did not attend. All of which illustrates the fact that when it came to society matters he was not a J. Hamilton Lewis.
“It would be impossible to speak of Senator Kern’s successful regime as a leader of the greatest law-making body in the world without paying a high tribute to the personal equation.
“His magnetic and lovable personality held sway in the senate and made him the greatest conciliator among all the leaders that held that position of high responsibility. In ironing out differences and bringing contending elements together he was the master.
“It would be impossible to speak of Senator southern senator once remarked, ‘except to say that you can’t talk with him two minutes without falling in love with him. He captivates you, suh.’
“Perhaps this explains why Senator Kern, a northern man, never lacked southern support in the senate, although the party leaders almost invariably have been southern men. Nor was there any semblance of the mailed fist in his leadership. He made it a point to cultivate friendly relations with all the senators. They regarded him as a companion and a comrade. He had a joke for every occasion and sometimes a playful senator would perpetrate a joke on the leader.
“I shall never forget an occasion, for instance,when Senator Kern received a letter from Senator Saulsbury of Delaware, now the president pro tem. of the senate. Senator Kern had been lecturing Democratic senators on the necessity of maintaining a quorum and the evils of absenteeism. Senator Saulsbury had planned a cherished trip to Europe and one fine day, unknown to Senator Kern, he set sail from New York. When the outgoing vessel passed Sandy Hook he sat down and wrote a letter to Senator Kern that bristled with belligerency. He told him he had grown tired of his ‘tyrannical rule’ of the ‘autocratic’ senate leader and had decided to ‘set himself free.’ He bade defiance to the senate ‘boss’ and dared him to cross the pond and get him. Of course the anger assumed in the letter was all camouflage, as better friends than Senators Kern and Saulsbury never lived. Some months later when Senator Saulsbury returned they had a merry laugh over it. One could as easily imagine the Washington monument bending over to salute the morning sun as to think of a kittenish senator issuing such a challenge for example to Senator Martin, the predecessor and successor of Senator Kern in the senate leadership.
“In my capacity as one of the correspondents at the capitol I naturally was brought into close contact with the leader. Senator Kern was fond of taking long walks and frequently I was with him on these strolls. His high position did not make the slightest modification in his democratic ways. Correspondents could go to him at any hour of the day or night with perfect assurance that they would receive courteous treatment and straightforward answers.We met on unusual occasions as, for instance, when we stood up as witness at the wedding of two dear friends, now Mr. and Mrs. W. S. Ryan.
“This same Mr. Ryan was the ‘Bill’ Ryan who was featured in some of Mr. Kern’s speeches back in the 1910 campaign. He would challenge the correctness of statistics presented on the stump by the Republican speakers to prove that their administration of affairs had been a success. He would point out that figures are misleading unless one knows how to analyze them.
“‘They remind me of Bill Ryan’s watch,’ he would say. ‘When the hour hand points to eight and the minute hand to three Bill knows it is half past four.’
“The brightest senate page I ever knew bore the euphonious nickname of ‘Christopher Columbus.’ His real name was Weirisk, but in a moment of facetiousness I bestowed the name of ‘Christopher Columbus’ upon him for no other reason than that he was born and reared at Columbus, Ohio. Though the name finally came to be abbreviated down to ‘Chris’ it was as ‘Chris’ that he was known to scores of correspondents, to whose service he was assigned. He was as keen as a whip and bright as a new dollar, and, withal, had a sense of the dignity of his position and a constant care not to offend any one.
“One afternoon I sent ‘Chris’ into the senate chamber to ask Senator Kern if I could see him. When the lad returned he was plainly agitated. He hemmed and hawed and made no response that I could understand.
“‘Mr. Ludlow,’ he finally said, ‘I don’t like to tell you what Senator Kern told me.’
“That was interesting.
“‘Why?’ I asked.
“‘Because it is not a bit favorable to you.’
“‘Oh, pshaw, Chris,’ I insisted, ‘I haven’t got all afternoon to waste. What did he say?’
