Great Heart The Life Story of Theodore Roosevelt 9

Great Heart The Life Story of Theodore Roosevelt 9

Nothing illustrates this rule better than an episode which the

Colonel himself made public. In October, 1917, in the course of an

interview with newspaper men, he told this story in explanation of his

relinquishing the gloves:

 

“When I was President I used to box with one of my aids, a young

captain in the artillery. One day he cross-countered me and broke a

blood vessel in my left eye. I don’t know whether this is known, but I

never have been able to see out of that eye since. I thought, as only

one good eye was left me, I would not box any longer.”

 

This story was too promising for the newspaper men to let drop without

endeavoring to have it amplified by the soldier who delivered the blow.

 

A few days later, in “The New York Times,” appeared this interview

with Colonel Dan T. Moore, of the 310th Field Artillery Regiment, 79th

Division, National Army:

 

“Colonel Dan T. Moore, of the 310th Field Artillery Regiment, 79th

Division, National Army, admits he struck the blow that destroyed the

sight of Colonel Roosevelt’s eye.

 

“‘I am sorry I struck the blow. I’m sorry the Colonel told about it,

and I’m sorry my identity has been so quickly uncovered. I give you my

word I never knew I had blinded the Colonel in one eye until I read his

statement in the paper. I instantly knew, however, that I was the man

referred to, because there was no other answering the description he

gave who could have done it. I shall write the Colonel a letter in a

few days, expressing my regrets at the serious results of the blow.

 

“‘I was a military aid at the White House in 1905. The boxers in the

White House gym were the President, Kermit Roosevelt and myself. The

President went further afield for his opponents in other sports, but

when he wanted to don the boxing gloves he chose Kermit or myself.’

 

“‘Tell about the blow that blinded the President.’

 

“‘I might as well try to tell about the shell that killed any

particular soldier in this war. When you put on gloves with President

Roosevelt it was a case of fight all the way, and no man in the ring

with him had a chance to keep track of particular blows. A good fast

referee might have known, but nobody else. The Colonel wanted plenty

of action, and he usually got it. He had no use for a quitter or one

who gave ground, and nobody but a man willing to fight all the time and

all the way had a chance with him. That’s my only excuse for the fact

that I seriously injured him. There was no chance to be careful of the

blows. He simply wouldn’t have stood for it.’”

 

Roosevelt to his last days remained keenly interested in ring

champions. He numbered among his prizefighting friends John L.

Sullivan, Bob Fitzsimmons, Battling Nelson and many another man whose

fame was won by strength and skill in the ring. Among his treasures is

the pen-holder Bob Fitzsimmons made for him out of a horse-shoe, and

the gold-mounted rabbit’s foot which John L. Sullivan gave to him for a

talisman when he went on his African trip.

 

He championed the cause of prizefighters on many occasions, though

never hesitating to denounce the crookedness that has attended the

commercializing of the ring. He held that powerful, vigorous men of

strong animal development must have some way in which their spirits can

find vent. His acts while Police Commissioner of New York show clearly

how he distinguished between the art of boxing itself and the men

who are trying to make money out of it. On one hand, he promoted the

establishment of boxing clubs in bad neighborhoods in order to draw the

attention of street gangs from knifing and gun-fighting. On the other

hand, finding that the prize ring had become hopelessly debased and run

for the benefit of low hangers-on, who permitted brutality in order to

make money out of it, he aided, as Governor, in the passage of a bill

putting a stop to professional boxing for money.

 

 

 

 

VI

 

Roosevelt’s “Cops”

 

 

The New York Police Department needed a cleaning up. The force at that

time was under a heavy cloud. There had been a Mayorality election.

Tammany had made a hard fight but the Republican candidate, Strong,

had been elected. The vote meant that the citizens thought the time

had come for a New York police reform. Mayor Strong asked Roosevelt,

then serving on the national Civil Service Commission, to be Police

Commissioner.

 

Roosevelt’s friends thought that he was too big a man to take such a

position. He saw a work that needed to be done.

 

Proctor, a friend and fellow worker, tried to persuade him not to

undertake the job. Roosevelt had given the matter earnest thought. He

believed himself capable of bringing about the necessary reforms. He

knew that such a work would be of great benefit to his fellow citizens.

 

“Proctor,” he said, “it is my duty. I am going.”

 

“Go then!” said Proctor. “You must always have your own way. Yet I

believe you are right. Clean up the city thoroughly!”

 

Roosevelt faced a bigger job than he knew. The metropolitan police

system was in the hands of corrupt politicians. The Tammany ring

exercised a tyranny over the policemen. Incompetency, immorality and

dishonesty honeycombed the department. Many of the policemen, instead

of being a protection to the people, were a menace.

