[ACKNOWLEDGMENTS]
[INTRODUCTION]
[CONTENTS]

THE LIFE OF
JOHN WORTH KERN

The Life
of
John Worth Kern

By
CLAUDE G. BOWERS
INDIANAPOLIS
THE HOLLENBECK PRESS
1918

Copyright Nineteen Hundred Eighteen
By Claude G. Bowers
Fort Wayne, Ind

DEDICATED
TO
JOHN WORTH KERN, Jr.
AND
WILLIAM COOPER KERN

“It is fine to feel that one’s boy may become a great man; but I would rather that my boys should be good without being great, than to be great without being good.”—Senator Kern.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

IN the preparation of this biography, in the midst of the duties of an exacting profession, I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to Vice-President Marshall, Secretary of the Treasury William G. McAdoo, Secretary William B. Wilson, William Jennings Bryan, Judge Alton B. Parker of New York, Senator Saulsbury of Delaware, Senator Kenyon of Iowa, Senator Lea of Tennessee, Senator Thomas of Colorado, Senator O’Gorman of New York, Senator Taggart of Indiana, Leon O. Bailey of New York, “Mother” Jones, Andrew Furseth the Emancipator of the Seamen, Jackson Morrow of Kokomo, Indiana, John Callan O’Laughlin of Chicago, Louis Ludlow of Washington, D. C., Thomas Shipp of Washington, D. C., W. H. Blodgett and Kin Hubbard of the Indianapolis News, for data, verifications and reminiscences.

And I am under the deepest obligations to Robert E. Springsteen of Indianapolis, and Howard Roosa, editor of the Evansville Courier, for services too numerous to mention.

C. G. B.

INTRODUCTION

Vice-President’s Chamber,
Washington, D. C.

Because carping Pilot asked “What is truth” and did not stay for an answer, the world has thought that question to be the one unsolved riddle. Yet there are many other attributes to which answers have been given that are almost, if not altogether, as great riddles.

What constitutes greatness has received as many answers as there have been men to express them. It all depends upon the mental process of a man as to whether his fellow man has attained unto greatness. The paladin of finance would consider it a joke to be told that an Egyptologist was a great man; the doer of deeds can never think of greatness as an attribute to the dreamer of dreams; and thus it is that the estimate by one man of another will only pass current with those of like mind.

For me, it has been needful that brain and heart should work in unison in the life of a man in order to render his story worthy of being embalmed in a biography. Mere intellect is not sufficient; mere emotion unsatisfactory. For thirty years I knew all about and I also knew John Worth Kern. Heaven molded him with a clear and analytic mind—a mind capable of grasping and elucidating the great problems of state—and then Heaven further endowed him with a tender and loving heart, so that much as he believed in the principles for which he stood and the faith which he avowed, he had that large-hearted and generous judgment of his fellow men which mark, to my mind, true greatness.

It is the measure of a little man to be cocksure, to be eternally and everlastingly right, to be quite certain that Jehovah gave into his hands all knowledge, all goodness and all power. It is the measure of a really great man to walk with certainty and yet to walk humbly in his public life, granting to other men the right to think, to speak, to act freely.

This was the grade of man John Worth Kern was. He showed it in his brilliant services at the bar, in his forceful presentation of his party’s principles on the stump and in that kindly, loveable leadership which, when he left the Senate of the United States, made it the supreme desire of political friend and foe alike to do something for him as the shadows of night began to gather around his head. To my mind he was one of Indiana’s great and illustrious citizens whose life, when read by the schoolboy of to-day, will help to sweeten, glorify and adorn the public service of to-morrow.

It were impious here to speak of his beautiful home life. He was great in the counsels of his party but in his home he transcended the common mortal and became a demigod of love and good will. The Indianian will know him and love him even more, if possible, when this biography is read and it is remembered that it is the free-will offering of a man who saw our dear, dead statesman and citizen in his hours of exultation, in his moments of depression, when his soul was bare to the inspection of a man who knew when he saw what he saw.

Thomas R. Marshall.

CONTENTS

LIFE OF JOHN W. KERN

CHAPTER I
Childhood and Early Youth

I

IN the forties the constant stream of sturdy pioneers pouring into Indiana from the eastern and southern states began the work of redeeming the state from the wilderness. These early settlers were a hardy folk, adventurous, inured to toil, and strong of character. In 1840 the first white man settled in Harrison township in Howard county, albeit the locality had been a paradise for trappers for several years before a permanent settlement was made. It was a country of rich soil, but heavily wooded with primeval forests, and many years of assiduous labor were to intervene before the stumps could be cleared from the fields or the highways be made at all passable in bad weather. Almost immediately after the first white man established a permanent home in the township a water mill was built, and about it a settlement sprang up which took the name of Alto. Soon the village boasted—and the word is used advisedly—three stores, three cabinet shops, a blacksmith shop, a boot and shoe shop, and during the first two years of its existence it did as much business as Kokomo, a few miles distant. Here was constructed the first church in the township, a large one built of logs, which was to serve as a place of worship for many years. And in the middle of the first decade of the existence of this settlement in the wilderness Dr. Jacob Harrison Kern moved to the village, built a home and opened an office.

Doctor Kern’s great grandfather, Adam Kern, had emigrated from Germany about the middle of the eighteenth century, with ten children, seven of whom were boys, and settled in Frederick county, Virginia. One of his sons, the grandfather of Doctor Kern, had made his home at Kernstown, Virginia, about four miles south of Winchester, where six sons were born, the eldest, Nicholas, and the father of the future medical adviser of Alto, having first looked out upon the world on the third anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and in the midst of the revolutionary war. He was the father of ten children, the sixth of whom, born in December, 1813, was christened Jacob Harrison. In 1838 Dr. Kern, accompanied by three of his brothers, moved to Shelby county, Indiana, bringing with them an old negro woman known as “Aunt Giny,” whom they set free. A little later the doctor, who appears to have been a victim of the wanderlust after leaving his Virginia home until his ultimate return, moved to Warren county, Ohio, where he began the practice of medicine. Here he met and married a Nancy Ligget, who is remembered by her daughter as “a comely woman, tall, rather slender and with black hair and eyes.” Here the first child, Sally, was born in 1845, and soon after this event the little family moved to Alto.

Doctor Kern was a rather stern, grimly serious man, of exceptional professional capacity, and strong mentality, and his reputation as a physician spread through the surrounding country, resulting in an extensive practice for miles about. He was what is popularly known as a “strong character,” possessed of little of the sense of humor with which his more celebrated son was so abundantly gifted. Asked for a description or characterization of him, the few, now living, who remember him almost invariably hesitate and begin with the comment, “Well, it is rather difficult to describe him. He was an unusual man—different from most men. He had a fine mind and a fine character.” His son remembered him with an affection in which admiration predominated. He was cast in the Puritanic mould, abhorring indolence and vice, preaching and practicing frugality and toil.

At the edge of the village he built a home which was considered a pretentious structure for the time and place, although it consisted of but two rooms. The fact that instead of being a rough log hut it was weatherboarded and had “two front doors” was enough to stamp it in the wilderness as the abode of the patrician of the community.

Here on December 20, 1849, just nine years after the first white man settled in the township, John Worth Kern was born.

II

The first five years of his life were spent in the house with the “two front doors” and differed in no wise from the early childhood of the other children of the wilderness community except that he had more of the comforts than fell to the lot of many others. The only picture of the future senator of that period that is preserved is in the memory of the venerable sister—a picture of the boy in his favorite amusement, sitting astride an old discarded saddle on a carpenter horse with a pair of saddle bags filled with powders and bottles, going to visit an imaginary patient, and solemnly giving instructions to “give him one powder every hour till Monday, and if he ’plains of it give it to him agin.”

In 1854 Doctor Kern moved with his family to Warren county, Iowa, where the next nine years were spent near Indianola in pleasant surroundings, with congenial neighbors, and in the midst of plenty. Here we get our first glimpse of the future partisan in an incident connected with the Lincoln-Douglas campaign of 1860. From his earliest boyhood he knew he was a Democrat and he took no pains to conceal the fact. During the dramatic campaign of 1860 he frequently drove to Indianola with a load of wood, and on these expeditions he attracted attention by his vociferous yelling for Douglas. On going to town after the election, he was accosted by a friend of his father’s with the query as to how he felt over the result.

“Like Lazarus,” snapped the eleven-year-old partisan.

“Why, how is that?” he was asked.

“Like I’d been licked by the dogs,” was the quick retort.

After the death of Mrs. Kern the doctor soon lost his taste for far western life and in 1865 he returned with his two children to Alto, which was to remain the home of the family until after the only son commenced his professional career.

At the time young John returned to the house of his nativity, a tall, lightly built youth of fifteen, he immediately was accorded a position of leadership among the boys and girls of his own age. The social activities of the community were of a simple nature and revolved about the church. The young people met at the Sunday school services in the old log Methodist church, and at the Cobb church a mile distant from the village, for gossip and flirtations, and it was in connection with the Sunday school that the future statesman first attracted attention to his precocious ability. I am indebted to Mr. Jackson Morrow, a life-long friend, for a description of this event. “John was then an active member of the Alto Methodist Sunday school,” he writes. “In that day the annual Sunday school celebration was the great social event of the community. In the community were numerous country churches and each maintaining its Sunday school. It was during the summer of 1865 that there was held in a beautiful grove adjoining Alto a celebration of rather more than ordinary merit. It was an all-day affair. The forenoon was devoted to singing by the various schools in attendance and an address by a local celebrity. Then followed the picnic dinner—a sumptuous affair requiring an hour and a half for its disposal. The afternoon was largely given over to recitations and the reading of original papers by selected members of the several schools. John Kern represented the Alto school with a paper. His theme was Temperance. He attacked the saloon and drunkenness in a vigorous manner. It was really an able paper and read in his clear, incisive and earnest manner captured the large audience. From every quarter the comment was heard that if a mere boy could make such an address much could be expected of him when he became a man. The paper was singled out for publication in the county paper.”

About this time he entered the Old Kokomo Normal, an educational institution much superior to most of the Indiana schools of that period. The building, a commodious one, had been erected several years before by the people of Kokomo and the surrounding country with the view to giving their children the advantage of training in the elements of higher learning and to fit them for teaching in the public schools. The head of the school at the time was Prof. E. N. Fay, a college graduate and a man of scholarly attainments, and he had surrounded himself with a competent corps of assistants. While attending the Normal young Kern lived at his home in Alto, riding his horse to Kokomo in the morning and returning in the evening. For the sake of economy he took his lunch with him. The six-mile stretch of mud road between his home and the county seat was impassable during much of the winter except on horseback. In zero weather the ambitious youth suffered severely, but having developed the habit of declaiming his lessons, and making speeches to his nag during these trips, he managed to neutralize the effect of the weather by vigorous gesticulation and an unsparing exercise of his lungs.

At the Normal young Kern is described by Mr. Morrow as “a brilliant scholar but not a plodder.” He seemed to absorb the matter of the textbooks without effort. “In the study of English Grammar he particularly excelled,” writes Morrow. “He studied language not to get its dull formulas, but to know how most forcibly and clearly to express his thoughts.”

It was during his Normal days that Kern determined definitely upon the study of law.

While Doctor Kern would have defrayed the expenses of his son’s legal education, the latter was of an independent nature and preferred to pay his own way. With the view to making the money required for a course of legal instructions in a university, he took the examination for a teacher’s license before he was sixteen, and while the examination was conducted by Rawson Vaile, a graduate of Amherst College and a stickler for thoroughness, he made a very high grade and was granted a twenty-four months’ license, which was the highest permissible by the county examiner. Here enters the pedagogue.

III

The young teacher took charge of his first school at the age of fifteen, and taught two terms, but in different schools, as he never failed to observe in later years in an attempt to belittle his professional ability. His first experience as a teacher was in the home school at Alto, and in the winter of ’66-7 he taught in what is still popularly known as “the old Dyar school house,” about three miles east of Alto, in the country. The John Kern of this period is described by one of the students as “tall, straight, boyish in appearance, not particular in his personal appearance, usually having his trousers over a boot strap.” Those still living who knew the future senator as a country school teacher take issue with his own estimate of his success. His methods of instruction were those of an original thinker, and ignoring the hard and fast rules, he succeeded in creating an interest among the students with gratifying results. I am indebted to Albert B. Kirkpatrick, one of his students who was in later years to cross swords with him at the bar, for some interesting recollections which reflect light on the character of the youthful pedagogue:

“The school (Dyar) was large for a country school, about sixty, some boys and girls larger than the teacher. On the playgrounds Kern was one of the boys, and you would scarcely know from his conduct that he was a teacher. One day he ordered a large boy to stand upon the floor and on his refusal Kern told him he could do that or take a whipping. After school he kept the stubborn rebel, together with two other boys as witnesses, and proceeded to administer the castigation which, according to report, was quite severe. One day a dispute arose as to the ownership of a rabbit some boy had caught. Kern acted as presiding judge and found that the boy in possession of the rabbit was not the rightful owner, and fixed as his punishment the restoration of the rabbit and the infliction of lashes, which he proceeded to lay on.

“Kern was good in the common school branches, and he especially delighted to read in McGuffey’s Sixth Reader from Patrick Henry and other oratorical notables. He was fine in the school house debates and generally covered about half the school house in his orations, gesticulating wildly and speaking at the top of his voice.

“He was not methodical in his teaching, but original, and the students seemed to learn rapidly. They liked him, as a rule, although he did not then possess those remarkable social qualities that characterized him in after years.”

The “school house debates” referred to were features of the Dyar school literary and debating society, which owed its existence to Kern’s initiative and bore the pretentious name of the Platonian. It was during the period when the country was torn over the problems of reconstruction, and these furnished the topics for the debates. The sixteen-year-old teacher invariably took part, and his chief competitor was usually Jesse Yager, described as “a solid, substantial citizen of the community and a man of great ability.” In these discussions Kern invariably took a positive stand in favor of a liberal policy toward the white people of the southern states who had returned to their allegiance, and the carpet bagger usually came in for an unmerciful scoring. One who often heard him in those days, Jackson Morrow, in recalling the earnestness and vigor of the boy orator, expresses the opinion that these speeches “would have reflected credit upon the best statesmen of the period.” Such views as were held and advocated by the young school teacher were bold indeed for the time and place. Passions still ran high, and Howard county was extreme in its republicanism of the Thad Stevens variety. Strangely enough, the boldness of the pedagogue in no wise detracted from his personal popularity and served to enhance his reputation. Many years afterward, when Kern, soon after his nomination for vice-president, returned to Kokomo to meet his old friends and neighbors in a great non-partisan reception, Jesse Yager, his polemic adversary of the Platonian days, then a very old man, occupied a place on the platform.

It was during the summer of 1866 that the pedagogue, a member of the “Alto Dramatic Society,” made his first and only appearance “on any stage” as an actor in “The Demons of the Glass.” Mr. Morrow gives an interesting description of the occasion.

“The entertainment,” he writes, “was held on a delightful summer evening in a grove not far from the village of Alto. The stage was built of rough lumber and lighted by kerosene lamps, but a full moon flooding the landscape with a mellow light, and the great spreading tops of centuries-old forest trees gave this primitive stage a beauty and dignity hard to surpass. The show was free and the people came en masse from far and near, and when the curtain rose on the entertainment a very large audience was waiting. Kern was easily the star of the evening. So realistic was his acting of the husband and father becoming a drunkard and bringing poverty and ruin on a happy home, that an unpleasant sadness stole over the audience and a strong temperance lesson was impressed upon the people present. As a boy John Kern was an enthusiastic ‘dry.’”

It was toward the close of his last term of teaching that he became an active member of the Methodist church, the occasion of his conversion being a revival meeting held at Albright’s chapel. For a time he became deeply religious, taking his church duties with a seriousness that attracted attention. This ostentatious spirit of worship soon passed.