“‘Senator Kern told me to tell you to go to the hot place,’ answered ‘Chris,’ who looked as if he would gladly have sacrificed his right arm rather than have delivered that message. Just then the senator came out of the chamber shaking with laughter.
“A little later another page nearly fell over when Senator Kern, on being told that I would like to see him, asked whether I was ‘drunk or sober.’ Subsequently he made that inquiry so often that the pages, who were my friends, learned to respond instantly, ‘Sober, sir.’
“Senator Kern’s kind heart made him the prey of impecunious and designing individuals who were always trying to ‘touch’ him and seldom unsuccessfully.
“One day the senator was called into the marble room by a smooth citizen who said he lived at Elwood, Indiana, and told of meeting the senator there when he was one of the appreciative and applauding auditors. After recalling these pleasant and circumstantial facts he wound up by asking the senator for the loan of the small sum of a dollar, which the senator readily granted, thankful that the request was not for ten dollars, the usual amount.
“The senator then returned to the chamber andwas sitting by the side of his colleague, Senator Shively, when the same man sent in a card to the latter. Senator Shively went into the marble room and when he resumed his seat five minutes later Senator Kern asked:
“‘Who was your friend?’
“‘He was from Elwood and he just wanted to talk to me about old times. He recalled one occasion when I spoke at Elwood and he was kind enough to say it was a corking good speech.’
“‘Honest Injun, Ben,’ how much did he touch you for?’
Senator Shively jumped as if startled.
“‘Fifty cents,’ he answered.
“‘Well, that shows he thinks I am the better senator. He stung me for a dollar,’ said Kern.
“‘No, I think he sized you up as the easier mark,’ came back Shively, and they then adjourned to the cloak room and told the story to a group of senators, who enjoyed it hugely.
“Reminiscences with Senator Kern as the central and radiating figure might be told by the hour, but even reminiscences must come to an end. It so happened that I was the last man in Washington to bid him a final good-bye. He had come from his room at the Congress Hall Hotel and summoned a taxi to take him to the depot. Passing me at the entrance of the hotel he extended his hand and said, brave:
“‘Good-bye; I am going down to the sanatorium at Asheville to take a post-graduate course.’
“I was inexpressibly shocked a few days later tolearn that his spirit had winged its flight to the blessed Summerland.”
After Mr. Ludlow no newspaper man was thrown into such frequent contact in the discharge of professional duties with Senator Kern as William H. Blodgett, who has been for so many years the political writer ofThe Indianapolis News. In campaign after campaign he has been assigned by his paper to cover the tours of the party leaders, and has reported all the conventions, state and national, for an equal period. He made one of the “Kern party” on practically every important tour that Kern made during the last eighteen years of his career. Mr. Blodgett’s reminiscences throw an interesting side light on the character of the senator:
“When John W. Kern answered the final call there passed out of the lives of the newspaper fraternity one with whom they were always bound by a strong chain with links of admiration, respect, honor and friendship. To them it was not the United States senator who died. It was the man whose soul had gone away; and while the newspaper men may remember for a time the public acts of John W. Kern as United States senator, so long as they live they will never forget his personal attributes, and his kind and courteous treatment of them; and the cold grave where he lies can never chill the steadfast, kindly and unfaltering friendship the men and women ofthe press bore him—a friendship that can not be calculated.“It is doubtful if there is a public man between whom and the newspaper fraternity there were so many confidences. He trusted them, and they believed in him, even if they did not at all times agree with his political policies. The political writers were always pleased when they were assigned to ‘cover’ John Kern. He was the best ‘copy’ in the United States, and day or night he was always good for a story. Without journalistic experience himself, he knew just what kind of news the public wanted. He always had his ear to the ground, and many a good story for which the correspondent received a telegram of thanks from his managing editor was really worked out by Mr. Kern. He had no grades or classes among his newspaper friends—the small town reporter looked just as big to him as did the staff man from the metropolitan dailies, and he would go just as far to help the small town reporter as he would to assist the staff ‘star.’ My acquaintance with Senator Kern began long years ago when I was a small town reporter. In a particular town that need not be named a young society man had been arrested, for what no one knew. The arrest was very quietly made by Ed Rathbone, who figured years afterward in Cuban affairs, and Rathbone tried to slip his prisoner out of town, but the local reporters caught them at the railway station. With considerable curtness he refused to talk with the reporters. A man carefully dressed, and with a pleasant smile, standing near by turned to Rathbone:“‘Ed,’ said he, ‘there is no reason why these boys shouldn’t have this item (that was before ‘items’ became dignified as ‘stories’). ‘It is in their territory and it will be interesting to the readers of their papers, and anyhow it will come out as soon as you get to Indianapolis and these boys will be scooped.’“‘All right, John, you can tell them,’ replied Rathbone, walking away.“‘Well, boys,’ as we gathered around him, ‘this is what it is all about’—and sitting on a baggage truck the stranger (I can see him now as plainly as I did then more than thirty years ago) he told us the story.“‘Who are you, and what part in this affair do you take?’ one of our party asked.“‘I’m just an innocent bystander. My name is John W. Kern. I am a lawyer up at Kokomo, and I bumped into this thing accidentally.’ Some of the small town reporters clustered about that baggage truck listening to Mr. Kern’s recital of the story of the young man’s arrest in later years became well known in journalistic work, and the friendship for Mr. Kern that began on the railway platform was never broken. Mr. Kern never changed that policy of dealing with newspaper men. The correspondents who campaigned with Mr. Kern were always sure of fair and equal treatment. He played no favorites. When he gave out a story every one got it. Knowing that a careless or indifferent reporter, or a representative of an unfriendly paper could cause him great annoyance, and perhaps deep injury by not truthfully quoting him, or twisting his language to a meaning other than what he intended to say, Mr.Kern never asked the correspondents with him to submit their dispatches before putting them on the wire. He was willing to trust to their fairness and honor.“‘Gentlemen,’ he would say at the beginning of the tour, ‘I won’t say anything that I do not wish published, and I know you won’t send anything I don’t say.’ And among the hundreds of correspondents who ‘covered’ Mr. Kern in his long political career not one ever disappointed him. When John W. Kern was the principal figure in the noise and music of the feast the newspaper men with him were never forgotten. Reception committees might try to drag him away, but he would not be dragged.“‘There will be no show,’ he used to tell the eager committeemen, each striving for the honor of leading him to his carriage or to the speaker’s stand, ‘until the orchestra is ready. I want the newspaper men put where they can see and hear.’ And he would not move until the correspondents with him were provided for. Once he was dragged to a boarding house by the reception committee, who thought it would be a good political stroke to have Mr. Kern take dinner with the boarding house keeper who was off the county ticket. The newspaper men returning from the telegraph office were met at the gate by Mr. Kern.“‘Boys,’ he whispered, ‘don’t come in here. The grub is ghastly and the board of health has gone fishing. If you must eat in this town go to the hotel.’“In his campaigns Mr. Kern always prepared a schedule of his own itinerary, and used to fret a greatdeal if trains were late or wheeled transportation was not promptly on hand. He was always called in the morning at least an hour before train time, and part of his regular work before breakfast was to see that the baggage of the correspondents was ready to be taken to the station—he would not trust anybody but himself to look after the baggage, and he was always impatient until breakfast was served. At one hotel the waiter was slow because the waiter and cook were one and the same. Mr. Kern’s watch was propped against a glass of water on the table. He became nervous and restless and finally shouted to the landlord, who was sweeping out the office:“‘Pete, I’ve only got fifteen minutes to make that train—can’t you hurry breakfast a little?’“‘Don’t worry, John,’ came back through the dust clouds in the office. ‘You can eat all there is in the house and still have plenty of time for your train.’“This put Mr. Kern in a good humor, and he made his railroad connection all right.