Evening Star Newspaper, November 1, 1936, Page 59

Stage and Screen Part 4—8 Pages he Swundwy Shae WASHINGTON, D. C, FEATURES SUNDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 1, 1936. FIRESIDE PEACE CALLS CANDIDATES ON ELECTION DAY By Lucy Salamanca. NOTHER President, surrounded by his intimate family circle, will wait beside another fire- side on Tuesday night while Teturns pour in by telegraph, by tele- | phone and by radio to announce with | incontestable finality the will of the | electorate. | At another fireside, in Topeka, Kans,, Gov. Alf M. Landon, the out- | standing aspirant for occupancy of the White House, will similarly await the voice of the people as it speaks to | im the most important word of his fe. Millions of families at millions of | firesides the country over will, in a measure, wait with them. A common | pulse beat will stir the Nation's life, and whatever a man’s political affili- stions may be, however his wife may have voted, one question will be upper- most in the hearts of every citizen before his loudspeaker, “Who will oc- cupy the White House for the next four years?” Naturally enough, a present occu- pant of that stately mansion will find that question more absorbing than any of his fellow Americans. Democrat or Republican, whatever the individual voter may be, his life will take up egain its normal pace once final re- turns are in. But life itself is altered for the victor or the defeated, and their immediate families, on these fateful Tuesdays, when the people have spoken. A drama intense and wvital is played out for them that must, despite outward appearances of calm, reach at times an almost unbearable piteh of excitement. How do they pass these hours of crisis? How do they act, what do they say as returns come in? What is the scene at the fire- side of America’s “royal family?” ‘What occurs in this intimate circle during these moments of suspense, of fluctuating hope and anxiety? This year the fireside scene will be staged at Hyde Park, where the Roose- velt family will receive returns. In & book-lined study, before an open log fire, with special telegraph instru- ments clicking incessantly in a near- by room and wires held open to Wash- ington and Democratic national head- quarters in the Biltmore Hotel in New York City, with messengers coming and going and a general undercurrent of excitement among the White House correspondents gathered there, Presi- dent and Mrs. Roosevelt and members of their immediate family circle will listen and wait, wait and listen just as the Joneses, the Smiths or the Montmorencys will wait and listen the country over before their humbler hearthstones. IT IS curious that on this one occa- sion, depsite the fact that it is so vitally affected by the issue, the city of Washington plays a very minor role in the national drama. Interest turns now from the National Capital, rather than toward it. The reason for this is that New York and Kansas oc- cupy the attention of the United States when electoral votes are to be counted and interest is centered in these important sections. The White House, whose future occupancy hangs in the balance, stands practically de- serted among its shadowing trees. It is true that presidential groups have sat about a White House fire- side to receive returns. But election night, in the majority of instances, finds buy few lights in the windows of the Washington mansion of our Presidents, and a very reduced staff remains on duty in its press room or executive office. It is easy to understand this when one reflects that every President, run- ning for second term, must return to his home State to cast his ballot. It is natural enough that he should re- main there to learn the results that same evening. So the White House has not always been, by any means, the scene of these fireside gatherings. Presidgnts seeking second terms have learned their fates, with their families, in widely scattered places. But all down through our history it is cer- @efeat or victory beside a glowing fire. Hoover learned of his decisive vic- By the fireside, which has become a symbol of his adminis- tration, and from which his voice reached millions of his fellow Americans over the radio, President Franklin D. Roosevelt and his family will be waiting on election night at his Hyde Park home to hear from these millions whom he has so often called “my friends.” The President is shown, seated with his mother, reading over the (just above) election returns which had proclaimed him winner in the last campaign. What will the messages which he will read next Tuesday night reveal? window across a vista that included the 200-acre campus of Stanford Uni- versity and an inspiring sweep of the Bay of San Francisco. Wilson received news of his first tremendous victory, dazed and elated that November evening in 1912, just as the grandfather'’s clock in the li- brary of his home chimed 10, and he stopped pacing before the open fire to receive his wife’s kiss of congrat- ulation. Lincoln was told of the successful conclusion of his campaign as he sat with a social group before the roaring log fire in Cheny House, in Spring- field, IIl. And there is no question that