During these teaching days, when the young pedagogue was preaching temperance, damning the radicalism of the Thad Stevens, protesting against carpetbag government in the southern states, practicing his embryo eloquence upon debating societies in the woods, and experiencing a spiritual awakening, he was attracting attention throughout the community

and county as a youth of precocious ability and rare gifts. This did not affect his natural modesty or his relations with young people of his own age. The society of Alto and the neighborhood could scarcely be described as “fashionable,” but its members were genuine and its friendships real. Writing of his boyish characteristics, Mr. Morrow says: “His friendship was steady and faithful. I never knew him to cut a friend as the mood or occasion might suggest. He appeared to always meet his friend with a smile and a friendly handclasp that impressed one as real, and he manifested his interest in helpful ways. He had been trained to know the value of a dollar, taught that it represented real value and should not be squandered, but if he met a friend in need and he had a dollar in his pocket that dollar was his friend’s at once. He had large sympathies and in a sense he was his brother’s keeper. His general character never changed.”

During these pedagogue days he was giving careful attention to the selection of a college in which to prepare himself for the law, and his choice fell on the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, then the great school of the west, with Cooley at the head of the lecture corps. He had not accumulated so much that he did not have to carefully consider the expense without drawing liberally upon his father, and this he had determined not to do. The living expenses at Ann Arbor presented an attractive prospect as well as the faculty, and in September, 1867, he set out for the university determined to make the most of his opportunities.

IV

In the latter part of the sixties the university at Ann Arbor ranked easily as the first educational institution of the middle west. The faculty of the law department, with Thomas M. Cooley at the head, was in no wise inferior to that of Harvard and Yale. The student body was drawn from the entire Mississippi valley and beyond. The town of Ann Arbor at the time possessed the charm one likes to associate with a college town, with its pleasant homes, wide lawns, and fine old forest trees lining the streets. At the time of his matriculation young Kern, student of law, had not yet reached the age of eighteen, and here he was to spend two profitable years and receive his degree before reaching his twentieth birthday. During the two years he was compelled to economize in every possible way. In the telling of the story of his Ann Arbor days I am deeply indebted to Jackson Morrow, a boyhood friend, with whom he corresponded during the period and who has carefully preserved most of the letters written him by Kern from the university. These rather suggest a youth possessed of considerable assurance, and limited experience, inspired by much ambition, and prone to “act up” to the rôle of the embryo lawyer. In his first letter November 3, 1867, he describes his impressions of the university.

“I got here early on Saturday morning and proceeded at once to the university, where I relieved myself of thirty-five dollars, and received a paper which entitles the bearer to a full course of law lectures in the University of Michigan. With a light heart and a materially lightened pocketbook, I then sought a boarding house, which we found at Mrs. Cramptons, in the east part of the city, where we now are paying $4.12½ per week, or, as the people here would term it, four dollars with a shillin’. We have a good boarding house, good rooms, good fires, good appetites, etc.

“Well, the Monday following I wended my way to the Law building, where I listened to my first lecture by Hon. Thomas M. Cooley. Since then I have attended two each day, sometimes delivered by Cooley, and sometimes by one of the other professors of law—Campbell, Walker and Pond. The number of students here this winter is hardly so great as last, owing, no doubt, to the hard times, as the number of students in all the colleges of the country has materially decreased since last year. Their general library here, which is free to all, contains over 30,000 volumes and is the best place for reading I was ever in.

“I received a letter from Sturgis the other day. He is, as usual, in all his glory. A short time ago he wrote me giving his views politically, and, as they did not just suit me, I sat down and gave the gentleman the benefit of sixteen pages of foolscap containing some sound old Democratic doctrine which I guess he profited by, as he has held his peace ever since.”

It will be noted that the Kern, the law student in his teens, was quite as partisan as in his earlier boyhood, and nothing in these letters to Morrow is more interesting than the sidelights they throw upon his political views.

In his next letter, written three weeks later, he describes the method of instruction in the law department, and gives his correspondent, who had succeeded him as teacher in the Dyar school, some sound advice as to handling the obstreperous “scholars.”

“I was glad to learn that you had become teacher in Dist. No. 8, Taylor township, and wish you the greatest success in your undertaking. I think before spring you will appreciate some of my last winter’s trials. The scholars, however, are generally well disposed and are not naturally vicious. My advice is not to spare the rod, but crack the whip under their bellies whenever they deserve it.... I sympathize deeply with every school teacher, knowing as I do the responsibility resting upon them. I think I have done my last teaching unless I ignobly fail in the study of law. I am well pleased with the study so far—as the mode of instruction here makes very pleasant what would otherwise appear intricate and difficult. We here not only get a theoretical but a practical knowledge of the law, for we have club courts, so that every student may have ample opportunity of displaying his legal knowledge. I have been an attorney in four cases and have another in the Indiana Club court next Saturday. Prof. Moses Coit Tyler, professor of rhetoric and elocution in the literary department, lectures to us twice a week on elocution. This is a great advantage to us.... Our little winter that we had some days ago has vanished and we are now having a delightful Indian summer—warm and smoky. From all appearances the climate here is not so disagreeable as that of Indiana in the winter season....”

Two weeks later he had changed his opinion of the charms of a Michigan winter and was suffering with a cold, which did not prevent him, however, from giving Morrow the advantage of his eighteen years’ experience in the world on the proper method of maintaining discipline in a country school. His reference to the girls about Alto and Kokomo indicates that he was not entirely immune to the charms of the sex.

“The present juncture finds me very unwell, suffering from a miserably bad cold and a very severe sore throat.... We now are enjoying (?) the stern realities of a northern winter—chief among which are overcoats, overshoes, comforters, cold feet, frosted ears, etc. The ground is covered with snow to the depth of two or three inches and skating is the chief amusement. They have a skating park here, and it is thronged every evening.

“I was glad to hear that you and the school were progressing finely—I would advise you to show a bold front—use the hickory and beech when needed, and you will succeed, for the students generally are well disposed.

“You have my very best wishes in the reorganization of the Platonian. I would like to be with you a while and excrete a ‘few gas.’ You may tell Mr. Madison Jackson that my days of sleigh riding are over for the present, but were I in Indiana I should very much enjoy such a tear as we had that night. You may also tell Em—that ‘sparking’ is old and has played out, especially sparking in the rain. When I get home I may do some little of it and she had better look out....”

In his next letter dated after the first of the year 1868 he refers to his holiday dissipation at Detroit and at Windsor in Canada, and the reader will probably smile at the nineteen-year-old globe trotter’s careful explanation of the location and character of Detroit:

“We have had on the whole a very pleasant vacation—though rather dull at times—and our lectures commence again to-morrow, and I’m very glad of it. We have a good sleighing snow now, and as I write I hear the sleigh bells jingling as merrily as can be. I don’t indulge in the luxury of sleighing this winter, as it is really a dear luxury—only $1.50 per hour.

“Well, on the 31st of December, the last day of the old year, I got aboard the 8 A. M. train east and went down to the metropolis of Michigan, i. e., Detroit, which is pleasantly situated thirty-eight miles east of here on the Detroit river. It is a city of about one hundred thousand inhabitants—and is improving very rapidly.... After we had explored Detroit very thoroughly we went across the river into Queen Vic’s dominions and landed in a town of about two or three thousand inhabitants called Windsor—noted as being the stopping place of C. L. Vallandigham. Canada is a stinking place—two-thirds of the people in Windsor are Americans of African descent, while the rest are full-blooded Britishers who in point of cleanliness are in no way superior to the “cullid” folks. I got enough of Canada in a short time and recrossed into Uncle Sam’s domain, took the 4 o’clock train for Ann Arbor, where I arrived at 6, being satisfied to remain there till the 28th March, when I will make my exit for Alto, the city on the hill....”

The next of the Morrow letters, written in January, 1868, is especially interesting, in that it discloses the budding politician and slate maker engaged in the determination of the personnel of the national Democratic ticket for the campaign of that year. In the upper left-hand corner of the envelope he had neatly printed his ticket:

For President
Geo. H. Pendleton
For Vice Pres.
Chas. O’Connor
of N. Y.

In this letter he grows enthusiastic over the action of the Indiana Democracy in nominating Thomas A. Hendricks for governor.

“Since receiving your letter I had a little sick spell, had a doctor to see me, who very kindly cured me and relieved me of six shillin’s. We are now having splendid winter weather—just snow enough to make good sleighing and just cool enough to make one cooly comfortable without an overcoat. Time is flying by very—very rapidly. The four and a half months that I have remained here have glided by so rapidly and so merrily that I can but look back upon them with surprise and wish that they were here again. I have only about nine weeks to stay here, when I shall take my departure for Alto to realize the comforts of sweet, sweet home.... I see that the Democracy of Indiana have nominated a strong ticket with Hendricks as standard bearer. I think in the present or coming campaign we can vanquish the Radicals, defeat their candidate for governor, place T. A. Hendricks in the gubernatorial chair, send Dan Voorhees to the senate and Judge Lindsay to congress—restore the constitution and laws to their proper place, elect George H. Pendleton president of the United States, and then throw out the sails and the old ship of state will move on more smoothly than it has done since the Democratic party surrendered the country to the Radicals to be worked over.”

Less than three weeks later, February 12, 1868, the young slate maker had found it well to remove Chas. O’Connor from the national ticket as a candidate for the vice-presidency and on the envelope of his next letter we find with Pendleton the name of John P. Stockton of New Jersey. We are left in doubt as to how O’Connor had lost the support of the embryo politician or the reasons for the new partiality for Stockton. In this letter we get an inkling of some of the advantages Ann Arbor offered to a young man of Kern’s ambitions and tastes. It was about this time that he had the opportunity of hearing Gough’s lecture on oratory, of listening to Wendell Phillips lecture on “The Lost Arts” and of hearing E. P. Whipple. In this letter, too, we have the sole reference to Kern’s participation in the work of the debating societies. It is not surprising to find that this uncompromising Democrat should have joined the “Douglas Society.”

“We are now having splendid weather—good sleighing, fine skating, nice walking—in fact, everything that nature has anything to do with is conducive to a fellow’s happiness.

“On Monday night John B. Gough lectured here on ‘Eloquence and Oratory.’ He is a splendid lecturer and his lecture, which was two hours and a quarter in length, was a success—all except the last quarter of an hour, when he exhorted the young men of the university to use all their eloquence in procuring for the down-trodden African the election franchise. The applause from the Rads was vociferous, while from my corner came a little puny hiss. E. P. Whipple lectures here next Tuesday night, and on Saturday night Wendell Phillips speaks on ‘The Lost Arts.’

“We have some good literary societies in connection with the Law Department. I belong to the ‘Douglas.’ On last Saturday night we discussed the question, ‘Resolved that the reconstruction policy of congress is unwise and inexpedient.’”

In the debate on the reconstruction policy of congress young Kern led the debate in opposition to the policy. His attitude toward negro suffrage at this time was the position of his party, but the opposition was not wholly confined to Democrats. It was a time when party feeling ran high. Political discussions were bitter and frequently were followed by blows. Kern in his teens was a radical Democrat and never mentioned the Republicans as anything other than Radicals. In later life he was friendly to the colored race, but fifty years before he had been an extremist in his position on the proper political status of the negro. His radicalism was not moderated by the tone of the Republican press and speakers of the time. Many years later in speaking in the senate he referred to the time he had heard Zack Chandler, the great Republican leader of Michigan, making a political address in Ann Arbor, make the statement:

“Democrats talk a good deal about their rights, I recognize the fact that they have rights which they are entitled to enjoy, at least two rights—one a constitutional and the other a divine right—a constitutional right to be hung and a divine right to be damned.”

It is not remarkable that with men of age and experience indulging in language of this character that a nineteen-year-old partisan should have found it provocative of retaliation.

In his last letter from Ann Arbor, January 1, 1869, we find him preparing his thesis on “The Dissolution of Agency,” studying hard for his examinations, seriously considering a location for the display of his professional prowess, and instructing his friend Morrow as to the most direct route to Ann Arbor and warning him against the “abominable thieves” at Grand Trunk Junction—leaving one with the impression that he may have had an unpleasant encounter with the tribe.

“Your letter was received a few days ago and on this, the first day of the New Year, I seat myself to answer it. Eighteen hundred and sixty-nine was ushered in by a snowstorm, which had the effect of keeping the people off the streets and giving them quite a desolate appearance. I have been very busy ever since I left Indiana and am at present putting in all my time writing a thesis on ‘The Dissolution of Agency,’ which calls into requisition all my legal knowledge....

“We senior law students don’t have quite so fine a time as we did last winter. Then all we had to do was to sit and listen to lectures, but now we are quizzed each morning on the lectures of the preceding day, and after holidays we will be examined every afternoon on last winter’s lectures, to wind up with an examination of five days at the close of the term. Rather a gloomy prospect, isn’t it?

“I have no particular fears but that I shall get through all right and come out a veritable LL. B. I have thought considerably in regard to my future operations and have concluded to go into business at Tipton, Indiana, for a while at least. It’s rather a hard town, but as it is young and growing there are hopes for it. I had intended to locate in Iowa until after the November elections. That 30,000 majority in favor of negro suffrage staggered me.

“In coming out here you had better start on the afternoon train from Kokomo, come to Peru, and then to Toledo, buy a ticket for Grand Trunk Junction, which is three miles from Detroit. There you will connect with the Michigan Central Road, and will probably be at Ann Arbor on the 7 P. M. train. Write me the day you start and the train you start on and I’ll be at the depot. At Grand Trunk Junction keep a lookout for your watch and pocketbook, for there are a set of abominable thieves there.

“Ann Arbor is all right, as is the university. Affairs are rather dull just now owing to the fact that a large proportion of the students have gone home to spend the holidays. Two of our law students, in order to pass away the time the other day, engaged in the luxury of a fight. The result was that one of them was badly threshed. As they were both Democrats it was a rather unfortunate affair....”

Fortunately for the biographer, when Kern received his degree and returned to Howard county, his friend Morrow left Howard for Ann Arbor and the correspondence was continued for a time. In a letter dated April 4th, 1869, he gives a “short sketch of his meanderings” after leaving Ann Arbor, returning by way of Toledo and Peru, and finding “Howard county literally capped with mud.” “Nobody,” he adds, “pretends to travel with a wagon—such would be impossible. I never saw such a stretch of muddy country in all my eventful career.” But “notwithstanding the mud,” he found things “rather lively,” with many of the young women of the neighborhood calling to inspect the new attorney in their midst. “I have as yet made no definite arrangements as to practicing,” he writes. “I am thinking of going in with Milton Bell or Clark N. Pollard”—this probably being written in a spirit of fun, as the two men mentioned were prominent members of the bar. In the next sentences he adds—“If I don’t go in with them I will go into a firm with John Worth Kern, LL. B.” He was not in the best of health at the time of his graduation, and he writes Morrow: “My health is no better than when I left. My cough doesn’t get much better. I have taken a whole bottle of medicine since I have been here.”

Hardly had he reached his home when his neighbors arranged for a speech from the neighborhood prodigy, and the young lawyer, having prepared it with a care becoming the importance of the occasion, went out into the woods near by, where he was practicing it with much vigor of gesticulation and expenditure of lung power when a neighborhood girl, passing the outskirts of the wood on her way to the house “with the two front doors,” saw him without recognizing either the man or the occasion. Rushing breathessly into the Kern home, she explained that she had encountered “a crazy man” in the woods making all sorts of unearthly noises.

“Oh, he’s not crazy,” said Sally Kern smiling, “that’s only John practicing his speech.”

A little later the shingle of “John W. Kern—Attorney at Law” was hung at Kokomo.

CHAPTER II
Kokomo Days—Lawyer and Citizen

I

AS we have seen it was Kern’s intention at one time to begin the practice of his profession in Iowa—a plan that was abandoned when the state went overwhelmingly for the “radical program.” Before leaving Ann Arbor we have noted his plan to establish an office at Tipton, Indiana. The process of reasoning which soon eliminated Tipton from consideration and led to his opening an office in the county seat of his native county about the first of May, 1869, when he fell seven months short of his twentieth birthday, is set forth in the following letter to Morrow, then at Ann Arbor:

“Since I came home I have done nothing and yet have been awfully busy too. I was at Tipton one day last week looking for a location. That is, I went there for the purpose of looking around. As soon as I got off the train and cast a glance up the principal street I persuaded myself that Tipton was no place for an LL. B. A stump puller or a mud dauber might do an extensive business there. I will open a law office in Kokomo in about ten days. My office will be in the Nixon block. I will go in partnership with John W. Kern, a young man of promise.