“On another occasion the party with Mr. Kern had to cross a small river on an old-fashioned ferry. In midstream the rope broke and the craft began floating on the current. Mr. Kern struck up ‘Life on the Ocean Wave’ and the correspondents joined in with him. It was the first time correspondents knew Senator Kern was a singer, and for that matter none of them ever heard him attempt to sing again. Kin Hubbard, who was in the party, drew a cartoon of the float down the river forThe Indianapolis News, which pleased Mr. Kern greatly and he always declared that the cartoon was Hubbard’s masterpiece.“He had a most wonderful memory for names, faces and incidents, and his speeches were generally punctuated with entertaining stories, a greater part of which he usually located in the vicinity of Kokomo. There was always a story to properly illustrate a point, and if the anecdote related by John W. Kern could be compiled in one volume it would make a book as huge as Webster’s Unabridged. And these stories were not of a kind that offended or hurt, and the occasion for their use was always appropriate. He had a way, too, of rebuilding a speech with new words, and sometimes the correspondents who were with him perhaps for weeks and had heard him speak many times would burden the wires with a warmed-over speech, to the distraction of the managing editors and the delight of the copy editors, whose mission is to knock and destroy.“When Mr. Kern was the nominee for vice-president on the Democratic ticket he was frequently alluded to by Republican papers as ‘Alfalfa John.’ But there are only a few people who know that Mr. Kern himself was the originator of the term. We landed at the Auditorium Hotel in Chicago direct from Denver and Mr. Kern gave audience to a large number of reporters, and among them several ‘sob sisters’ (which is the craft name for women journalists). One of these, a piquant little creature with fluffy hair fromThe Chicago Tribune, startled the nominee for vice-president by suddenly asking:“‘Mr. Kern, what is the actual color of your whiskers?’“‘I really don’t know,’ replied Mr. Kern in allseriousness, ‘I have never seen them, except in a mirror, and you know how deceptive looking glasses are after one has past forty years. Down in Kokomo, Indiana, the boys call them alfalfa.’“The next morning a splendid word portrait of Mr. Kern appeared inThe Tribunein which he was portrayed as ‘Alfalfa John,’ and the name clung to him all through the campaign.“To write the full story of campaigning with John W. Kern would be to write many pages of political history. Ambitious perhaps he was, but I have known many instances where he smothered his own ambitions to advance the interest of his own political party. He never was called that he did not answer, and he never was asked to go that he failed. I have known him, tired and weary and racked with pain, to crawl from his bed at three o’clock in the morning and ride miles that he might address children at a country school house, who were anxious to hear him. All through his political campaigns, strenuous as some of them were, his kindly disposition, his inexplicable sweetness of manner, was never ruffled. I never knew him to say a cross word, even in his most impatient moments, and the blare of bands and the pomp of political parades he never forgot his home. At Denver, when his nomination for vice-president was assured, when statesmen were trying to grasp his hand, and a platoon of newspaper men were climbing over each other to get a word with him, Mr. Kern turned to me:“‘Won’t you please telegraph the good news to Mrs. Kern,’ he said.“‘Certainly, but what shall I say?’“‘I don’t need to tell you how happy I am, or what word to send to my wife—you have a wife at home—just tell my wife what you would say to your wife under the same circumstances.’“That was John W. Kern, honest, trusting, with faith in his friends, and with the picture of his home ever before him. The newspaper fraternity lost a good friend when Death ushered John W. Kern through the Gates of Life.
“When John W. Kern answered the final call there passed out of the lives of the newspaper fraternity one with whom they were always bound by a strong chain with links of admiration, respect, honor and friendship. To them it was not the United States senator who died. It was the man whose soul had gone away; and while the newspaper men may remember for a time the public acts of John W. Kern as United States senator, so long as they live they will never forget his personal attributes, and his kind and courteous treatment of them; and the cold grave where he lies can never chill the steadfast, kindly and unfaltering friendship the men and women ofthe press bore him—a friendship that can not be calculated.