the family hearthrug has been the scene of elation or dismay many an election night the country over. N A review of our national records one cannot feel other than a pro- found admiration for the poise and calmness exhibited by our Presidents during these hours of great emotional strain, when their election to a sacred post or their relegation to the minor ranks of life is being decided upon. There are instances in our national history when the first Tuesday in November has been a day of stark tragedy for certain individuals, when it has been a day of cruel suspense and ultimate relinquishment of a prize well within grasp. That “first Tuesday,” on some occa~ sions, has been one of wild jubilation, of intense, sustained drama. The Na- tion speaks and by its decision a man soars to victory or goes down to de- feat. But the Nation, as an entity of common interests and aspirations, does not concern itself with the in- | story dividual. So it is that these little dramas are played out on the family hearthrug, with no witnesses other than the family concerned. Then there are times when the drama in- volves the whole Nation. Such a drama was that which took place in November, 1916, when Wood- row Wilson and Charles Evans Hughes waited for almost three days on the J the quiet- and seclusion of Shadow Lawn, to the Navy yacht Mayflower, as it bore Wilson up the Hudson to Rhinecliffe, where he was to stand godfather for the second child of his daughter, Mrs. Francis Sayre. How did this President await election re- turns? What was his reaction to this unprecedented situation? ‘We must go back to 1916. President and Mrs. Wilson had motored back to Shadow Lawn, near Princeton, N. J., after casting theit votes in a little fire engine house at the fringes of the Princeton campus. Drummers, stand- ing at the gates of Princeton, had beat & tattoo upon their drums as the presidential, party drove up, and this was the cue for hundreds of the stu- dent body who had planned a demon- stration. From every corner of the campus they swarmed and the Prince- ton yell went up, concluded with “Wilson! Wilson! Wilson!” WARMID by the cheering and good wishes of his students, the President returned to Shadow Lawn. il Eé: e RE'E ig2 sagfie §Fs President and Rivals for Office Will Seek Escape from Emotional Strain of Waiting at Own Hearthstones as Other Aspirants Have in Past: White House Usually De- serted by Masters. born on Priday, too.” He had gone immediately back to the hotel, to keep vigil with his family. All day they kept close to their quarters, break- fasting with newspapers propped be- fore them. Just before the early re- turns began to come in, Mr. Hughes fell asleep. He slept until 6:30. Mean- ‘while h instruments had been clicking for two hours in the next room and when he awakened a sheaf of telegrams was handed to him, showing the trend in New York. The family group sat together at dinner that night and returns came in faster and faster. They neglected the meal to read them aloud and those in the corridor outside heard frequent bursts of delighted laughter. A huge electric sign several blocks away, flashing the returns from New York, divided the family’s attention with the telegraphic reports. They lingered late over the dinner table. At 9 o'clock Mrs. Hughes congratu- lated her husband on his election and his daughters pressed enthusiastical- ly about him. A crowd of hundreds of people, with brass bands, stormed into the hotel, requesting him to address them from his windows. It was a scene of great jubilation and triumph, but it knew a bitter conclusion. At midnight, November 8, another Star “extra” announced “Presidential Fight Is on at Midnight” and on November 9 there was a headline g streamer, “Trend to Wilson on Latest Showing.” Drama on three fronts! For while the Hughes family was celebrating in the New York hotel, Woodrow Wilson, his wife and daughters were gathered soberly together in the library of Shadow Lawn. The President, de- spite discouraging news of New York and Illinois, remained cheerful and confident. He retired late, but was up shortly before 8 o’'clock, at which time he was notified of the shift in | his favor. He expressed his gratifica- | tion, but reserved judgment. ‘HROUGHOUT the day of Novem- { ber 8 he remained in his study at Shadow Lawn, pacing before the fire at times, at other times chatting with Mrs. Wilson or his daughter Margaret. He showed the greatest patience, only going to the telephone to receive re- turns when called by the executive offices in Asbury Park. But while out- wardly calm, it was evident the Presi- dent kept an anxious watch on every return and was in constant touch with every source of information. On the second front, the headquarters at Asbury Park, there was the wildest excitement. The staff worked fever- ishly as each report came in. Secre- tary Tumulty sent word to his friends e House . . « 4 [} The Whit sketch by “Well, I was!