“Our folks are all going on a visit to the Old Dominion to be gone all summer. They will start in about a week from to-morrow, and I will be left a disconsolate orphan. In selecting Kokomo as a place wherein to practice I pondered long and well over the matter, and it was only from words of encouragement from a number of the substantial men of the county that I determined. I don’t expect to do much at first, but by a close attention to my business I expect in a few years to make my expenses. The people in this part of the country are all lively as crickets.... I only got my books day before yesterday—just two weeks on the road.... The work on the new court house has commenced again. It will be a magnificent edifice....”

The office was opened about the first of May with a complete new set of the Indiana Reports which his father had presented him with. “I still remember how his eyes sparkled,” writes Morrow, “when he told me that his father intended to give him a complete set of the reports.” Two months later he had less modest notions of his possibilities in his profession. He had participated in several cases and gained confidence, both in his ability to get business and his capacity to handle it. In a letter to Morrow, written early in June, he discloses the budding of social aspirations and for the first time mentions the girl who was soon to become his wife:

“We are now having delightful weather, good roads, and lots of fun. The society in Kokomo is much better than it used to be, and is such that a man who mingles with it much inevitably enjoys himself. I have renewed my old acquaintance with the ladies, and yesterday two of them, Misses Whenett and Hazzard, came up and spent an hour in sweet communion with me in my office. I have an invitation to call on both of them and will certainly avail myself thereof. Although my practice is not so lucrative as I could desire, it is much better than I anticipated when I commenced. I have helped try two cases in the circuit court, three in the mayor’s court, and am doing a good business in collecting. I am at least making a very comfortable living. I find that I am somewhat deficient in the practical part of the law, but by hard study and close observation will remedy that before a great while. I am convinced that Kokomo is the best opening for a young man in the west. There is a vast amount of litigation in the county and but comparatively few lawyers. The only trouble I have here is that there is a disposition on the part of some young men in this town to make my office their headquarters. There is one of these d—d lazy hounds sitting here now—making himself more at home than I do. If he doesn’t leave in fifteen minutes I will order him out. The initials of this name are X-Y-Z—too trifling to pound sand.... That young man I spoke of a moment ago has just taken his leave. Darn his infernal loafing carcass. He didn’t receive much comfort this morning....”

The reference to the disposition of young men to make his office their headquarters probably reflects an indignation he did not really feel. From the moment he opened an office in Kokomo he became the idol of the younger element, and his popularity with “the boys” was to be invaluable in establishing his leadership in politics and his popularity at the bar, but to carry with it disadvantages due to the conviviality of the town and times. It was before the days of clubs, and during the first ten years of his practice his office was made to serve as a club for the younger element, young lawyers, doctors, and others with no such fixed means of support. Here in the evening and on Sunday afternoons the clan regularly gathered to solve the problems of society, indulge in chat, and games. Always a social being, young Kern enjoyed these afternoons and evenings, and friendships were made on these occasions that remained steadfast through life.

From the moment he opened an office the young lawyer was remarkably successful. He was generally looked upon by the people of Howard county as a genius. In eloquence before a jury he surpassed the older members of the bar. And the winsome geniality of his personality extended his acquaintance and increased his popularity. He was followed about by groups of young friends and the older element not only conceded him to be rarely gifted, but gave him every possible encouragement. The town was not so large that the proceedings of the courts were not the subjects of conversation and the lawyer, especially if young, who could make juries laugh and cry, and play pranks on court and bar, and get verdicts, became something of a hero. During the first year or two the most of his cases were tried in the justice of the peace courts, which were then far more important than they are to-day. Here the race went to the man who knew human nature, possessed an eloquent tongue, a quick resourceful mind, and plenty of assurance. Having in mind this period of his career, C. C. Shirley, at one time a member of the law firm of former United States Attorney-General Miller at Indianapolis, but previous to that a member of the Howard bar, writes:

“Instinctively I knew him then as one who had been touched with the fires of genius. I think every one who knew him at that time looked upon him as strangely gifted, although some of those who recognize his unusual gifts were inclined to poohpooh their importance. They spoke of him as the ‘boy wonder,’ the ‘infant prodigy,’ etc., and one particular characterization I heard when I was a small boy, which has stuck in my memory, I recall. Kern had just been admitted to the bar and had made an argument in a jury case which was highly praised and caused much comment among those who knew him well and naturally were proud of his quick success as a lawyer. I don’t know that the case itself was of much importance, but it was of a character to furnish a good vehicle. It was a neighborhood sensation. The particular note of derogation, I recall, was the remark of a village wiseacre to this effect, ‘Oh, John Kern is just like a wasp—bigger when he was born than he will ever be again.’ Rather a fine tribute, after all, although unintentional and unconscious, since it shows that even then skeptics had observed that he was not at all like a boy of twenty—possibly twenty-one, but not more. As for myself, I looked upon him as already a great man and never missed a chance to hear him speak, either on public occasions like old settlers’ meetings, at which he was often heard, or in neighborhood lawsuits before justices of the peace, which was the only forum I then had a chance to visit.

“The interests there involved now seem pitifully trivial, but they often meant almost life and death to the litigants—the family cow—or the chattel mortgaged cook stove, or the month’s wages. And on just such occasions as these, when humor or pathos were so closely blended, Kern, at that time, was facile princeps among the lawyers of the county, though he was barely of age. I know the impression he made on me was that his client was always right and much wronged by the highly reprehensible persons on the other side.... I learned that his wonderful skill in marshaling the facts and circumstances, added to his real genius for pathos, ridicule and invective, when these weapons could be used to advantage, were often quite as much to be feared as the merits of his case. He knew when to employ these weapons and never made the mistake so frequently observed of resorting to either unless there was something in the case which made it certain he would ‘get away with it.’ He avoided the obvious resort to such expedients—indeed he never seemed to employ them at all. This is what made him so effective when he did use them.”

That with all his precocity he was still essentially a boy during the early days of his practice is illustrated in a story affecting Rawson Vaile, a leader of the bar, who had been editor of the Indianapolis Journal before the civil war. Mr. Vaile was a polished gentleman, an Amherst graduate, something of an exotic for the time and place, who bore himself with great dignity, dressed immaculately, and always wore a silk hat. One day in court—the court room crowded with Kern’s young followers—while the young lawyer was in the midst of an argument to the court, he observed on the table before him the silk tie of the opposing attorney. Simulating much excitement, he brought his clenched fist down upon Vaile’s cherished hat with such force as to mash it completely. The young men in the court room who knew that it was not accidental, but a carefully planned diversion for their benefit, roared their approval, and so great was the indignation of the court that but for the splendid acting of Kern in assuring the court of the accidental nature of the incident he would have been fined for contempt.

In the little cases in the squire’s courts he fought as stubbornly as he ever did in later life in the federal courts of the country. One case—a suit in replevin over a red shawl—is still remembered because the tenacity of the boy lawyer cost the defendant $700 before the case was closed. Before he had been in practice a year, if he was not the ablest lawyer at the Howard bar, he was easily, among all the lawyers, the idol of the multitude.

II

During the first year or two at the bar Kern was not giving his attention wholly to the practice of his profession. In less than a year he had taken his position among the political leaders of the community, and from that time on during his fifteen years in Kokomo his political and professional careers were so interwoven, and he distinguished himself to such a degree in both, that I shall, for the sake of continuity, treat of his political activities in a separate chapter. Even politics and the law did not consume all his time. As we have seen in his letters to Morrow, he had taken a keen interest in the “feminines” from the moment of his arrival in Kokomo. This interest soon centered on Anna Hazzard, daughter of a well-to-do business man of the community. The nature of his wooing is indicated in an incident still remembered. On the occasion of a Sunday school picnic given by the Baptist church of his native village, he drove with Miss Hazzard to Alto, and finding a big cake offered for sale to the highest bidder, he determined that the prize should go to his partner of the evening. The contest was a lively one, but the young lawyer met all competitors with a raise, and the result was that he secured the cake for the neat sum of $30.

It was soon after this that he announced in a letter to Morrow that he had bought “the Stewart house” on Main street for something over $1,600, his father going security, and with some show of pride described it as “one of the prettiest pieces of property in town.” “This,” he adds, “may look to you like business. Well, it does.” And in a letter to Morrow October 18, 1870, he concludes: “Give my regards to Swartz and Stringer. Tell them that on the 10th of November all that is mortal of J. W. K. is to pass away, as that is the day the event takes place which tears him from the realms of single blessedness.”

The Kokomo Tribune, in announcing the marriage, which took place at the bride’s home, said:

“Notwithstanding the ultra Democracy of John, there is a whole-souled manner, a generous style and an earnestness about him that has compelled admiration. Besides, Mr. Kern has more than average ability. If he shall continue to be a student, as we know he has been for several years, he will gain eminence.

“What everybody says must be true. We have never heard a single person speak of the bride except in the highest terms of praise. She is intelligent, domestic in her habits and preferences and very good.

“Why should not the life of such a couple be blessed and blest? They have the very best wishes of every acquaintance.”

A rather unusual announcement, but very gracious considering that for three months before the same paper had covered its editorial page with vicious attacks on young Kern the politician.

III

After the election of 1870 and his marriage the young lawyer went forward by leaps and bounds in his profession. In the fall of 1870, before he had reached his majority, he was employed as special prosecutor in a sensational murder case involving a prominent family of Kokomo. Before this Kokomo had suspected that he was a brilliant criminal lawyer. Afterward it knew it. For in this case the youth of less than twenty-one found himself pitted against two of the giants of the Indiana bar, Thomas A. Hendricks, his political idol, and Major Jonathan W. Gordon, considered by many the greatest criminal lawyer and advocate who ever practiced in the courts of the commonwealth. It is related that during the trial, which was held in an adjoining county, Kern became careless in his attendance in court, and there was a disposition to consider him out of the case. In indignant mood he sauntered into the court room just as an argument as to the admissibility of evidence was being made by both Hendricks and Gordon. Much was involved in the point and the two legal giants had carefully prepared for the battle. At the conclusion of their arguments Kern arose, without having looked into a single book, or left his seat after hearing the issue, and delivered what was considered one of the most convincing arguments heard in the case, and the court sustained him. After that he took part in all the arguments that arose, and always with brilliant success. At that time he made of the two great lawyers pitted against him life-long friends and admirers. Hendricks took him aside and with a great show of interest advised him as to his course, and it was on this occasion that the great politician made the prediction that “the time will come when that young man will be the leader of the Democratic party in Indiana.”

From that time on he was engaged on one side or the other of every murder case and of most of the important criminal cases tried in Howard or the adjoining counties. He developed with remarkable rapidity into a great trial lawyer. His eloquence, his knowledge of fundamental principles, his quick grasp of the situation, made him a dangerous opponent for the most experienced. In those days he was careless in the preparation of his cases. It was said of him that he could go into a case with one day’s notice and apparently be as well prepared as though he had given six months to preparation. Judge Harness, his last partner in Kokomo, found him “a master in marshaling his facts and in getting everything out of a case there was in it—and frequently much more.” He was an expert in handling witnesses, especially in cross-examination. He was dramatic, resourceful, a master of strategy. In one case where his client was accused of having stolen a pocketbook, he secured a wallet as nearly like the one in question as possible, and presenting this to the prosecuting witness pressed him for a positive identification. The witness walked into the trap and identified the substitute pocketbook positively as his own, on which Kern presented the pocketbook in question, thereby putting the prosecution to rout. In another case he was positive that the prosecuting witness was lying and he carried through a fine bit of dramatic acting with the desired result. Without a particle of previous evidence of the witness to rely upon, he theatrically opened the drawer of the desk before him and pulled out a roll of blank paper. Holding this in his hand and looking the witness in the eye he demanded fiercely—“Did you not on a certain occasion testify so and so in this matter?” The witness, frightened at the manner of the lawyer and suspecting that he had been trapped completely, wilted and confessed that he had testified differently before.

While capable of tricks of this nature he was not known as a “tricky lawyer” in the usual acceptance of the term. He was scrupulously ethical from the day he received his first case. This knowledge of human nature which made him a power in cross-examination made him almost irresistible before the jury in argument. Here he was the master. He ran the gamut of the emotions, passing from wit and humor to pathos, and then to satire, and then denunciation, keeping the jury in laughter or tears. Often he was able to literally ridicule a case out of court.

During the Kokomo days when he was prominent as a criminal lawyer he was at different times pitted against many of the giants of the bar. To attempt an enumeration of even the more prominent cases would be irksome. Strangely enough some of his greatest speeches in criminal cases were for the prosecution. He was of such a kindly disposition, so easily touched by suffering, and his sympathies were so readily reached that among the leading criminal lawyers of those days he seemed the least adapted to the role of prosecutor, and yet he probably figured more frequently as prosecutor than any of the others. The older people of Tipton county still remember his powerful argument and remarkably forceful peroration in closing for the prosecution in the murder case of State vs. Doles in Tipton in 1882. But a more interesting case is that of State vs. Hawkins, in which he appeared as special prosecutor at Kokomo in what was probably his last great criminal case in his native county, in 1885. Young Hawkins had been attentive to a young woman who had been taken out for a drive into the country by one of his friends and insulted. On returning to town the girl hastened to Hawkins with the story and without more ado he armed himself and went in search of the friend. After a few words Hawkins drew his gun and shot his victim down in cold blood. The family of Hawkins, realizing the seriousness of the situation, employed Cooper & Harness and O’Brien & Shirley, leading local lawyers, and instructed them to engage some famous criminal lawyer from Chicago or Indianapolis. Because Senator Voorhees had been remarkably successful in murder cases involving wrongs to women, he was engaged as the leading lawyer for the defense. Such vigorous steps to free the murderer of his son led the father of the victim, who had befriended Kern in his younger days, to engage him as special prosecutor. The case attracted state-wide attention. There were circumstances in the case differentiating it so radically from the cases of Mary Harris and Johnson that Voorhees was considerably embarrassed, but the matchless forensic orator exerted himself to the utmost. The closing arguments of Voorhees and Kern were made the same day, the older man speaking in the afternoon with his customary eloquence to a court room packed to suffocation, with great crowds packed tightly in the corridors outside and down the stairway. Kern closed at night in the presence of an equally great crowd. Never, perhaps, did he speak with greater power or eloquence. In the early part of his argument he turned his batteries of ridicule upon Voorhees in an effort to overcome the prestige of his name. So keen was this ridicule that Voorhees, hardened though he was by the blows of innumerable forensic battles, and until then, a warm friend of the younger man, squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, and turning to one of his co-counsel, asked, “Is he trying to insult me in this community?” Assured to the contrary, he settled back in his chair for a while, but, unable to stand it longer, he retired to the judge’s room, where he remained during the rest of the speech. “Mr. Kern,” writes A. B. Kirkpatrick, then prosecuting attorney, “was at his best and held the jury and audience spellbound as he swept everything before him by his irresistible logic and eloquence. At its conclusion, Senator Voorhees said with a qualifying adjective that it was a shame to have a man like John Kern make the closing speech in such a case. Kern easily won the laurels over the senator.”

The defendant was found guilty, and there are reasons to believe that Voorhees never forgave Kern’s ridicule of him, and in time found a way to make his displeasure felt.

During his Kokomo days the bar of Howard and surrounding counties, while having its full share of backwoodsmen, was strong in a number of exceptionally able lawyers. Kern’s practice extended over Howard, Tipton, Grant, Miami and Cass counties. In those days he frequently crossed swords with D. D. Pratt, Horace P. Biddle, Judge Nathaniel R. Lindsay, McDowell Van Devanter, father of the present justice of the United States Supreme Court, Col. Asbury Steele, R. T. St. John, Joseph A. Lewis, Nathan Overman, Joel F. Vaile, now the leader of the Denver bar, Dan Waugh, and of course all the leaders of the Howard bar. As a criminal lawyer he surpassed them all and held his own with the greatest in the state. “As a criminal lawyer,” writes A. B. Kirkpatrick, “Kern in his prime was perhaps not excelled in Indiana. I have seen Senator Voorhees, Major Gordon, John S. Duncan, Henry N. Spaan and Major Blackburn in the trial of criminal cases and in my opinion none of them excelled Kern.”

Such was his status professionally during his Kokomo days.

IV

The Kokomo of Kern’s time was one of the live-wire towns of the state. He has himself described it in his address at the James Whitcomb Riley birthday dinner many years afterward, when he said: “And where did I first meet Riley? Where do you suppose I met him? Why, in Kokomo, of course! Where else could I have met him? What was he doing in Kokomo? Why did he come to Kokomo? Because the afflatus was in Kokomo in those days. The divine afflatus, the prophetic afflatus, afflatus in unbroken and original packages; some in broken and aboriginal packages.”

