Chapter XX: The Real Kern: a Composite Portrait (1)

I

To the great majority who knew Senator Kern as he appeared in court, in social circles, in the free and easy environment of convention and campaign, his geniality created the impression that he always preferred company to solitude. To the comparative few who knew him in the routine intercourse of daily contact he was exactly the opposite--one of the most reticent of men, given to the keeping of his own councils. Few men have disclosed their mental processes to a less degree. Throughout the greater portion of his life, when confronted with a problem, personal, political, or professional, he retired within himself and in solitude worked it out. At one period of his life when called upon to reach a decision on any matter of moment it was his practice to shut himself in a room alone and for hours debate the pros and cons over a game of solitaire. As his problems multiplied in numbers and grew in importance after his election to the senate this reticence intensified, and his tendency to withdraw within himself became more pronounced. At times when he was grappling with one of his numerous problems he would relax into sociability in moments of his own choosing, but he was passionately intolerant of intrusion at other times. He would often lock himself up in his committee room at the capitol, but more frequently he would hide himself in his private room in the Senate Office building, which was not connected with his public offices and inaccessible to the uninitiated by telephone. He alone carried the key and even those occupying the most confidential relations with him dared not intrude upon him there. Here he would sometimes shut himself in for hours at a time.

In this connection it is proper to emphasize a mental trait with which he was probably not popularly credited--an extraordinary power of concentration. Engaged in working out a problem he was able to bring all his mental powers to bear upon just that, and put all else beyond his consciousness. At such times he was utterly oblivious to anything that might be transpiring about him, and nothing could divert him.

It was not his habit to rush speedily to conclusions. He viewed the problem, always a political one after he entered the senate, from every possible angle. He weighed all reasons, for and against, with scrupulous care, brushing aside all prejudices, and coldly analyzing all possibilities. And he seldom acted at once on his first conclusion. Time and again he would return to this debate within his own mind, in the meanwhile guarding his mental processes from all others.

This called for another trait which he possessed to an infinite degree--an untiring patience. Others might act on prejudice or impulse--he never did. And while others were often confusing the issue he was seeking the solution. And this quality was quite as prominent where his own personal interests were involved. Nothing could startle him into inconsidered action. He took his time. He was in the habit of permitting his political enemies to exhaust their ammunition while he, unmoved, apparently indifferent, almost oblivious to the attack, withheld his fire. And very often the result was that he did not think it worth while to fire. Frequently he struck, when forced to fight, with such subtlety that the wounded adversary did not know whence the blow had come. He could hear of these attacks with scarcely any show of curiosity, and almost invariably without comment, unless it be in the nature of a witticism. He first gauged his foe and planned his battle accordingly--aiming unerringly at the vulnerable heel.

There was something almost uncanny in his ability to ignore an attack and appear to be in ignorance of an affront.

II

Throughout his life Senator Kern was a voluminous letter-writer and notwithstanding the extent of his correspondence he stubbornly refused to resort to such labor-saving devices as stenography until toward the close of his life when overwhelmed with the multiplicity of duties. It was his life-long habit to reply to every letter he received, no matter how trivial its nature, with pen and ink. With him letter writing was not a lost art and he liked to write when he had the time.

There was an art to a Kern letter. He knew how, better than most men of his generation, to put personality, individuality, atmosphere into a note. No one ever put more tenderness into a letter of sympathy, more jollity into one of congratulation, more comradry into a letter to a friend or occasionally more biting sarcasm or sting into one to an enemy. Enveloped in tobacco smoke, he would write slowly by the hour, with infinite patience, painstaking in his phrasing, and his chirography was as clear, individual and beautiful as that of James Whitcomb Riley. To the vast majority of letters that reached him in connection with the routine business of the senate he did not personally reply for that would have been an impossibility, but letters of a fault-finding nature were by his direction always called to his attention. In some cases where the motive was apparent he made no reply, but in cases where the writer was laboring under a misapprehension, or honestly differed in his views, he would write at length with pen and ink, setting his correspondent right. Nor did it make any difference whether the correspondent was known to him personally or by reputation or not, if he was a constituent he went upon the theory that he was entitled to a response. These letters almost invariably brought apologetic replies, and many warm friends and supporters were made from among strangers who were thus impressed with the honesty of his own views and his genuine desire for the respect and good will of his fellow men.