“Washington, Past and Present.” (Century Co.) in Washington that Wilson would be elected beyond doubt, because the Democratic managers believed they knew the situation better than the Republicans and understood the ter- ritory from which they expected to get the necessary electoral vote. However, no statements were issued. ‘The third front of the drama was in the executive offices at the White House. With the headlines of election night, the staff remaining in Washing- ton had been shrouded in gloom. On the morning of November 8, with indi- cations that Hughes might not have been elected after all, the White House group thrilled with excitement. Tele- graph instruments ticked merrily with incoming returns and every-indication pointing to Wilson's re-election was received with satisfaction. Gradually, as the West was heard from, the en- shrouding gloom lifted and members of the staff, who had remained awake all night, snatched some rest, with re- newed hope. On October 9 The Star reported: “President Wilson in cheerful mood. Will leave this evening for grand- child’s christening at Willlamstown, Mass.” Thé scene of the family gathering shifted then to the Mayflower yacht, upon which the presidential party made its way to Rhinecliffe. They an- chored at daybreak, but the President did not go ashore until 9:50 o’clock. By that time throngs lined the riverd bank, many carrying American flags. When the President’s launch was seen to put off from the yacht the crowd cheered wildly, rushing down to the river to greet him. The President’s face was wreathed in smiles. He looked completely happy. The night before he had received word of his re- election by wireless, and those who were with him said he showed not the slightest excitement. Upon retiring for the night Hughes had been told that California had gone against him. ‘The press, glossing thereby what must have been a tragic moment, said sim- ply, “He rhade no comment.” VmY different had the 1912 elec- tion been for Woodrow Wilson, though dramatic indeed was the scene set for that campaign. Vice Presi- dent Sherman, whose name still re- mained on the ballot—there being no time to have the ballot reprinted— had just passed away. Former Presi- dent Theodore Roosevelt was recove ering from the attack made upon him by an assassin who had declared that “any man who wanted to be President for a third term ought to be shot.” And President Taft was: confronted with a splitting of the old line Republican organization by £. H, Suydam, Ir [} the Nation. | Teddy Roosevelt’s Progressive party. The tragedy in that year was Taft’s. | Reports of that day stated, “The ‘White House today was about as quiet a place as there was in the world. Assistant Secretaries Forster and Brahany and the executive clerks found themselves busy with a large amount of mail, but absolutely noth- ing of importance touching upon the election, Forster and Brahaney will be the only representatives at the White House tonight to hear the re- turns. White House officials continue hopeful as to the re-election of the President, but no cocksure predictions are offered.” Outside, In the White House grounds policemen and guides were expressing confidence in the election of Wilson and defeat of the President. And within, that fateful night, the two secretaries sat alone taking down dispatches which bore out this pre- diction. Not a word was received from Taft throughout the day. That morning, when the iceman ar- rived at the Wilson home in Prince- ton, N. J., he waved a hand in the direction of the President’s bed room window. It was flung open and Mar- garet Wilson, putting out her head, called out to him, “Isn't it finel Isn’t it fine!” Wilson, in the library where he had heard the news the night be- fore in front of & blazing November fire, said to his wife again and again, “I can't realize it's true.” To news- paper men he said, “It hasn’t dawned on me. I had been in an impersonal atmosphere for the last three months, reading about myself, reading that I was to be elected, and now I can bardly believe it is true.” Perhaps no calmer individual, in usual the President was at his before 9 o'clock the morning of tion day, but among attaches and office force there was the ‘keenest By another fireside in Topeka, Kans., with members of his family, Gov. Alfred M. Landon, Republican candidate for President of the United States, will rest after winding up a whirlwind campaign, and wait to learn the decision of the voters. His young son, John Cobb Landon, twirls the knob of the radio (just above), which next Tuesday will bring his illustrious dad the voice of the pe close to the heart of the Landon family and first in the mind of | Senator | didn't intend to stay. le, and settle a question desk the President was handed a press bulletin. The vote was Coolidge 20, Davis 4, and La Follette nothing. WH‘HOUT comment the President read 1t and passed it back to | the clerk. At the second, bulletin, also favorable, he maintained his cus- timary calm. The only time he showed any reaction was when a bulletin was handed him from Som- erset, Vt., which announced that the village’s total vote of eight was unani- mous for Coolidge. The President smiled broadly and said to C. Bas- com Slemp, his secretary, “It looks as if my native State and the Stats of my adoption are running a close race for early returns and a record vote for me.” The telegraph room of the execu- tive office, equipped with