When the sign “John W. Kern, Attorney at Law,” was hung out in 1870 there were no factories as now and no artisan class. It was above the average of county seats at the time and yet they were just beginning to build streets and it was not an extraordinary sight to see wagons mired in the thoroughfares. There were no clubs, but the “poor man’s club” was all too much in evidence, and the Clinton House, standing on the present site of the Frances Hotel, was a favorite gathering place for the gossips. It was a paradise for the gambler—the happy hunting grounds of the sporty element who flocked from afar, flamboyant in its cheap finery, unafraid of the law or the authorities, plucking the innocents without let or hindrance, crowding the “poor man’s clubs” with boisterous company. And just beyond this element in a sort of a mysterious haze loomed a more sinister element supposed to be engaged in transactions frowned upon by the laws of state and nation. This was the situation during the first twelve of the fifteen years of Kern’s residence in the town. Then something happened that brought about a cleansing. For many years the most powerful citizen, politically, among the lower strata was a physician, who was highly skilled in his profession, and known professionally over the state. He never charged the very poor for his services and thus he ingratiated himself into their affections, and he exercised a sway over the sporty element which was long hard to analyze. Many feared him without knowing why. One day, while mayor of the city, the police were informed by a traitor in his camp, who apparently feared him, that he proposed to burn the flour mill belonging to one of his enemies, and carry a leaking sack of flour to the home of another of his enemies, feared by the doctor, with the view to getting him out of the way by way of the penitentiary on the charge of arson. The police appeared at the mill as the doctor emerged with his sack of flour, and in his attempt to escape he was shot down. The incident created a sensation. The community was divided as to his guilt or innocence, and to this day there are some who cling to his memory as to the memory of a martyr. But the fact was developed that the prominent physician, potential politician and mayor was the head and brains of a lawless gang which had been under the observation of the federal secret service. His death scattered the gang, and with the gang the criminal element which revolved about it. The gamblers took to their heels. The new Kokomo emerged. But it was in the old Kokomo that John Kern passed his younger days.

It was in the midst of this environment that he was left alone, master of his own destiny, at the age of twenty. For almost immediately after he began the practice of his profession his father, hearkening to the call of the Old Dominion, and taking his daughter Sally with him, bought a home in Carvin’s Cove, a basin seven miles from Roanoke, and so surrounded by spurs of the Blue Ridge Mountains that there is but one entrance to the cove for vehicles. Here during the remainder of his life he lived the life of a recluse with his books, dogs, poultry and cattle, going every Sunday to church to teach a Sunday school. Here in the Cove Alum church on the frequent occasions of John Kern’s visits, the father listened proudly to the eloquence of the son he idolized.

But the young lawyer was always surrounded by a multitude of friends, good, bad and indifferent. His witticisms were passed about. His practical jokes were laughed over. His popularity was extraordinary. He was eagerly welcomed in every home. A slight figure, he had temper and it was known that he would “fight at the drop of a hat,” no matter how much larger and heavier his adversary.

Recognized as the orator of the community, the young lawyer was in constant demand as a speaker on all imaginable occasions, from old settlers’ meetings and Sunday school picnics to mass meetings to serve some public end.

We shall now see in tracing the story of John Kern’s political activities in the Kokomo days that when he paid tribute at a mass meeting to Garfield, the martyred president, he spoke as the long-recognized Democratic leader of the community.

CHAPTER III
As Democratic Leader of Howard, 1870-1884

I

WE have intimated in the previous chapter that while young Kern was making his reputation as an orator and a leading criminal lawyer of his section of the state he was exceedingly active in politics. Before he had attained his majority his tact, political genius, and deep-seated convictions had forced upon him the position of leadership, ungrudgingly bestowed by the common consent of veteran politicians of Howard county. Such precocity is so rare that the story of the rapidity with which he forged to the front in his twenties constitutes one of the most fascinating chapters of his history. And more important from the viewpoint of the biographer is the light this period throws upon the principles that animated him throughout his life. Many public men enter public life in youth as radicals and cool gradually to a conservative old age. Others, rarer, begin as conservatives and gradually warm to radicalism. Kern began with the same general set of principles which characterized his public character at the age of sixty-eight.

The conditions in Howard county in 1870 were not such as to justify high hopes of political preferment on the part of young men affiliated with the Democratic party. The normal Republican majority ranged from 800 to 1,400, and, considering the population of the county at that time, this margin of advantage constituted an insurmountable barrier to Democratic aspirants for office. Nevertheless there were among the active Democrats of that day men of unusual political capacity, and several of these were destined to sit upon the bench of the judicial district and to find their fealty rewarded by election to state offices. The year that young Kern plunged into the war from which he was only to emerge almost half a century later “upon his shield” the Democratic prospects were no better than they had been since the civil war, but, owing to the growing disaffection in the Republican ranks, and the issue of “reform” then coming to the fore, the more optimistic favored an aggressive contest. In March, 1870, the Democratic County Central Committee was called for the purpose of organization and the determination of the much-mooted problem as to whether a straight Democratic ticket would be worth the ammunition. The reports of the meeting indicated that young Kern, not then of age, and one other man spoke earnestly in favor of a fight. And it was on this occasion that he was given his first official recognition by the party, of which he was to become the leader, by election to the secretaryship of the committee.

In conformity with the plan then decided upon the county convention met in August to nominate a full ticket. The Kokomo Tribune, an uncompromising Republican paper, in describing the convention, said that “on Saturday a hundred or more barefoots came together in this city and bunglingly went through with a convention.” The proceedings of the convention indicate that young Kern was probably the center of attention, making many of the motions which directed the course of the delegates, and finally being chosen chairman of the committee on resolutions and entrusted with the formulation of the party platform. These resolutions were written largely by him, and after a discussion in which he participated were adopted much in the form in which they were submitted. While there was something of the extravagant in part of the phrasing and something of the buncombe seemingly inseparable from party platforms to this day, these resolutions are indicative of views which in a broad sense were never abandoned by the then boy chairman.

A part of these resolutions were evidently intended to meet local prejudices at the time, but in view of the absence from Howard county of any appreciable laboring, or artisan class, the prominence given their interests show that Kern’s special championing of their rights in later life was not of new birth. The resolutions were adopted, and the convention directed its attention to the nomination of a candidate for the legislature.

One candidate had presented himself, an old farmer, who does not appear to have appealed to the leaders as available. At any rate C. N. Pollard, then a prominent lawyer and destined to the judgeship, placed young Kern in nomination. The boy leader instantly demurred, saying that while he “loved to work for the time-honored principles of the party” he was too young, had never even voted, and therefore respectfully declined. Pollard in rejoinder insisted that the reasons given were not sufficient and ended by demanding the services of the young lawyer in the campaign. Milton Bell, a rising lawyer, followed in rejecting Kern’s reasons, declaring as a reason for his nomination that he was “young, vigorous, fresh and able,” and comparing him to the improved needle gun. Others followed along the same line, and, notwithstanding the vigorous protest of the one avowed candidate for the place, Kern was nominated by a vote of 39 to 8.

This remarkable action in nominating a boy not yet of age was not a mere impulse of the convention. Throughout the summer of 1870 the young lawyer had been impressing himself upon the community, both by his speeches and writings. Just before the convention met he had established a reputation as an orator, and The Kokomo Democrat, in its issue of August 3, in referring to one of his speeches, had said: “We heard it. Considering the intense heat of the evening and the great disadvantage under which he spoke it was an eloquent and able effort and so regarded. The court house was crowded and the audience went away entertaining as high an opinion of the Kokomo boy as ever.” And during the summer he had written articles for The Democrat over his initials calculated to fire the Democratic heart.

The announcement in little more than a week after the convention of the “speaking dates of John W. Kern” with the postscript that “other speakers would accompany him” bears witness to the seriousness with which he accepted the duty thrust upon him, and it was not long until The Kokomo Tribune, the Republican organ, found it advisable to devote much of its editorial space to attempted refutations of his arguments and to neutralizing the danger from his personal popularity with appeals for party regularity. The Republicans had nominated against him Captain Kirkpatrick, an idol of the soldiers, who were strong in Howard, and among Kern’s first moves was to challenge his opponent to a series of joint debates—an invitation that was declined. It was the year of Sedan, many citizens of German extraction lived in Howard, and it is interesting in the light of the present great war to find that sentiment in Indiana was quite generally with the Prussians because of the prevalent dislike for Louis Napoleon. Early in the campaign Kern spoke at a German celebration and The Tribune, evidently concerned over the possible effect of his speech, hastened to say:

“John W. Kern in his speech at the German meeting on Monday night condemned in unmeasured terms the man or party that sympathized with Louis Napoleon. His sympathies were with the Prussians all the time. On that question John is right, but many of his party are against him.”

That the youth with all his enthusiasm possessed an abundance of practical political judgment may be assumed from the fact that he took cognizance of the overwhelming Republican majority in refusing to make his fight along strictly party lines, refrained from mentioning the parties by name, and devoted himself exclusively to the reform issue. This policy from which he refused to be diverted by the gray beards of the Republican party soon got on the nerves of the Republican organ, which was moved to say:

“John W. Kern is not a party man now. Oh, no! But he was nominated by a convention called by the chairman of the Democratic county committee. He will vote for Henderson for congress, and if sent to the legislature for Voorhees for senator. But he ignores party! Such thin sophistry will make a fool of no one.”

And again we find the same fearsome note struck:

“Kern doesn’t want the voters of the county to allow Wildman, Jay, or Phillips to dictate how they shall vote, but he wants to do the dictating. John has put himself in the belly of the Trojan horse. As soon as he shall get himself inside the walls of the city he will turn himself loose.”

Meanwhile the editor of The Tribune and Kirkpatrick seemed to feel in need of all possible help and the Republican organ contained numerous attacks on the boy candidate under the caption “Communicated.” In one of these the writer described Kern as “a young lawyer with a reputation for two things—making smart speeches and smoking cigars”—a reputation he lived up to throughout his life.

He closed the campaign at Alto to an audience of his boyhood friends, and if The Tribune is to be credited followed this later in the night on the streets of Kokomo with “a bitter partisan speech.”

The election resulted in his defeat by so small a margin that The Tribune editorially confessed its chagrin. It is to be presumed that he carried out his wager with Tony Jay, a Kokomo packer, and blacked that worthy’s boots on the street in front of the Clinton House—the leading hostelry of the town.

The campaign had firmly established his reputation as a very young man with a very old and level head, possessed of eloquence, tact, political judgment, and all the elements of leadership. And this before he was of age! Living as he was to do throughout his life in Republican communities he was not to attain the goal of his ambition until late in life, but had he lived in England and been thus equipped he would probably have entered parliament like Fox and Pitt as a mere boy and gone far.

II

In the year 1870 the political services of the boy leader were not confined to preparing resolutions and making stirring speeches. He was the most potent factor in the establishment of a Democratic newspaper in Kokomo. The story of the origin of The Radical Democrat, which was to change its name later to The Kokomo Despatch and as such to take high rank among the party papers of the state, is intimately interwoven with the political history of Kern. In the spring of that year W. J. Turpin, anxious to establish a Democratic paper and in search of a location, was advised to turn his attention to Kokomo, and “for further information to write J. W. Kern.” He did write to the boy leader and the encouragement from Kern impelled him to make a personal investigation, and he went to Kokomo. A youth of precisely Kern’s age, twenty, and without a penny of capital, his project could have held forth little promise of a successful issue to one with less than Kern’s bubbling buoyancy and audacity. He has told the story of his conference with young Kern in some reminiscences published in later years.

“Mr. Kern was not yet one and twenty. He was literally slopping over with soul and life. Recent college triumphs had inspired him with a hope and confidence for the future. I recognized in him at once the uncaged Nubian lion of the community. Upon one point we were agreed—the capital was of but secondary and slight importance to the furtherance of our object. We closed, and from that moment began a fervent and unabating friendship.”

On the following day Kern accompanied Turpin on a canvass of the town for subscriptions, heading the list himself, and during the day procuring more than a hundred subscriptions. The Democrats were willing to take a risk and the Republicans could see no possible danger in the competition. The embryo editor thereupon plunged into the country townships with the view to increasing his circulation list, leaving with Kern the task of collecting enough real money to make a payment on an office. At length arrangements were made whereby each issue could be put out at a cost of $25, and a Democrat was persuaded to furnish office rent free. Such was the beginning of The Kokomo Despatch.

This, however, did not end Kern’s connection with the paper, for he appears by Turpin’s admission to have been a copious contributor to the editorial columns, and throughout the remainder of his residence in Kokomo he was charged at various times with plying his pen in the interest of the party and the paper. When the editor sold the paper in the late summer of the year of its birth to Doctor Henderson he acknowledged his indebtedness to Kern’s pen in the following tribute:

“John W. Kern has contributed much to the success of this enterprise. To him I shall ever feel under obligations, and I am also proud that the party in this county numbers among its young men one of so much earnestness and purity of purpose who promises to be truly a Defender of the Faith.”

Thus in his twentieth year he had established the reputation of being the most effective Democratic orator in the county, had made the most spectacular and brilliant campaign made by a Democrat in Howard in many years, given the Republicans their first real scare in a generation, won recognition as a leader of tact and judgment, and made possible the publication of a Democratic party organ in that wilderness of radical Republicanism.

III

In the spring of 1871 Kern’s growing popularity was attested by his election by the city council, composed of five Republicans and three Democrats, as city attorney—a position to which he was to be repeatedly re-elected by successive councils and without regard to the political complexion of that body. Although a strong partisan his winning personality exerted an influence beyond the party wall, and that generosity and geniality toward his political opponents which was to lead Senator Beveridge years later to pronounce him “the Bayard of the Hoosier Democracy” was even then pronounced.

In the Democratic county convention of that year he appears to have been a dominating factor. It was the year when thousands of old-fashioned Democrats found in party regularity a bitter hardship because of the nomination of Horace Greeley for the presidency. Even Voorhees in a speech acquiescing in the nomination acknowledged the bitterness of the pill. This lead to the appearance of a new Kokomo newspaper called The Liberal, with Kern’s name at the head of the editorial columns, and described by The Kokomo Tribune as “a lively little paper full of Democracy, Greeleyism, Hendrickism and what-you-call-it.” It does not appear from the newspapers of that year that he participated very actively in the speaking campaign, but he was evidently in the midst of things from the occasional references of the Republican paper to his activities. Thus in describing a Democratic rally The Tribune pictures him on horseback “riding along the procession urging cheers for Hendricks,” the nominee for governor; and at another Democratic meeting he is described as vehemently urging the unresponsive crowd to give “three cheers for Greeley” and to “go up-stairs and hear C. N. Pollard.”

By 1874 we find his position as the Democratic leader in Howard assured and as the sole representative of the county he was attending caucuses of the State Committee at Indianapolis. In the county convention of that year he was the general in command. The papers reported that out of the thirty-two motions made all were made by Kern but three. It had by this time come to be the custom to top off all county conventions in Howard with a ringing party exhortation from the boy leader, and in ’74 he was still harping on the necessity for “reform,” though now with special reference to the conditions in the court house. “Kern was then called for and spoke on the subject of reform,” wrote the editor of The Tribune, “If he had lived in the days of the Reformation he would have been the head and front of that movement. As a reformer Kern is a success.” It was in this campaign that he pounded the Republican machine of Kokomo with such vigor as to cause evident distress. The county officials had been obsessed with a mania for supplying their offices not only with the necessities but with all the luxuries obtainable. He brought all his withering power of ridicule to bear upon arm rests, paper weights, dusters, fancy stationery and numerous other articles deemed non-essential by the average Howard county farmer of that day, but his greatest scorn was reserved for the “McGill machine.” This was a new invention for clamping papers together, and it was Kern’s policy in addressing an audience in the country to dwell at great length and in awesome fashion upon the “McGill machine” until his farmer audience had conjured up a picture of something resembling in general outline a threshing machine, and then to spring the tiny machine upon them with the rather fancy price paid for it by the commissioners. He succeeded in making the “McGill machine” an issue in the campaign, the bone of hot contention, and every one who was not indignant over the purchase was laughing about it.