“It is doubtful if there is a public man between whom and the newspaper fraternity there were so many confidences. He trusted them, and they believed in him, even if they did not at all times agree with his political policies. The political writers were always pleased when they were assigned to ‘cover’ John Kern. He was the best ‘copy’ in the United States, and day or night he was always good for a story. Without journalistic experience himself, he knew just what kind of news the public wanted. He always had his ear to the ground, and many a good story for which the correspondent received a telegram of thanks from his managing editor was really worked out by Mr. Kern. He had no grades or classes among his newspaper friends—the small town reporter looked just as big to him as did the staff man from the metropolitan dailies, and he would go just as far to help the small town reporter as he would to assist the staff ‘star.’ My acquaintance with Senator Kern began long years ago when I was a small town reporter. In a particular town that need not be named a young society man had been arrested, for what no one knew. The arrest was very quietly made by Ed Rathbone, who figured years afterward in Cuban affairs, and Rathbone tried to slip his prisoner out of town, but the local reporters caught them at the railway station. With considerable curtness he refused to talk with the reporters. A man carefully dressed, and with a pleasant smile, standing near by turned to Rathbone:
“‘Ed,’ said he, ‘there is no reason why these boys shouldn’t have this item (that was before ‘items’ became dignified as ‘stories’). ‘It is in their territory and it will be interesting to the readers of their papers, and anyhow it will come out as soon as you get to Indianapolis and these boys will be scooped.’
“‘All right, John, you can tell them,’ replied Rathbone, walking away.
“‘Well, boys,’ as we gathered around him, ‘this is what it is all about’—and sitting on a baggage truck the stranger (I can see him now as plainly as I did then more than thirty years ago) he told us the story.
“‘Who are you, and what part in this affair do you take?’ one of our party asked.
“‘I’m just an innocent bystander. My name is John W. Kern. I am a lawyer up at Kokomo, and I bumped into this thing accidentally.’ Some of the small town reporters clustered about that baggage truck listening to Mr. Kern’s recital of the story of the young man’s arrest in later years became well known in journalistic work, and the friendship for Mr. Kern that began on the railway platform was never broken. Mr. Kern never changed that policy of dealing with newspaper men. The correspondents who campaigned with Mr. Kern were always sure of fair and equal treatment. He played no favorites. When he gave out a story every one got it. Knowing that a careless or indifferent reporter, or a representative of an unfriendly paper could cause him great annoyance, and perhaps deep injury by not truthfully quoting him, or twisting his language to a meaning other than what he intended to say, Mr.Kern never asked the correspondents with him to submit their dispatches before putting them on the wire. He was willing to trust to their fairness and honor.
“‘Gentlemen,’ he would say at the beginning of the tour, ‘I won’t say anything that I do not wish published, and I know you won’t send anything I don’t say.’ And among the hundreds of correspondents who ‘covered’ Mr. Kern in his long political career not one ever disappointed him. When John W. Kern was the principal figure in the noise and music of the feast the newspaper men with him were never forgotten. Reception committees might try to drag him away, but he would not be dragged.
“‘There will be no show,’ he used to tell the eager committeemen, each striving for the honor of leading him to his carriage or to the speaker’s stand, ‘until the orchestra is ready. I want the newspaper men put where they can see and hear.’ And he would not move until the correspondents with him were provided for. Once he was dragged to a boarding house by the reception committee, who thought it would be a good political stroke to have Mr. Kern take dinner with the boarding house keeper who was off the county ticket. The newspaper men returning from the telegraph office were met at the gate by Mr. Kern.
“‘Boys,’ he whispered, ‘don’t come in here. The grub is ghastly and the board of health has gone fishing. If you must eat in this town go to the hotel.’
“In his campaigns Mr. Kern always prepared a schedule of his own itinerary, and used to fret a greatdeal if trains were late or wheeled transportation was not promptly on hand. He was always called in the morning at least an hour before train time, and part of his regular work before breakfast was to see that the baggage of the correspondents was ready to be taken to the station—he would not trust anybody but himself to look after the baggage, and he was always impatient until breakfast was served. At one hotel the waiter was slow because the waiter and cook were one and the same. Mr. Kern’s watch was propped against a glass of water on the table. He became nervous and restless and finally shouted to the landlord, who was sweeping out the office:
“‘Pete, I’ve only got fifteen minutes to make that train—can’t you hurry breakfast a little?’