extra wire service to receive the returns, was humming all day and every fragment of news of the balloting was num- bered. One copy was sent to Secre- tary Slemp, one to the President and the third placed on file. But in the midst of all this activity the President went serenely about his duties, attending a financial confer- ence in the afternoon. His mood must have made itself felt beyond the White House walls, for news of the day were headlined, “Cool as Coolidge, thousands watch election returns with few cheers,” and “Presi- dent sets example for city in quiet reception of news.” On this occasion the White House fireside was the scene of the family’s gathering. Sitting quietly in his library with Mrs. Coolidge and a few intimate friends at his side, the President listened in that evening to the radio which had been newly installed that morning for private reception of the returns. The Presi- dent exhibited no emotion. Not the news coming to him over the radio, nor that flashed from the White House telegraph room, from the na- tional headquarters in New Yoérk and Chicago, nor from special news agen- cies, the Western Union or other sources, shook his impenetrable calm. He gave the impression, during an- nouncements of the balloting, more a8 it he were listening to a conoert, ) or attending & convention or world series game in which he had no personal interest. Early in the evening the President had said to friends, “I expect to re- main up an hour or so beyond my customary bedtime, which is 10 o'clock, but I shall surely be in bed by midnight.” However, it was 12:30 before President Coolidge got to bed that night. Chief Justice Taft and Smoot of Utah dropped around at 11 o'clock, saying they But returns grew so interesting they remained until midnight. A half-hour later Coolidge went to bed, assured of ree election. On November 5, 1928, when he was awaiting word of the outcome of the Hoover-Smith campaigns, Coolidge “showed no indications of being worked up about the election.” In The Star of November 6 J. Russel Young stated, “The President has given ®o intimation that he intends to remain up beyond his regular time for retiring for the purpose of hearing the returns.” BUT out in Palo Alto another firee side group had gathered that stayed up far beyond its customary bedtime hour. In this cozy study, where an open fire glowed cheerily on the hearth, Herbert Hoover had gathered a small circle of relatives and friends about him to await the verdict of the electorate. He sat at the same desk from which he had broadcast his final word to the voters the night before, and at his elbow were several direct-wire transcontie nental telephones. In the room bee low him were leased telegraph wires. Puffing a long cigar and fingesing & pencil and notepaper in anticipation of incoming returns, he chatted easily with his family and friends of the weather incident to his Western trip and, occasionally, of the election. He appeared quietly and modestly con= fident that the final step in his came paign would be successfully negoe tiated by nightfall. Two large blackboards stood ready for use in totaling the electoral votes by States as they came in. Out in the living room before a great stone firee place played his grandchildren. Two= score press representatives moved in and out. During lulls in the evening's returns the radio beside the living room fireplace was brought into use and relieved the tedium of waiting. Hoover went to bed after midnight, and he went up the stairs with the news that, in the face of incomplete returns, the total electoral vote for himself was over the 380 mark, while that for Gov. Smith was 76. In November, 1932, the Hoover fam- fly was again in the study at Palo Alto, gathered about another fire, awaiting other returns. The White House was virtually deserted, its mas= ter and mistress across the conti~ nent and only two administration secretaries on hand to receive returns. Again a blackboard stood ready in the Palo Alto hall, special wires were open and a fire burned cheerily in the study grate. President Hoover rose from the dinner table, leaving his family to conclude the meal without him. He walked now with less con= fidence to the blackboard in the hall and he talked frequently with came paign leaders in Washjngton and in Chicago. Silently he received the final re- turns. Becretary Wilbur, president of Stanford University, on leave since 1929 to serve in the cabinet, was with him in the pleasant study when he signed the telegram conceding the election to Franklin Roosevelt. He offered condolence and shook hands. Later, when Mr. and Mrs. Hoover had gone out upoh a balcony to greet an insistently cheering crowd, Wilbur said, “I am sorry. He made a great fight.” And shortly after the ova- tion on the balcony, the President went to bed. EANWHILE, in a room in the Biltmore Hotel in New York City, another family group waited, With Pranklin D. Roosevelt and his wife and mother that night were also James A. Farley and Edward J. Flynn, a leader from the Bronx. A battery of telegraph instruments and telephones ‘were supplying returns. A crowd grew about the paper-littered table in the (Continued on Sixth Page.)