IV

The “paramount issue” in the campaign of 1876 was reform. It swept the country like a tidal wave. It made logical and inevitable the nomination of Samuel J. Tilden, the great reform governor of New York for the presidency by the Democrats. It played havoc with the ambitions of several worthy men in Indiana who had been guilty of petty extravagances in office but whose personal probity was no protection against the hysteria of the hour which pilloried them as unworthy of public favor and erased their names from the party tickets. It was the year that the Republicans thought they were disgracing Godlove S. Orth, as honorable a man as ever lived, by removing him from the head of their ticket when they were only shaming themselves; and the Democrats assumed that they were advertising their virtue by driving from their judicial ticket such honorable men and able jurists as Judges Buskirk, Downey and Pettit, when they were only exposing their weakness. There was, in those days, ample justification for the cry of reform, and we have seen that before he had attained his majority Mr. Kern had been strongly impressed with the necessity of it, but, like many good movements, it went to extremes, and we shall see that the young Kokomo leader shared in this weakness with many others.

We first find him active in ’76 in the county convention of Howard, where he was the dominating figure, and delivered what appears to have been a long and forceful speech on his favorite topic of reform. The Tribune merely quoted one sentence from this speech to the effect that “the Democracy disowns Ben Hill,” with the comment that both Hill and Kern would be at the St. Louis convention, “Hill as a big whale and Kern as a tadpole.” The spicy editor was also grateful for the length of the speech, which “gave the reporters plenty of time to do real work on really important matters;” and another comment on the convention was to the effect that “the following persons took prominent part in the convention: John W. Kern, K. W. Yern, K. J. Wern, J. Kern Worth, etc.” The same year Kern was recognized by the state Democracy by his selection for the secretaryship of the state convention at Indianapolis. It was a convention characterized by great enthusiasm. Party leaders addressed the throngs from the balconies of hotels, and The Indianapolis Journal, in describing this manifestation of earnestness and enthusiasm, said that the party leaders spoke everywhere “from Voorhees, who spoke from the balcony of the Grand all the way down to one Kern of Kokomo, who was found haranguing a group of hack drivers from a soap box on Indiana avenue.” No better evidence of the partisan bitterness of that historic year could be asked than the fact that The Kokomo Tribune described the proceedings under the headline—“Hoodlums.”

It was a little after the state convention that the young leader from Howard attracted state-wide attention by the ferocity of his attack upon Judge Worden of the supreme court in the district convention at Muncie. Few abler men have ever sat upon the bench, and none of greater personal or official probity, but the members of the supreme court had been guilty of the unpardonable extravagance of having purchased stationery and some of the conveniences for their offices and one by one as they appeared for renomination they were retired until Worden made his successful fight in the Fort Wayne district. Many years afterward, a year before his nomination for the vice-presidency, and in an address before the Bar Association on “Great Indiana Lawyers,” Mr. Kern referred to the incident as an extravaganza of his youth. His own description is the best one for the purpose here:

“The spirit of reform was strong upon me then. That was in ’76. I attended the convention of my district, which was held in Muncie. The county of Howard was then in the Fort Wayne district. I went over there determined to do what I could to purge the Democratic ticket of those unregenerate men who had brought disgrace upon the fair name of the party of Jefferson and Jackson. We went there, and the question as to whether or not Judge Worden should be removed was presented on a motion to adjourn. Allen county (the home of Worden) was there in force. About 200 shouters were there. They knew more about politics than I did at that early day, and the discussion was heated. I waited until Judge Worden’s champions had let loose their thunder, and then I proceeded to let mine loose. It did not occur to me that Judge Worden might be there, but I made a vindictive speech, because, as I say, the spirit of reform was strong upon me. I denounced the extravagance and profligacy of those men who had betrayed their trust in the bitterest and most vindictive terms. I had exhausted my vocabulary in my effort to villify those men who I thought had brought disgrace upon the party. And when I sat down a gentleman who was seated a little way in my rear tapped me on the shoulder. I looked around, and Judge Worden said to me, ‘Young man, I think I must form your acquaintance.’ “He did not change my vote, however, but when the vote was taken, it was so overwhelmingly in favor of Judge Worden that I finally compromised by moving to make it unanimous. Afterward I came to know Judge Worden better, and he was really a great lawyer.”

Attached though he was to “reform,” it appears that he was not enamored of the candidacy of Tilden, and before the St. Louis convention, in the ardor of his opposition, which probably was born of his devotion to Hendricks rather than to any real objections to the New York governor, he made the statement that he would not vote for Tilden if nominated. The seriousness of the threat was evident in the comment of The Kokomo Tribune immediately after the convention:

“John W. Kern declared upon his honor before the St. Louis convention that he would not vote for Tilden if nominated. Now he authorizes us to say that he is a liar and will vote for him. Of course.”

As a matter of fact he was more active than ever upon the stump, not only in his own section of the state, but in distant parts, and the effectiveness of his speeches in Howard may be judged from the unrestrained fury with which The Tribune assailed him in a personal way. It is doubtful if more bitter personal attacks have ever been made upon any politician anywhere or at any time, but it does not appear that Kern took any notice of them. The fact that the opposition paper referred to him in this campaign as “the Democratic party of Howard county” may throw some light upon the motives for the attack. Where it had previously softened its political asperities with scarcely veiled personal admiration, it now spoke of him habitually as “this fellow Kern.”

Two years later, in 1878, so vicious had some of the Republican leaders become against him that the scurrilous story was circulated that at a Democratic meeting in Anderson he had “thanked God for the death of Oliver P. Morton.” This was too brutal in its falsity for The Kokomo Tribune, which made an investigation and denial with the statement that “Kern is about as mean a Democrat as anybody ... but this article is intended to give the devil his due.” It appears that in 1880 he was not a member of any committee or a delegate to any convention, but later in the campaign he was drafted to run for prosecuting attorney, and again he ran several hundred ahead of his ticket without winning.

In the county convention of 1882 we find him reviewing the issues as he had done regularly for twelve years. His speech this year smacked strongly of the position he so prominently took in later years regarding corruption in elections. Reporting the speech The Kokomo Despatch said:

“He bore down heavily on the use of money at the polls and predicted that the time would come when every candidate who uses money to buy his nomination or election will be repudiated and spewed out by the people.”

This practically ends his political career as a citizen of Kokomo, for the next campaign was to find him a candidate on the state ticket, and upon his election he changed his residence to Indianapolis. From that time, however, until his death, thirty-three years later, the Democracy of Howard county claimed him as its own, and in campaign after campaign he was called upon until the last one in which he ever participated to discuss the issues in Kokomo.

Many stories are still told to illustrate the impression made by the Kern of this period upon the voters of Howard county. One of these relates to the supreme confidence of a Quaker idolater of his living in the Quaker stronghold of New London, where Democrats were a novelty. One cold election morning this venerable Democrat hobbled laboriously to the polls to be confronted by an old character of the village by the name of Uncle Jimmy Arnett, who was noted for the uncompromising bitterness of his Republicanism with the question:

“How art thou this morning?”

“My rheumatics is very bad. I could hardly get here.”

“Thou must be very old. How does’st thou intend to vote?”

“I am past eighty, but have always voted the Democratic ticket since I first voted for Andy Jackson.”

“Thou art old and hath but a brief time on earth and should make thy calling and election sure. Thou had’st better vote the Republican ticket.”

“I don’t know that the way a man votes has much to do with his future spiritually,” was the indignant reply.

“But does’st thou not know that the Good Book says that ‘no Democrat can enter the kingdom of heaven?’”

“Well, it seems to me that the Bible does say something like that.”

“Well, thou had’st but a short time and if the Good Book is true thou takest an awful risk. Thou had’st better vote the Republican ticket.”

“No, I will not. In fact, if John Kern was here he could explain all that away.”

Stories of this general nature taken from his Kokomo days might be multiplied, for Kern stories have been plentiful in Howard for half a century. His popularity never waned.

CHAPTER IV
Reporter of the Supreme Court—1884-1889

I

AT the age of thirty-seven Kern took a survey of his life and an inventory of his resources and found himself dissatisfied with the result. He had a local reputation as a young man of unusual promise and ability as a lawyer, was extraordinarily popular among his Howard county neighbors, and was known as a forceful and eloquent speaker among the Democratic leaders of the state. But his worldly stores were not in keeping with his ability, and he faced the fact that he had not properly realized on his capacity. Thus it was that in 1884 he decided to be a candidate for a state office. Actuated partly by the fact that it was in the line of his profession and partly because it was at that time a highly remunerative office he concluded to be a candidate for the nomination for reporter of the supreme court. Already well and favorably known in his section of the state and among the politicians from every section his availability was impressed upon the democracy of every community through the publication in local papers of editorials “made in Kokomo” in the office of The Kokomo Despatch. This publicity factory was under the management of his friend, Oscar Henderson, afterward auditor of state. And it did effective work.

It is probable that no Democratic convention in the history of Indiana has ever been so distinguished in the personnel of its participants as was that which convened in English’s Opera House in Indianapolis in the closing days of June, 1884. Although a Democratic president had not crossed the threshold of the White House since Buchanan, the party in Indiana had never lost its courage or its militancy, and it had never been so spirited as during the summer of the year of its first national triumph in almost a quarter of a century. The national convention had not yet been held and while the reform governor of New York was being vigorously pushed for the presidential nomination it was by no means certain that he would be nominated. At any rate it did not enter into the plans of the Indiana democracy, which determined to press the claims of one of her own most distinguished statesmen, Joseph E. McDonald, formerly a member of the United States senate. While not so sagacious a politician and party leader as Hendricks nor such a brilliant, dashing, picturesque figure on the firing line as Voorhees, he was, in many respects, the intellectual superior of both. He had something of the dignity, solidity and majesty with which popular imagination clothes the Roman senator of antiquity.

Thus when Senator McDonald appeared upon the platform of the English Opera House that June morning in 1884 to call the convention to order he was hailed as the prospective standard bearer of the democracy in the national campaign. He presented to the convention, as its chairman, Senator Daniel W. Voorhees, whose hold upon the affections of the rank and file had constantly strengthened during his twenty-six years of public life, and whose genius and eloquence in the presentation of political issues has never been equaled in the state. After stirring the delegates to a high pitch of enthusiasm in his “keynote” speech, he introduced the chairman of the committee on Resolutions, William H. English, who only four years before had been the party’s nominee for the vice-presidency on the ticket with Hancock.

The only contests in the convention were over the nominations for governor and reporter of the supreme court, and the gubernatorial contest was between two of the greatest figures that ever led the democracy of the Hoosier state, Isaac P. Gray, afterward Indiana’s choice for the presidency, who died while ambassador to Mexico, and David Turpie, who had already served in the United States senate and was to return to that body a little later. While Turpie was much the abler man, a statesman of high order, he was not the equal of the astute Gray as a politician, and the latter was easily nominated on the first ballot.

McDonald, Voorhees, English, Gray and Turpie—all prominent participants in one state convention, the only absent leader of the first magnitude was Hendricks, who was to be nominated for the vice-presidency with Cleveland in less than a month. It was in such a convention that John W. Kern made his initial bow to the state democracy.

Seldom has any party put forth a stronger ticket than that on which Kern was nominated. Gray, one of the best campaigners in the state, was nominated for governor; Captain W. R. Myers, nominated for secretary of state, continued for a quarter of a century one of the most powerful figures on the stump; John J. Cooper, nominated for treasurer, was a business man of high character whose name is still conjured with; Francis T. Hord, the nominee for attorney-general, was one of the strong lawyers of the state; and James H. Rice, popularly known to this day, though dead for many years, as “Jim” Rice, was one of the cleverest politicians and most delightful personalities that ever moved across the political stage.

And this convention, notable in every way, was able to dispose of its business and adjourn in three hours and a half, having met at 10 A. M. and adjourned at 1:30 P. M.

II

The campaign of 1884, in which Kern first appeared on the platform as a party leader, and the two following contests during which he was in office, were among the most exciting and picturesque in the history of state politics. It was the day of immense meetings, of torchlight processions when party papers quarreled over the number of torches carried in parades, and over the number of men who rode on horseback—a day of joint debates, and bitter assaults. And it was the day of real giants. Hendricks in ’84 was to make his last appearance. Voorhees was sweeping over the state leaving behind a frenzy of enthusiasm, McDonald was speaking the more sober language of statesmanship to great assemblies, Turpie was discoursing textbooks on political science from which less erudite politicians were to learn their lessons. Gray was meeting Calkins in joint debates from which the amateur debaters of the country stores, the blacksmith shops and the street corners were to get their cue; John E. Lamb, just out of his twenties and known from river to lake as “the blue-eyed boy of destiny,” was setting the woods on fire by driving his opponents in congressional races from the stump; Benjamin F. Shively, still in his twenties, was duplicating the trick in the South Bend district; and a young and exceedingly popular politician was just beginning to attract attention as a party manager in Marion county—Tom Taggart.

From the beginning of the campaign Kern was one of the most active and effective figures on the stump, as is disclosed by a consultation of the files of The Indianapolis Sentinel. This indicates that he confined his speeches largely to the tariff question and spoke usually for two hours. In the campaign of ’84 we find him speaking to “a large and enthusiastic audience for two hours” at Bourbon; addressing “5,000 people on Michigan street,” in Michigan City, where his speech was “invariably considered to have been the ablest delivered in the present campaign.” Here, too, he was given “a grand ovation” and reviewed “the largest procession of the campaign with over 1,000 torches in line.” At Dekalb he spoke to “a bigger meeting than Voorhees had in the county” and was given “one of the grand ovations of the season.” The correspondent at Dekalb in his enthusiasm wrote: “Too much praise can not be given Mr. Kern for the eloquent, logical and convincing manner in which he handles the subjects at issue. He is making one of our best political orators, and in time will have more than a state reputation.” The Sentinel’s correspondent at Hagerstown assures us that “his speech was the most effective delivered here during the campaign,” that he “discussed the tariff in a masterly manner,” and that “his social manner won for him a host of friends irrespective of party.”

It is evident that he made a fine impression in the campaign of 1884 from the nature of the assignments that were given him in the next campaign. He had evidently become a favorite on the stump. The columns of The Indianapolis Sentinel for this campaign indicate that after the great leaders of the time, Voorhees, Gray, Turpie and McDonald, he was a favorite with partisan audiences. Thus in the report of his speech at Logansport this year he is referred to as “John the Eloquent;” the report from his Greenfield meeting referred to him as “one of Indiana’s finest orators” and to the “easy and graceful way he showed up General Harrison;” the Rushville correspondent wrote that “the name of John W. Kern was sufficient to insure a full house” and “the impression left behind is highly complimentary to Mr. Kern.” Something of the militant nature of his partisanship during this period may be gathered from an incident connected with his meeting at Connersville. Finding that he was dated to speak the same night that Colonel Charles L. Holstein was to discuss the issues from the Republican point of view, he immediately challenged the colonel to meet him on the same platform in a joint discussion—an invitation that was not considered attractive. Kern then spoke at his own meeting and the report has it that “his fiery review of the Republican protective tariff robbery aroused great enthusiasm.” But the most laudatory account of any of his meetings in this campaign was sent out, naturally enough, from Kokomo, in which he was described as “the most eloquent orator of his years in Indiana.” It then went on to describe his speech—“The young man eloquent was in splendid form and his speech was admitted on all sides to have been the ablest effort on either side during the present campaign.... For one and a half hours he poured hot shot into the rotten hull of the enemies’ craft. Old Democrats declare they have never heard a more electrical speech in their lives. Put the Howard county democracy down solid for Kern for governor bye and bye.”

If any further evidence were necessary to establish the fact that during the time he was reporter of the supreme court he was looked upon in many quarters as the future leader of the party, two cards that appeared in The Indianapolis Sentinel at the time would surely suffice. These cards are important to our purpose in establishing Kern’s status between 1885 and 1889. An “Indianapolis attorney” wrote:

“If the Democrats intend to push young men to the front for the governorship and party leadership, what is the matter with John W. Kern, reporter of the supreme court? He is the man whom the late Vice-President Hendricks once referred to as ‘one of the rising Democratic leaders of Indiana.’ At the last election he received a larger popular vote than any man on the state ticket except Judge Mitchell, who had the additional support of the Greenbackers, and he even got a larger majority than the latter. Then there is no man in the state who comes nearer being the political idol of the young democracy, and I know of hundreds of young Republicans who would support him for any position to which he might aspire. No one can say that John Kern can’t make a speech; there is not a public talker in the state who can arouse the ‘boys’ in a speech more completely than he; and then he has brains enough to fill any position; is shrewd enough for a manager, and no one has more personal friends.”