“‘Don’t worry, John,’ came back through the dust clouds in the office. ‘You can eat all there is in the house and still have plenty of time for your train.’
“This put Mr. Kern in a good humor, and he made his railroad connection all right.
“On another occasion the party with Mr. Kern had to cross a small river on an old-fashioned ferry. In midstream the rope broke and the craft began floating on the current. Mr. Kern struck up ‘Life on the Ocean Wave’ and the correspondents joined in with him. It was the first time correspondents knew Senator Kern was a singer, and for that matter none of them ever heard him attempt to sing again. Kin Hubbard, who was in the party, drew a cartoon of the float down the river forThe Indianapolis News, which pleased Mr. Kern greatly and he always declared that the cartoon was Hubbard’s masterpiece.
“He had a most wonderful memory for names, faces and incidents, and his speeches were generally punctuated with entertaining stories, a greater part of which he usually located in the vicinity of Kokomo. There was always a story to properly illustrate a point, and if the anecdote related by John W. Kern could be compiled in one volume it would make a book as huge as Webster’s Unabridged. And these stories were not of a kind that offended or hurt, and the occasion for their use was always appropriate. He had a way, too, of rebuilding a speech with new words, and sometimes the correspondents who were with him perhaps for weeks and had heard him speak many times would burden the wires with a warmed-over speech, to the distraction of the managing editors and the delight of the copy editors, whose mission is to knock and destroy.
“When Mr. Kern was the nominee for vice-president on the Democratic ticket he was frequently alluded to by Republican papers as ‘Alfalfa John.’ But there are only a few people who know that Mr. Kern himself was the originator of the term. We landed at the Auditorium Hotel in Chicago direct from Denver and Mr. Kern gave audience to a large number of reporters, and among them several ‘sob sisters’ (which is the craft name for women journalists). One of these, a piquant little creature with fluffy hair fromThe Chicago Tribune, startled the nominee for vice-president by suddenly asking:
“‘Mr. Kern, what is the actual color of your whiskers?’
“‘I really don’t know,’ replied Mr. Kern in allseriousness, ‘I have never seen them, except in a mirror, and you know how deceptive looking glasses are after one has past forty years. Down in Kokomo, Indiana, the boys call them alfalfa.’
“The next morning a splendid word portrait of Mr. Kern appeared inThe Tribunein which he was portrayed as ‘Alfalfa John,’ and the name clung to him all through the campaign.
“To write the full story of campaigning with John W. Kern would be to write many pages of political history. Ambitious perhaps he was, but I have known many instances where he smothered his own ambitions to advance the interest of his own political party. He never was called that he did not answer, and he never was asked to go that he failed. I have known him, tired and weary and racked with pain, to crawl from his bed at three o’clock in the morning and ride miles that he might address children at a country school house, who were anxious to hear him. All through his political campaigns, strenuous as some of them were, his kindly disposition, his inexplicable sweetness of manner, was never ruffled. I never knew him to say a cross word, even in his most impatient moments, and the blare of bands and the pomp of political parades he never forgot his home. At Denver, when his nomination for vice-president was assured, when statesmen were trying to grasp his hand, and a platoon of newspaper men were climbing over each other to get a word with him, Mr. Kern turned to me:
“‘Won’t you please telegraph the good news to Mrs. Kern,’ he said.
“‘Certainly, but what shall I say?’
“‘I don’t need to tell you how happy I am, or what word to send to my wife—you have a wife at home—just tell my wife what you would say to your wife under the same circumstances.’
“That was John W. Kern, honest, trusting, with faith in his friends, and with the picture of his home ever before him. The newspaper fraternity lost a good friend when Death ushered John W. Kern through the Gates of Life.