 

Promotions went by favor and money. The man who wanted to become a

policeman could get the job for from $200 to $300. A police lieutenant

could buy his appointment for from $10,000 up. The men who secured

positions in this way paid the money with the expectation of getting it

back through graft. They had free rope so long as they delivered to the

political leaders half of their spoils.

 

If a saloonkeeper wanted to obey the law and tried to get along without

paying tribute to the policemen of his district, he found that a rival

saloonkeeper was being accorded extraordinary privileges in order that

he himself might be either ruined or forced to “come across.” Gambling

dens, saloons and disorderly houses were free from punishment so long

as they paid toll. Vice flaunted itself in the face of the law-abiding

element of the city.

 

The very coming of Roosevelt to Mulberry Street was a challenge to the

disorderly and corrupt elements of the metropolis. His friends warned

him that other commissioners, with good intentions, had tried to do

what he was about to attempt, but had found the police force so full of

jealousy, favoritism and blackmail that little progress could be made.

 

“Tom” Byrnes, a detective of national fame, was the head of the New

York police at that time. Roosevelt decided that reform should begin at

the top. He dismissed Byrnes. The latter hurled at him this challenge:

 

“The system will break your opposition. You will give in, for you are

only human, after all.”

 

Roosevelt kept on. No one was allowed anything to say concerning his

appointments and promotions. Those who were physically and morally weak

he banished from the service. Those who showed merit and faithfulness

he promoted.

 

He started in at once to acquire an intimate knowledge of the men who

worked under him. He accomplished this by making personal tours at

night through the various police districts. Francis E. Leupp, whose

previously-mentioned book, “The Man Roosevelt,” will always be a

fruitful source to Roosevelt’s biographers, gives this description of

such an expedition:

 

 

HAROUN-AL-RASCHID

 

“The friend (Leupp) found the Commissioner at the appointed place

and hour, armed only with a little stick and a written list of the

patrolmen’s posts in the district which was to be visited. They walked

over each beat separately. In the first three beats they found only one

man on post. One of the others had gone to assist the man on the third,

but there was no trace of the third man’s whereabouts. They came upon a

patrolman seated on a box with a woman.

 

“‘Patrolman,’ asked the Commissioner, ‘are you doing your duty on post

27?’

 

“The fellow jumped up in a hurry. This pedestrian, though unknown to

him, was obviously familiar with police matters; so he stammered out,

with every attempt to be obsequious: ‘Yes, sir; I am, sir.’

 

“‘Is it all right for you to sit down?’ inquired the mysterious

stranger.

 

“‘Yes, sir--no, sir--well, sir, I wasn’t sitting down. I was just

waiting for my partner, the patrolman on the next beat. Really, I

wasn’t sitting down.’

 

“‘Very well,’ said the stranger, cutting him short and starting on.

 

“The officer ran along, explaining again with much volubility that he

had not been sitting down--he had just been leaning a little against

something while he waited.

 

“‘That will do; you are following me off post. Go back to your beat now

and present yourself before me at headquarters at half-past nine in the

morning. I am Commissioner Roosevelt.’

 

“Another three blocks and the strollers came upon a patrolman chatting

with a man and a woman. They passed the group, went a little way, and

returned; the woman was gone, but the patrolman and the man were still

there, and deep in conversation. The talk was interrupted to enable

the officer to answer the Commissioner’s questions. The man seized the

opportunity to slip off.

 

“‘They were drunk, sir, a little intoxicated, sir,’ was the patrolman’s

excuse, as he caught an inkling of the situation. ‘I was just trying to

quiet them down a bit. I’m sorry, sir, very sorry.’

 

“‘That’s enough. Come to Commissioner Roosevelt’s office at half-past

nine.’

 

“In search of the roundsman the Commissioner started to call him to

account for all this laxity in discipline. The roundsman was found

gossiping with two patrolmen on another beat.

 

“‘Which of you men belongs here?’ demanded the Commissioner, addressing

the patrolmen.

 

“They and their companion met the inquiry defiantly. One of the trio

retorted: ‘What business is that of yours?’

 

“The Commissioner made no response except to repeat his question in

another form: ‘Which one of you is covering beat 31?’”

 

It was now plain that they were in trouble. By the light of a

neighboring gas lamp the roundsman recognized the interrogator’s face.

He cast a significant look at one of his companions, who answered

meekly enough: “It’s me, sir.”

 

The other told where he belonged and left quickly for his post,

while the roundsman made a poor fist of explaining that he was “just

admonishing the patrolmen to move around and do their duty” when the commissioner came up.