The following day another card appeared from “An Old-Style Democrat.”

“Your talk from an Indianapolis attorney made me a little zealous. While it is true that ‘John W. Kern is the idol of the young democracy of the state,’ he is no less a favorite of us old Democrats. He is young, able and progressive, just such a man as we need. John W. Kern is a born leader. To be sure he is young, but he has got a mighty old head on him, and it will be seen that he don’t need much pushing to get to the front.”

I am indebted to Dr. E. E. Quivey of Fort Wayne for some interesting recollections of the Kern of the eighties. In the campaign of 1884 he was a member of a Democratic quartette which was sent over the state with various orators, and for three weeks the quartette accompanied Kern. Any one knowing him in the latter years of his life will find in these reminiscences a striking likeness to the man they knew. His charm of manner, courtesy, thoughtfulness, simplicity and democracy of bearing are prominently featured in Doctor Quivey’s recollections:

“At this time Mr. Kern was a comparatively young man and not widely known in Indiana outside the confines of his own district. He was very slender and in the long frock coat of the period seemed much taller than when I saw him years afterward. He had an abundance of hair which was almost black and which he wore rather long, but always neatly trimmed about the edges. His face was rather pale and already lines were graven on his forehead and about the eyes, which, together with heavy eyebrows, gave an expression of austerity which wholly belied his nature. Although an indefatigable worker he was not a rugged man, and was therefore very careful of his physical welfare, using every precaution to forestall some seemingly ever-impending illness. While I am sure that he had many hours of physical discomfort, he never even intimated that he was not in the best of health.

“Wherever he appeared he made a profound impression by his fluent speech and the compelling force of his logic. He seldom embellished his thoughts with figurative language, and his speeches were entirely devoid of verbosity; his power seemed to lie in the earnest, lucid simplicity of his appeal. He never sought to please the fancy of his auditors by lofty flights of oratory, nor did he indulge in any of the tricks that crafty orators employ for applause. Indeed applause seemed more disconcerting than pleasing to him.

“He was by far the most approachable public man we had encountered. The distant, awe-inspiring characteristics of some of the other speakers were wholly foreign to his nature.

“Mr. Kern’s humanity was made evident on several occasions, but the following incident will suffice to show that he possessed this ennobling quality to a very marked degree. It was at Monticello, if my memory serves me rightly, that one of the boys had an acute attack of indigestion and he was violently sick for a few hours. Mr. Kern did not know it until it was time to leave for the meeting; and when told that Carlston was ill, disappointment and alarm were expressed on his face as he said, ‘Where is he? Take me to him.’ He was shown to Carlston’s room, which was indeed a cheerless one, and after a quick survey of the surroundings he said, ‘This won’t do; we can not leave him here.’ And he insisted that he be transferred to a warm and cheerful room, that a physician be summoned at once, and that some one be secured to stay with him during our absence. Nor would he go to the meeting, despite the impatient entreaties of the committee to ‘hurry up,’ until every detail for Carlston’s comfort had been completed.

“An amusing incident happened on the day following which revealed a phase of Mr. Kern’s character not often brought to the surface. Under no consideration would he deliberately offer offense to any one, and he was inclined to let personal incivilities go unrebuked and apparently unnoticed. Yet when goaded to retaliation he was equal to any emergency. It seems that some of the Republican papers were claiming that William H. Calkins had challenged Senator Voorhees to meet him in a series of joint debates and that Voorhees would not respond to the challenge. During Kern’s speech, I think at Crown Point, a man in the audience kept interrupting him with inquiries as to why Senator Voorhees refused to meet Calkins in joint debate. At first no attention was paid to the interruptions, but the man was so persistent that finally Mr. Kern stopped, pointed his finger at the disturber and said, ‘I am surprised than any one in Indiana has the hardihood to ask such a question. Sir, it is evident that you do not know Senator Voorhees and Mr. Calkins. Why, my friend, you could no more drag William H. Calkins into a discussion with Senator Voorhees than you could lasso a wild goose a mile high.’

“One day after Mr. Kern had spoken at an afternoon meeting we drove to another town some twelve or fifteen miles distant, where he was scheduled to speak at night. Upon our arrival he went directly to the hotel to arrange for accommodations for the night. The office, which was dingy and cheerless, offered anything but encouraging prospects for the night. It was a typical country town hotel of the period with three or four of the proverbial loafing cronies of the landlord in evidence. When Mr. Kern registered the landlord looked at the name over his spectacles, and then at Mr. Kern, and no doubt hoping to create a laugh at Kern’s expense, said, ‘So you’re the feller what’s goin’ to make a Democratic speech here to-night. Well, you fellers may be Democrats, but I tell ye right now yer stoppin’ at a Republican hotel.’ Kern in a droll manner that was ridiculously funny replied, ‘I suspected as much; the Republican hostelries this fall are very gloomy places.’

“It became our custom before going to bed to gather in Kern’s room and spend an hour or two in smoking, reviewing the events of the day, and singing, and those preslumber occasions I shall ever hold as cherished memories. They were indeed pleasant hours, and I am sure Mr. Kern enjoyed them as much as did we boys, for the gatherings were invariably held at his suggestion. He was fond of sentimental ballads and simple melodies, and I recall two songs which he often asked us to sing, and to which he always listened with profound attention. Of one of these songs I can recall but one verse and the chorus:

“I am longing so sadly, I’m longing
For the days that have vanished and fled,
For the flowers that around us were blooming
That, alas, are all withered and dead.
Tints that of all the rarest
Fade as upon them we gaze
And the hours that are brightest and fairest
Soon are hid with the lost yesterdays.
Flitting, flitting away,
All that we cherished most dear.
There is nothing on earth that will stay;
Roses must die with the year.”

“Another song of which he was especially fond was ‘The Little Old Church on the Hill.’

“One night in Kern’s room when we finished that song he said: ‘Boys, that song tells a story and paints a picture of simple rural life that all men should reverence. It is the story of the people who are the bulwark of the nation’s life.’”

It is on just such occasions as are herein described that the real character of a man asserts itself. No one who ever knew Mr. Kern at any period of his life will fail to recognize the fidelity of the portrait painted from memory by a man who was scarcely more than a boy when he knew the original.

III

The four years that Mr. Kern was reporter of the supreme court, 1885-1889, have been described by him in an address before the Indiana Bar Association as “in many respects the most interesting of my life.” The five judges of the supreme court with whom he was intimately associated during these years among the greatest lawyers and most distinguished men who ever sat upon the supreme bench of Indiana at one time.

Not least among the things that went to make this “the most interesting period of his career” was his intimate association with the members of the bench. He did his work well, as the seventeen volumes of the Indiana Reports bearing his name testify. But in later years it was the amusing incidents of the period that he largely drew upon in conversation. He loved his practical joke then as throughout his life, and he frequently related the following at the expense of Judge Niblack, who was not much given to frivolity. The judge had decided a case from Pike county in which some people had been indicted for maltreating a goose under the statute regarding cruelty to animals. The point at issue was as to whether a goose was an animal within the meaning of the statute and Niblack decided that it was. One of the judge’s pet hobbies was a short syllabi and he cautioned Kern and his deputies against long ones with such frequency that it made a rather disagreeable impression on the reporter. In the Pike county case, bearing Niblack’s admonition in mind, Kern decided to write the syllabus himself. He made the headline, “Criminal Law,” the subhead, “Cruelty to Animals,” and the text, “A goose is an animal.” He said nothing about it to Niblack, who read it for the first time in the proof, and then went to Kern. “I want to talk to you a little about this syllabus in the Pike county case,” he said.

“You have said to me repeatedly that you wanted these syllabi cut as short as I could,” Kern replied with simulated heat, “I had an opportunity here to show you what I could do with this opinion. You have decided that this goose was an animal, and I have so put it in the proof.”

The old judge, taking it all seriously, and assuming a conciliatory tone, replied:

“That is all right, but in this syllabus you stated it too abruptly, and I wish you would lengthen it out a little.”

This does not imply that Kern merely sought the amusing side of his work. He took pride in doing his work thoroughly and well. It was in some respects a post graduate course in the law. And no office in Indiana aside from that of governor has higher traditions or has been filled by so many men of distinction in political life. Notable among these were Benjamin Harrison, afterward president; Michael C. Kerr, afterward speaker of the National House of Representatives; Albert G. Porter, afterward governor and ambassador to Italy, and Mr. Kern, afterwards leader of the United States Senate, was to be succeeded by John L. Griffiths, one of the most brilliant orators of his time, who died while Consul-General to London. During the four years of his incumbency, Kern measured up to the high traditions of the office.

IV

Meanwhile he was extending his acquaintance among the politicians of the state, who flocked to Indianapolis during this period of party rejuvenation and renewed hope. When not in his office he was usually to be found in the hotels or wherever the politicians congregated.

It was a period when the political worker was expected to be given more or less to conviviality, or as it was expressed to “sociability.” And never were social animals more in evidence than during this period. The young reporter of the supreme court, with his glow of humor, his ready wit, his good fellowship, soon became a prime favorite in the circle of conviviality, and the continual stream of politicians into the capital from over the state sought his companionship. The result was disastrous to his purse and destructive of his health, if not dangerous to his future. The result was that lucrative though his office was he spent his money as rapidly as he made it, and when he was renominated by his party in the campaign of 1888 he entered the contest as poor in purse though infinitely richer in friends and reputation as politician and speaker as when he sought his first nomination with the view to accumulating money. In this campaign the Democrats were greatly handicapped by the fact that the Republicans had nominated Benjamin Harrison for the presidency and with crowds of enthusiastic partisans flocking to Indianapolis from all parts of the country, the element of state pride entered into the contest. Not satisfied with this advantage the Republican managers resorted to the notorious “blocks of five” plan of corruption, which was exposed, however, in the midst of the campaign. The result was the defeat of the entire Democratic ticket by an astonishingly small margin. Thus Kern left office as poor as when he entered. Indeed he almost immediately afterward disposed of his copyright on his seventeen volumes of reports to the Bowen-Merrill Company for a ridiculously small consideration.

V

Meanwhile he had definitely fixed his residence in Indianapolis, where he had no established practice and nothing to draw upon for immediate returns but his personal popularity and reputation as an orator and lawyer of ability. Before leaving Kokomo Mrs. Kern had died and in December, 1885, he had been married to Araminta A. Cooper, daughter of Dr. William Cooper of Kokomo at the home of her sister in Logansport, many of his political friends, including Governor Isaac P. Gray, “Jim” Rice and District-Attorney John E. Lamb, going up from Indianapolis. Though but nineteen years old at the time of her marriage she became a real helpmate to her husband, mothering his baby daughter Julia, and meeting all her responsibilities then and ever afterward in a manner that increased his admiration for her along with his affection. Devoted to her home and family, of lively disposition, intensely loyal to her own, she was to contribute not only to his happiness during the remainder of his life, but not a little to his success. It was soon after his marriage that Kern finally put behind him the happy-go-lucky irresponsibility and convivial tendencies of his youth and entered upon a new life which was to bring him rich rewards.

On retiring from office, Kern formed a partnership with Leon O. Bailey, a prominent lawyer who, like himself, had a liking for politics and became definitely identified with the bar of Indianapolis, then, as now, notable for its strong men. While the firm engaged in general practice, it gave special attention to the civil side, and Kern, who had distinguished himself in his Kokomo days as a criminal lawyer only occasionally thereafter appeared in criminal cases. It is not the purpose here to dwell at length on his legal career in Indianapolis. Even the most noted cases in which he participated regularly during the remainder of his life or until his election to the senate have no more than a transitory interest. Quite early he added to his reputation at the bar as special counsel for the state of Indiana in the famous railroad tax cases, as special counsel for the government in the equally famous cases growing out of the failure of the Indianapolis National Bank, in the “Swamp Land cases,” which involved great sums of money, and these sufficed to place him toward the head of his profession. With his character as a lawyer we are interested in that it serves to paint the portrait of the man, and with this we shall deal in the chapter—“Kern: A Composite Portrait,” with an analysis of Kern the lawyer, by Mr. Bailey, who was associated with him for ten years.

CHAPTER V
Leader in the Indiana Senate—’93 and’95

I

IT is not often in the recent political history of Indiana that a man with a state reputation as a leader established has aspired to a seat in the state senate, and this made Mr. Kern’s candidacy in 1892 notable. His election assured the Democratic party a leadership in that body of more than ordinary sagacity and militancy. The election of 1892 had resulted in a clean sweep in Indiana for the Democracy, which had not only delivered the electoral vote to Cleveland, but had elected Claude Matthews governor and a large majority in both branches of the legislature. The Kern of this period was quite a different man from the Kern who had retired from the office of reporter of the supreme court four years before. He had entered upon the more serious phase of his career, having put behind him definitely the conviviality of other days. Easily the best known and most eloquent member of the senate, he had the further advantage of being recognized as one of the ablest lawyers who ever sat in the state senate chamber. By sheer force of superior ability and personality he immediately took rank as the leader of his party whatever may have been the intentions of some in position to determine committee assignments. Mortimer Nye, the lieutenant governor, who made the assignments, was generous to Kern in the number of the committees to which he was appointed, including rules, finance, roads, public buildings, the city of Indianapolis, and the chairmanship of the insurance committee, but his failure to place him on the judiciary committee, in view of his position in his profession, was considered by many as remarkable. Indeed Mr. Nye’s committee assignments were quite generally criticized and The Indianapolis Sentinel, the state organ of the party, commented pointedly upon Kern’s absence from the judiciary committee. The lieutenant governor was to prove rather obstreperous and out of harmony with party policy on several notable occasions, and to be something of a thorn in the side of Governor Matthews.

Mr. Kern at this time was described by the legislative correspondents as “among the best-dressed men in the senate.” He appeared habitually in a Prince Albert coat, and when on the streets in a black polished silk hat. His manner was cordial and ingratiating then, as always, and notwithstanding his marked partisanship at this period, the charm of his personality and his chivalric attitude toward opponents made him none the less popular on the Republican than on the Democratic side of the chamber. The legislative session of 1893 was distinguished by several notable new departures in the legislative policy of the state, especially in the line of labor legislation, and here Mr. Kern was a potent factor. He spoke frequently and with marked effect, often with force and eloquence, but more often in his brief remarks speaking in the vein of humor or ridicule.

His first prominent participation in the work of the senate must have been in the discharge of a congenial duty. He had charge of the interests of United States Senator David Turpie, who was up for re-election. In the state convention of 1892 he had undertaken, in conjunction with James M. Barrett of Fort Wayne and a few others, to make Turpie’s re-election a certainty by making an unsuccessful fight before the committee on resolutions for a party declaration in his favor. While David Turpie was one of the most scholarly and worthy champions of Democratic principles the state has produced, he was not given to the graces of typical politicians and, lacking the more spectacular qualities of men like Voorhees, he was never properly appreciated by the rank and file. He might be properly styled a leader of the leaders. After the election an effort had been made in some quarters to inject John G. Shanklin, the brilliant editor of The Evansville Courier, into the contest, but that gentleman refused his consent and favored Turpie. Notwithstanding his position, one vote was cast in caucus for him over the protest of Kern, who was authorized by Shanklin to make it. The speech in which Kern presented Turpie’s name, while eloquent and in better taste than such addresses usually are, is chiefly interesting here for the light it throws on the speaker’s personal attitude toward party leadership. The following excerpt might have been taken from a tribute to Kern himself:

“During these forty years David Turpie has been a Democrat, and whether leading a forlorn hope under dark and lowering skies with defeat inevitable, or whether at the head of a victorious column making a final charge to victory already assured, he has been equally brave and earnest, never wavering for a single moment in his devotion to the cause so dear to his heart. While others faltered and tired, Turpie was renewing his vigor and preparing for a renewal of the fray. While others were dealing with questions of policy and debating the feasibility of new departures, Turpie laid fresh hold upon the teachings of Jefferson, and pressed forward in the cause of honest money, home rule, personal liberty and constitutional method.”

It was during this session that he disclosed the courageous attitude toward public questions which distinguished him ever afterward, and in the light of that record it is difficult to understand the partial success of his political opponents in fixing upon him the reputation of being a trimmer. Among the many measures no longer of interest and pertaining particularly to Indianapolis affairs we are concerned only with one relating to the amendment of the city charter providing in the case of street paving that the crossings should be paid for by the property owners directly affected. For many years it had been the policy to pay for these crossings through general taxation. In the older sections of the city, where property was more valuable and property owners more prosperous, the crossings had been paved, and the poorer classes in less favored sections had been taxed to pay for them. It was the conviction of Mr. Kern that it would be an injustice to change that policy at a time when the poorer sections were preparing for improvements. His view was at war with that of powerful elements. The city administration, a Democratic administration presided over by a mayor who had been twice placed in nomination by Kern himself, favored the amendment to the charter. The Commercial Club, composed at that time of 400 of the leading business men of the city, was aggressively behind it, and the press of the city was insistent upon it. A trimmer lacking in courage would scarcely have undertaken to stem the tide. This Kern did in his first important speech of the session, and while he lost his fight he made an impression that confirmed the general opinion of his ability. In describing this, his first argumentative speech in the state senate, The Indianapolis Sentinel said:

“When Mr. Kern rose all the senators wheeled their chairs around to listen better. This was to be Mr. Kern’s first argument on an important measure, and those who had never heard him in joint discussion wanted to see how he would acquit himself. His reputation as an orator extends all over the state, and though he espoused a losing cause yesterday he did not disappoint his friends.”

II

It was in connection with labor legislation that Kern at this time fashioned his reputation as a public man—a reputation that was to make him ardent friends and powerful foes. Throughout his life his instincts had always impelled him to take up the cudgels for the lowly and oppressed. Even before entering the state senate he had written many bills for the legislative committee of the state federation of labor and the working classes naturally looked to him for leadership. The first battle along these lines in which he participated was in connection with legislation relating to the legal status of the labor union. In the first part of the session a bill had been introduced to legalize the unions and this had been instantly met by the introduction of a bill “for the protection of non-union laborers.” The Democratic caucus quickly disposed of the latter by rejecting it, and Francis T. Hord, its sponsor, threatened for a time to resign his seat. The former bill was bitterly contested and Kern had charge of the measure when it reached the senate. The “business interests,” as they called themselves, were greatly outraged at what they pretended to look upon as a direct interference with their rights. The purport of it was to make it a misdemeanor punishable by fine or imprisonment for any employer of labor to discharge or threaten to discharge an employee because of his connection with labor organizations, or to exact a pledge from them that they would not affiliate with the unions. Only a little while before Pinkerton detectives had shot down the laborers of the Carnegie plant to the applause of that element in the country which pretended to conservatism and respectability. That Kern’s views on the labor question were early formed, deeply felt and consistently held will be seen in the rather fiery speech he made in advocacy of the Deery bill:

“It is a crying shame that in this year, 1893, and in Indiana, there should be a demand for legislation of this kind. It is outrageous that the representative of a great corporation, created by public favor, clothed with the extraordinary power of eminent domain, grown fat and rich by favorable legislation, should have the hardihood to strike at the liberty of its workingmen by demanding of them that they give up membership in their unions, to which they are as devotedly attached as they are to church or party, under penalty of dismissal from employment. In other words, the alternative presented is “renounce your allegiance to your union or go forth without employment to face possible penury and want. ‘I hold in my hand the constitution of one of these organizations in which the purpose of its existence is set forth. It is a high and noble purpose—to rescue our trade from the low level to which it has fallen, and by mutual effort to place it on a foundation sufficiently strong to resist further encroachments; to encourage a higher standard of skill, to cultivate feelings of friendship, to assist each other to secure employment, to relieve our distress and to bury our dead.’

“This is the creed of the men whose organization is imperiled by the arrogant demands of corporate power and wealth and who are compelled to come to this body to ask protection. Mr. President, the paramount object of law is to protect the weak against the strong. Here is a case in which the protection of the laws is most properly invoked. It is an undisputed fact that in this city, where more than 10,000 labor union men are engaged in daily toil—earning a livelihood and piling up wealth for their employers—all loyal and law-abiding citizens, a great corporation, through its authorized agents, drives out its employees, faithful and honest, for the avowed reason that with true American spirit they declined to surrender their sovereignty and at the bidding of the master give up cherished principles and attachments.

“This anti-Pinkerton law was conceded to be and is a most beneficial measure, yet according to the arguments here it would fall under the ban of class legislation. So of the anti-pluck-me-store law and every other enactment in the interest of labor. Organized labor is the outgrowth of organized capital. Labor was organized in self-defense. For years and years and years organized capital was fostered and fed by favorable legislation, until it grew defiant and insolent and refused to treat with decent respect to the rights of the men whose toil gave them wealth. As a result labor organized that it might live—that it might have a share of its production. Its organization brought respect and dignity with it. It Americanized the laborer who had long been denied many of the rights of citizenship. Better work, better morals, better men, happier homes and firesides have resulted. The bill is right. No man who loves liberty should oppose it.”

This extract will suffice to indicate the general character of Kern’s defense of labor unions, and the speech was received with hearty commendation in labor circles throughout the country.

To appreciate the courageous nature of Kern’s act it should be borne in mind that organized labor was in its infancy; that the Knights of Labor only a little while before had gone to pieces; that the national government but four years before had not hesitated to turn the guns of American troops upon striking unionists; and that men calling themselves “conservative” were bitterly opposed to the new movement resulting in the organization of the American Federation of Labor four years before. But in addition to all this, there were local conditions which made Kern’s act one of rare courage. Scarcely a year before, when an effort had been made to organize employees of the street railroad company, the employers resorted to extreme methods to prevent the organization. A serious strike resulted. For several weeks Indianapolis was without street car service. The press, the business element, the “conservatives,” denounced the strikers and finally brought such pressure to bear that the mayor reluctantly consented to furnish police to accompany the cars. The strike was lost. The feeling was bitter. The most powerful influences in Indianapolis were uncompromisingly opposed to unions.

Kern’s speech was consequently notable, not only because it was a supremely courageous performance, but the first one ever uttered in the state senate of Indiana in advocacy of union labor.

The bill was passed and became a law. Labor never forgot the service—and neither did the enemies of labor.

III

Even more epoch-making was the passage during this session of the first employers’ liability law ever enacted in Indiana, and at a time when not more than three other states had passed such legislation. The bill was introduced in the house by S. M. Hench, and after a rather spirited fight it passed that body and reached the senate, where it was diverted from the committee on labor to the judiciary committee. Here it seemed destined to remain. Every effort on the part of its author to get a report was unavailing. Meanwhile a powerful railroad lobby had swooped down on the capitol and was exerting itself in the open to encompass its defeat. It was generally understood that Lieutenant Governor Nye, who was a railroad lawyer with a professional view of the measure, was strongly opposed to it, and when, after having reached the senate on February 17th, the month of March came, with the certainty that but four days remained for the passage of bills, it became apparent that extraordinary measures would have to be taken if it were to become a law. The railroad men’s legislative committee had reached the end of its rope. On the morning of March 1 The Indianapolis Sentinel demanded action upon it in an editorial that placed the lieutenant governor in an embarrassing position by the significant suggestion that “the bill should not have been referred to the judiciary committee in the first place;” and that put the Democratic members on their mettle with the warning that in the event of the failure of its passage “the Democratic party will be held responsible.” This editorial, the first of several that were to appear, was bitterly resented by Mr. Nye and the members of the judiciary committee, who were, nevertheless, thereby placed on the defensive. Other editorials charging responsibility upon the railroad lobby, put all the members of the senate on their guard.

On March 3 the labor leaders appealed to Kern to make one final effort. He was in hearty sympathy with the measure, but up to this time had not been asked to take the active management of it in the senate. On the night of that very day he appeared before the judiciary committee and debated the merits of the bill with the railroad lawyers, who were there to oppose it. The committee, unfriendly from the beginning, and rather embittered, no doubt, by the editorial reflections upon it, stubbornly refused to report the bill unless the railroad employees would agree to accept a certain amendment. On the morning of the 4th, the last day it could be acted upon, Kern called a meeting of the legislative committee of the Federation of Labor, and it was agreed by them that the acceptance of the amendment would be preferable to no bill at all. This agreement on their part was then reduced to writing by Kern, and with the signatures of the legislative committee affixed he hastened to the judiciary committee and insisted upon a report. When the bill was reported with the recommendation that it pass as amended, he moved concurrence in the report, the suspension of the constitutional rules, and its passage. It was now rather late in the day and the amendment required its repassage in the house—a fact that the enemies of the bill doubtless counted upon. But the moment it passed the senate Kern hastened to the house and saw Captain James B. Curtis, the speaker, who had all other business suspended to consider the bill as amended. It only required twenty minutes to get it through the house the second time, and Kern personally took it to the governor for his signature.

This was one of the greatest victories that labor ever won in the Indiana legislature. Since that time the world has moved far in the way of remedial legislation, and the employers’ liability law of 1893 has long been antiquated, but at a time when only two or three states in the union had enacted such legislation it was a signal and significant triumph for the labor cause in Indiana.

This, too, was a service that laboring men never forgot—and this, too, contributed to fix Kern’s status in the minds of the enemies of labor as dangerous and demagogic.

During this same session Kern took a leading part in the passage of a child labor law, a fact that was recalled more than a quarter of a century later when the president of the United States placed upon him the responsibility of piloting through the United States senate the first national child labor measure ever written in the statutes.

Quite as indicative of his life-long attitude toward labor problems was his introduction of a bill to establish a state board of conciliation for the settlement of controversies between employers and employees. This bill reached third reading, but failed of passage.

The close of the session found Kern more of a state figure than he had ever been before. He had been easily the dominating figure, the interesting personality. His speeches had been characterized by more substance, more sparkle, more originality than are customarily heard in the Indiana legislature. His humor and ridicule had delighted the objects of them. His social qualities had endeared him to all his colleagues. And among members of the opposition it was understood that while he was intense in his political convictions there was nothing bigoted or bitter in his estimate of men who opposed them. This was disclosed in many graceful little incidents, as when he moved that the senate adjourn in respect to the memory of James G. Blaine.

IV

The state senate of the session of 1895, due to the political upheaval of 1894, was Republican, and Kern found himself in the rôle of leader of the minority—the only time in his career where he appeared as such. It is significant of his personal popularity and standing among Republicans that the majority in the making of committee assignments placed him upon the judiciary committee from which he had been excluded by a Democratic lieutenant governor, and he was continued on the rules committee and of course with the committee dealing with legislation relating to Indianapolis. Neither the journal of the senate nor the newspapers of the time indicate that he was particularly persistent in his opposition until toward the close of the session. The proceedings of the majority were flagrantly partisan and in many other ways open to censure. The majority was lead by Albert W. Wishard, an Indianapolis lawyer and politician of high professional standing, one of the most brilliant men who ever served in the Indiana legislature, for whom Kern entertained a warm personal regard. The partisan bitterness, however, which developed toward the close of the session did not prevent the latter from warmly defending the Republican leader against the charge of feigning illness to escape a vote. This kind of chivalry characterized him throughout his life, but signally failed to protect him in later years from the most vicious personal attacks on the part of a large portion of the Republican press of the state.

This bitterness of partisan feeling was engendered by the Republican plan for the gerrymandering of the state. The bill agreed upon by the Republican caucus represented partisanship gone mad. The most grotesque combinations of counties were made for congressional and legislative purposes. The most vehement protests of the Democrats and of citizens of sufficiently independent character to resent injustice were of no avail. The Republicans, booted and spurred, rode rough shod over all opposition. A United States senator was to be elected the next year and nothing in the way of the juggling of legislative districts that would make more difficult the re-election of Daniel W. Voorhees was left undone. Appreciating the impossibility of preventing the consummation of the plan, Kern withheld his fire until the bill was put upon its passage, and then in an excoriating speech, all the more severe because every count in the indictment he drew was notoriously true, he voiced his protest in a general denunciation of the legislative record made by the party in power during the session. This speech is historically interesting, especially the following:

“In 1887 you denounced the rules of the senate adopted by the Democratic majority under the leadership of Green Smith as ‘outrageous, brutal and revolutionary,’ and yet on gaining power you re-enact those rules without the dotting of an i or the crossing of a t.

“In former years you have denounced the Democratic legislatures on account of the number of their employees; and yet here in the senate chamber senators can scarcely get in and out of the chamber without stumbling over the crowds of idle and useless employees who swarm about performing no service.

“You have denounced the Democratic ‘profligacy’ in the little items of expenditures about the general assembly, and yet I call your attention to the fact that of the twenty-eight sets of Burns’ statutes purchased by the senate for the state at the commencement of the session every set except three have been stolen and carried away.

“You lay claim to a record of economy and yet, leaving your officers with their princely salaries, you seek to make the record good by taking food and clothing and the comforts of life from those of God’s unfortunate children who are confined in the asylum of the insane, and those who are being educated and cared for in the institutions for the deaf and dumb and blind.

“You have claimed to favor the abolishment of the spoils system from the politics of the state and yet under your legislation of this session politics has been carried into the public schools for the first time in the history of the state.”

Interruption—“How about the Nicholson law?”

Kern—“I am obliged for the interruption. The Democratic party has never posed as the great and only party of morality and temperance. The Republican party has. Do you remember your recent campaign waged under the banner—the Home Against the Saloon? If the Democratic party had made such pretenses as these I am sure its members would not, when the Nicholson bill was called, as it was yesterday, have been found running in all directions like fox chases to dodge a vote. They would have had the courage of their convictions. The Democratic party in the last campaign had no deal with the liquor element of Evansville or elsewhere. It had no entangling alliances that drove its members out of the chamber when the roll is called in order that they might dodge the consequences of a vote. Republican senators here who have been loud in their pretenses of temperance and morality in the years gone by turn pale and tremble and run like hounds at the mere mention of the Nicholson bill. At last they have been smoked from under the cover of hypocrisy and are appalled at the sight of the light of day, which is finally turned upon them.

“The end of these false pretenses is come at last.... And that is why I say that at the close of this session, with this record, it is fitting that there should come this gerrymander which in its iniquity is sufficient to cause the old original Gerry to turn in his grave at the thought of his utter incapacity in that line when compared with the modern Republican reformers of Indiana.”

V

The reference to the Nicholson law was thoroughly understood by all his hearers. In the campaign of 1894 the Republicans had laid claim to being the party of temperance and had held forth the promise to the temperance people that a Republican assembly would mean temperance legislation. This pretense was accepted at face value by the temperance workers. At the same time it was generally understood that one of the Republican leaders had entered into a secret understanding with the “wets” at Evansville that any temperance measure presented would be either pigeonholed or passed in a form that would make it utterly worthless for its purpose. Soon after the legislature met Representative Nicholson had introduced his bill and the game of hide and go seek was on. Seldom if ever have more exciting scenes been witnessed about the state house during a legislative session than those of this period. On days when it was known that any phase of the bill would be discussed in either branch of the assembly the galleries were packed to overflowing and great throngs jostled about in the corridors. The temperance forces were organized and awake. In the pulpits of the capital on Sundays the ministers demanded the passage of the bill. This general interest was embarrassing to the Republican politicians, who had not counted upon being called on to do their tricks of legislative legerdemain in the white light of publicity. There was no opportunity to stop the progress of the bill in the house, but when it reached the senate it was referred to the temperance committee, whose chairman, strangely enough, was notoriously unfriendly to temperance legislation. Here it was expected to slumber—and here it slumbered for quite a while.

It was at this juncture that Kern entered the story. At this time he held the traditional views of the Indiana Democracy on the subject of personal liberty and sumptuary legislation. He was himself a teetotaler. But he had a profound contempt for hypocrisy, and in his fight to expose the perfidy of the double-dealing policy of the opposition it is probable that he, more than any other one man, was responsible for the passage of the Nicholson law.

On March 4th, toward the close of the session, he threw a bomb into the opposition camp by offering a resolution instructing the temperance committee to have the bill before the senate, with or without recommendation, by 3 o’clock on the following afternoon. This did not harmonize with the plans of the committee or its chairman, but the resolution was adopted and the fun commenced. The Evansville agreement had been given a tremendous jolt. The temperance forces took their cue and flocked to the senate. The white light of publicity began to beat unmercifully upon the proceedings. Taken unaware and not yet prepared to submit a report the committee on the following day asked for another day’s delay, which was granted over the protest of ten members led by Kern, who jocularly moved after the vote was taken that a committee be appointed “to draft resolutions of respect for the late lamented Nicholson law.” These tactics, by casting suspicion of the sincerity of pretended friends of the measure, made further delay impossible, and on the following day the bill was reported with amendments. After this Kern applied himself to amendments. He was one of four who voted in favor of permitting the saloons to remain open until midnight in cities having a population of 25,000 and over. And he followed this by his own amendment, known as the “drug store amendment,” for which he has always been remembered. This provided that it should be unlawful for any spirituous, vinous or malt liquors to be sold or given away in drug stores except on the written prescription of a reputable physician. This amendment was adopted and a motion to reconsider was lost. When the bill as amended went to a vote Kern was one of nine who voted against it.

But this was not to be the end of the fight. In the house the Kern amendment was rejected and in conference the amendment was changed to read that in drug stores liquor should not be sold or given away without prescription in any quantity less than a quart. When the conference report was submitted in the senate Kern made an onslaught on the drug store proviso as changed, resulting in a spirited debate which gave him an opportunity to attack the sincerity of the majority. Accused of introducing the drug store amendment in the interest of the saloons, he demanded to know whether the bill was intended “to advance the cause of temperance or mainly for the purpose of legislating against one business in favor of another,” and in a scathing denunciation of the spirit of hypocrisy he pictured the sanctimonious double-dealer, well known at that time, who loftily attacked the saloon while stopping at the corner drug store on his way home from church for his dram or bottle behind the prescription case.

That the dominant party’s plans had been sadly disarranged by Kern’s activities was disclosed in its resentment toward him manifested in the passage of a resolution two days after the passage of the bill “extending on behalf of the majority our thanks to the minority and the governor for their assistance in passing the Nicholson law, and especially to Senator Kern of Marion for his drug store amendment to said bill, which he failed to honor by his affirmative vote.”

This resolution was not a mere bit of jocularity, but an attempt to at least neutralize the responsibility of the Republican party in violating the Evansville pledge to the “wets.” Governor Matthews had taken no part in the fight and had merely signed the bill when presented to him in due course for his signature, and the introduction of his name was merely intended to call the attention of the “wets” to the fact that a Democratic governor had signed and not vetoed it. And the special reference to Kern was in line with the excuse made to the “wets” for failure to smother the bill or to hopelessly emasculate it that but for his resolution calling upon the committee to report it would not have seen the light of day. In this they succeeded. There was never a time after that when Kern was not looked upon as unfriendly by the so-called liberal element, and his mandatory resolution compelling a report on the Nicholson bill was always given as evidence of his hostility. As a matter of fact he was not in favor of the bill. He expressed his views in his vote on the final passage. But the Republican leaders had solemnly pledged the party to genuine temperance legislation and had been overwhelmingly placed in power with that understanding—at the same time receiving the support of the liberals through a secret understanding. The hypocrisy of their position disgusted Kern, who deliberately set about to compel them to legislate in accordance with pre-election promises to the temperance forces whose support they had received, or to expose their hypocrisy. He succeeded in both, and he was never forgiven by either the Republican politicians or the liberals. It is not recorded either that he ever profited greatly from the temperance people. But he satisfied himself.

All in all the session of 1895 was one of the most vicious in the history of the commonwealth. The charges made by Kern in his speech against the gerrymander were true. It was literally true that the Burns’ statutes purchased with the state’s money for the state, to be used during the session by members, were actually stolen and carried away. But he might have added that there have been few sessions of the Indiana legislature during which there was so much general talk of the corrupt use of money. The hotels swarmed with lobbyists, and even the female lobbyist, a rather rare species at that time in Indiana, made her appearance, and in one instance created something of a scandal by being ejected from a hotel. Until then most of the lobbying had been done in the capitol, openly, but this session ushered in a new departure—the lobbyists did their work in hotels and other places.

This ended Kern’s career in the state senate. It had profited him greatly in that it had presented to the Democracy of the state a new Kern—a Kern seasoned, sobered by experience, who retained his youthful fire, intensity and eloquence. He entered the senate personally popular and widely known, but generally looked upon as a merely effective campaign speaker; he left it a recognized leader of the party in the state.

The estimate of his colleagues has been furnished me by Hon. M. A. Sweeney of Jasper, who served with him:

“He was by common consent, and without the least assumption on his part, the admired and beloved leader of our party there. I feel fully justified in asserting that no member on either side of that body of legislators ever questioned his mental superiority, personal integrity or magnanimity. In that arena of public debate, in which the flow and ebb of acrimonious clashings in verbal swordsmanship afford so splendid an opportunity to draw the line of cleavage between the cheap politician and the true gentleman and statesman, it was there he stood without a peer, personifying the calmness of power.

“His kind assistance to, and his painstaking patience with the embryonic, ambitious, would-be statesmen of his own or of the opposite party, were almost paternal in him; if your cause had merit, you ever found a true and helpful friend. No matter how arduous and exacting his senatorial duties were, and they were multifarious and onerous, he never hesitated to listen graciously to our crude ideas of state craft, and he gave very much of his valuable time in aiding and advising us in whipping into legal forms statutes the vain glory for which was worn by others, while he was always willing to remain unknown in all such affairs. He did not have an enemy in that body, and if he had it was not Senator Kern’s fault, for his suavity of manner and his courtliness of bearing toward every one won all to him.

“His arguments before the senate, or before its important committees, coming from his well-stored and well-balanced mind, always gained keen attention, for they were characterized by clearness, force, and dignity of diction; they were made to enlighten and instruct his audience, and he never permitted himself to descend to buncombe, billingsgate, specious pleading, or petty politics. His language was chaste Anglo-Saxon ‘from the pure well of English unalloyed.’ He preferred to inform his hearers by presenting plain, pertinent facts rather than to resort to the tricks of the rhetorician in order to secure the passing tribute of applause.”

CHAPTER VI
Europe and the Campaign of ’96

I

IN the summer of 1895, after the adjournment of the legislature, Mr. Kern, on the advice of his physician, went to Europe for a period of rest and relaxation, and spent a few weeks in France and England. We are permitted glimpses of him in his meanderings through letters written at the time to his father and sister, Mrs. Sarah E. Engel. He sailed from New York on June 29th on a German ship “not fashionable but substantial and safe.” Landing at Southampton, he hurried on to London, greatly impressed by “the beautiful agricultural country—said to be the finest part of rural England, and rivaling in appearance any part of America I have seen,” but amused at “the little Jim Crow cars” and the “freight cars about the size of covered wagons.” In London, where he stayed at the Morley Hotel, he was fascinated by the throbbing greatness of things. “It is as far ahead of New York as New York is ahead of Indianapolis,” he wrote. Here he settled down to seeing London in his own way, and we find him seated beside the driver of an omnibus, “getting a bird’s-eye view” of the city, and for an additional six pence having pointed out the great parks, the British Museum, St. Pauls, London Bridge, the Bank of England, the Tower, the Mansion House, the Temple, Westminster, and the various churches. Having thus got his bearings he settled down to intensive touring, delighted with everything he saw except the people whose condescension he resented. General Patrick Collins of Boston, a friend, and then consul-general to London, was attentive, and he had a letter to T. P. (Tay Pay) O’Connor, the famous member of the Irish parliamentary party, who pointed out the lions of English public life in the House of Commons. He spent some time in the courts, visited points of historic interest, and attended services in St. Pauls, which he found “bewildering.” “The music of the great double organ and all the hundred voices of the choir, reverberating throughout the arches and the domes, was beautiful, but awe inspiring.”

At the Morley Hotel he met Judge Alton B. Parker, a prominent member of the New York bar, destined to be his party’s nominee for the presidency nine years later, and discovering many mutual interests and friendships, an attachment was formed which existed to the day of Kern’s death. The two lawyers tramped the tourist’s path together and had many a chat at the Morley.

After little more than a week in London he crossed to Paris, where his personal friend and political co-worker, Samuel E. Morss, editor of The Indianapolis Sentinel, was consul-general, and here he was given every advantage that the official prestige of his friend could bestow. He was delighted with Paris, “the most beautiful city in the world,” and especially with the French people. “The people of all classes are happy,” he wrote his father, “and go in for having a good time. The very poorest classes are bright, cheerful, and clean. I don’t think I saw a sad face in France. They are quite prosperous and show great evidence of thrift.” Morss turned his office over to his subordinates and devoted his entire time to entertaining the man from home, and it is not improbable that not a little Hoosier politics was discussed between the two.

While it was his intention to visit Ireland, his experience in channel crossing on his return to England was so disheartening that he abandoned his original plan of visiting Dublin and the Killarney lakes. On learning that the weather at the time was abominable in Scotland he decided to spend the remainder of his time in England and see some of the country outside London. “One of the most interesting trips I have made,” he wrote Mrs. Engel, “was to the Shakespeare country. I went from London to Harrow, then to Rugby, made famous by Tom Hughes’ great book, then to Coventry, then to Lemington, a great watering place, thence by coach along the banks of the Avon to Stratford-on-Avon, where Shakespeare was born and is buried. This trip—thirteen miles—was through the most beautiful country I have ever seen. Stratford is a little city of 8,000, and one sees and hears nothing but Shakespeare. The house in which he was born, and the cottage where Ann Hathaway lived and in which he courted and married her are very old, but are preserved by trustees. The house in which he was born is filled with Shakespearian relics of every description. His tomb and monument are in the village church. The people get their principal living from tourists. There have been over 20,000 visitors there this year, and each one has something to pay every time he turns around.”

On this trip, too, he visited Warwick Castle, and later on Windsor Castle. Like a true Democrat he did not fail to “drive out three miles to the fields of Runnymede, where the English barons compelled King John to sign the Magna Charta;” and the sentimental side of his nature impelled him to make a journey of reverence to the tomb of Gray, the poet, and the church whose curfew “tolls the knell of parting day.” Contrary to the spirit of the average tourist, he took a deep interest in English farms and farming and in a letter to his sister, who lived upon a farm, he observed: “The farming here is splendid. Every foot of ground is made to produce and produce well. There is no poor farming here, and no poor crops this year. The wheat is now being harvested. They raise no corn here—but produce an article called ‘horse beans’—something similar to our peas, which the horses thrive on. The horses are splendid beasts. Those used for draft purposes look nearly as large as elephants, and their driving horses are very fine. It is a great mutton-eating nation, and sheep are raised by the thousand—you see them everywhere.”

By the latter part of August he admits that he has “had his fill of sightseeing and anxious to get back home and to work.” His health was greatly benefited by the change when he reached New York in the first week of September.

II

At the time of his return to Indiana the great debate to determine the position the Democratic party was to take on the money question had commenced. The administration of Grover Cleveland had lost the confidence of the major part of the party in the state. The bond issue stuck in the craws of the masses. The silver wave was sweeping over the country, destined to leave many wrecks in its wake and to throw upon the rocks many new lights of party leading. In Indiana the silver forces were militantly aggressive and were busily engaged in perfecting an organization which was to make history. In view of his subsequent intimacy with Mr. Bryan and the radical forces of the party, it is interesting to find that during the period of the preliminary debate Mr. Kern remained unresponsive to the fervent appeals of the friends of silver. As the time for the state convention approached, the conservative members of the party took counsel in the hope of stemming the tide which gave promise of committing the party aggressively to the cause of the free and unlimited coinage of silver without awaiting the action of any other nation. Many of the most influential and prominent party leaders in the state were strongly opposed to such action, and were convinced that such a course would work irreparable disaster to the party prospects for years to come. It was not a new party battle in Indiana. In other days, when the fiat money idea was uppermost in the public mind, it required all the prestige of the leadership of Hendricks and McDonald to dissuade the party from adopting a radical platform in conformity with the greenback philosophy.

About the middle of May, 1896, a free silver conference was held in Indianapolis which bubbled with enthusiasm and seethed with the spirit of revolution. Some of the leaders in the movement boldly announced that the failure of the party to stand for the free and unlimited coinage of silver would release them from all allegiance to the party in the campaign. The conservatives, or gold men, determined to challenge what they considered a dangerous movement at a mass meeting which was called at the English Opera House in Indianapolis on the evening of May 28. This meeting was addressed by some of the most popular leaders in the state and was presided over by Captain W. R. Myers, long an idol upon the stump. Speeches were made by Alonzo G. Smith, former attorney-general, former Congressman William D. Bynum, who had been a prime favorite with the Indiana Democracy and enjoyed a well-deserved national reputation, former Congressman George W. Cooper of Columbus and Mr. Kern. Resolutions were adopted on the motion of Pierre Gray, son of Governor Isaac P. Gray, four years before Indiana’s candidate for the presidency. A committee was appointed to work for “the cause of sound money” at the coming convention, consisting of such well-known Democrats as Thomas Taggart, John W. Holtzman, S. O. Pickens, John R. Wilson, Capt. W. R. Myers, William D. Bynum, James E. McCullough, James L. Keach and John W. Kern. It would be a travesty of history to ignore the fact that previous to the action of the national convention at Chicago Mr. Kern was strongly opposed to the free and unlimited coinage of silver without regard to the action of any other nation. He realized early the trend of the times and the difficulty of changing the drift. Times were hard. The party had been shamefully betrayed by the Interests in the making of the tariff law. The bond issue had divorced the confidence of the rank and file of the party from Cleveland. The spirit of revolution was in the air. It required courage to stand forth and command the tide to turn back.

One week later this mass meeting was met by the silver forces with one of their own at the same place which was addressed by John Gilbert Shanklin, the brilliant editor of The Evansville Courier, and former Congressman Benjamin F. Shively, who was, by long odds, the most eloquent champion of silver in the state.

The battle was on.

Seldom has a more turbulent, revolutionary convention ever met in Indiana than that which was called to order in Tomlinson Hall to fight out the party differences on the money question. Bynum, who had made himself a party idol by his mastery of the tariff question and his haughty defiance of Tom Reed, was hooted to silence repeatedly when he attempted to speak. He stood stubbornly minute after minute waiting for the lull in the storm that never came and finally took his seat. Later the motion of John E. Lamb of Terre Haute to grant him ten minutes for a hearing was hooted down. The gold delegation from Marion county (Indianapolis) was thrown out over the written protest of Kern, the only member of the committee on credentials who was not a silver man. Governor Mathews was indorsed for president, and only the personal plea of Shanklin prevented the convention from making him a delegate at large in the place of a gold man personally selected by the governor. Mr. Shively was nominated for governor and started out on his remarkable canvass in which his speeches were only approached in brilliancy by those of Bryan. Samuel M. Ralston also began his career in state politics as the nominee for secretary of state. And a little later at Chicago Bryan swept the convention off its feet with his famous “cross of gold and crown of thorns” speech and set forth on the most amazing canvass in the history of the republic.

Then the nation began to boil and bubble as never before. Silver men deserted the Republican party, and gold men proclaimed rebellion from the Democratic ranks. Families were divided and father arrayed against son and brother against brother. Nowhere was the schism more pronounced than in Indiana.

The Democratic state organization was disrupted and the state chairman thrown out in the midst of the campaign. Through the summer and on until the election in November great crowds surged and argued and fought at all the principal street corners of Indianapolis from early morning until night, and peaceful citizens were awakened from sleep at 5 o’clock in the morning by wrangling newsboys, embryo politicians, debating in loud and angry tones beneath their windows.

Many Democrats who had opposed the free silver men before the convention and remained within the party during the campaign found themselves the object of suspicion and distrust. Some of these stoically maintained silence. Others tried to make their party loyalty beyond question by promptly reversing themselves on the platform.

“Where are you going?” asked a friend of the eloquent Frank B. Burke, then United States district attorney.

“I am going down to Jeffersonville to answer an absolutely unanswerable speech against free silver made down there two weeks ago by a man named Burke,” drawled the district attorney without a smile.

Many, long prominent in the party councils, openly espoused the cause of Palmer and Buckner. Some crossed the twilight zone into the Republican party, where most of them remained.

The one Democrat in Indiana who had fought for gold whose fidelity to the party was never questioned after the Chicago convention spoke was John W. Kern.