His method of preparing such speeches as were formally prepared was also unique. Except for especially important occasions it was not his custom to write political speeches or special occasion addresses. He would arrange the headlines in his mind and nothing more.

Unlike most public men he did not dictate the speeches he prepared, but he would shut himself up in his room with a supply of cigars, a rough scratch pad and several sharpened pencils and write them slowly and carefully in the same beautiful chirography which gave such character to his letters. Even in the longest and most important of these there was scarcely any eliminations or additions--the copy was clean. They might have been copied rather than created, judging from the absence of erasures or emendations.

III

There was a deep undercurrent of religious reverence in Senator Kern which did not flout itself upon the surface. Reference has been made to his conversion at a revival meeting during his boyhood when for a time he became ardent in his devotion to religious duties, and while this phase passed, he retained through life a profound reverence for sacred things. During the greater portion of his life, while retaining his membership with the Presbyterian church, he was not much given to church attendance. This was not due to any compromise with his faith. He was not interested in dogma or creed. He cared little for the outer manifestations of the spirit of worship. He seldom quoted from the Bible in his speeches and had a horror of the politician who attempts to capitalize his religion. The thought of the life beyond was to him too solemn for conversational purposes. He never or seldom discussed it. But he never permitted himself to doubt it. His veneration for the cloth asserted itself less in tributes to the dignity of the clergy than in his occasional excoriations of members of the clergy who lowered their dignity and compromised their religion by lending themselves to the support of inhumanity. For the minister from Lawrence, Massachusetts, who appeared for the mill owners at the strike hearings in Washington to gravely assure the committee that there was a good moral effect in throwing children of twelve and thirteen into factories to labor for a pittance while paying the mill owners for the cold water that they drank rather than permit them to play “in the streets” in the sunshine he had no words with which to express his contempt. The only letter protesting against the passage of the child labor law that he cared to notice was from a minister of the cotton mill section--and it blazed with indignant protest against--not the protest, but the source of it.

He had the average man’s appreciation of the occasional value of an explicative, but he never lightly played with the name of his Creator. And he had a quiet contempt for the man who did.

No man ever put more of the genuine spirit of Christianity into his political philosophy. He loved his fellow men. And throughout his life he particularly concerned himself with the alleviation of suffering whenever possible, and the amelioration of the condition of the poor. Because of that quality he was sometimes looked upon as not quite “respectable” by some more prone to pose in prayer in the market places. For these, too, he had a profound contempt.

It was in his attitude toward his fellow men that he disclosed the profundity of his religious convictions. He had faith--it followed him from the cradle to the grave.

I have before me a letter by Kern to his sister, Sarah, on the death of her little boy, which so perfectly mirrors the man and his religious views:

“KOKOMO, January 4, 1883.

“DEAR SISTER--Father’s letter, containing the sad news of the death
of your little Frank was received to-day, and I hasten to write
you. Our hearts are full of loving sympathy for you in this
terrible affliction and we would like to be able to be with you to
mingle our tears with yours, and try to say something to break the
force of the overpowering sorrow which has come so heavily upon
you. The brave, sturdy little fellow. We imagined him in perfect
health, rollicking about your fireside enjoying the holiday
season--the pride and joy of all of you. And to hear of his death.
It startled and shocked us and saddened our household almost as
much as though it had been our child, for we had all become so
attached to him during our long stay with you. While death is
terrible, and while great heart-breaking grief always follows, yet
there are other matters to be considered in the case of the death
of children especially which ought to go a long way in the
direction of comforting the heart.

“He is safe. The possibilities of evil, which go along with all
boys and which increase as they grow older, are no more. There is
now no danger for little Frank. His footsteps need not now be
guarded--there need be no anxiety in the mother’s heart for the
future of her boy. His future is not only secure, but it is a
future resplendent with glory. Had he lived a long, useful life,
he could never have attained that happiness which is now and always
will be his.

“I was thinking to-day of the comfort there is in afflictions like
this in the religion of the Bible. Without it what gloom and utter
hopelessness. With it the future is full of good cheer and joyous
anticipations. Accepting it as true--and let no doubt ever obtrude
itself--then must we not believe that our good, pure angel mother
who has been waiting over there so long welcomed little Frank with
exceeding great joy as the representative of her own children whom
she left so long ago and toward whom her heart went in such tender
solicitude?

“My dear sister, your little boy is safe. He was the first of our
family to be welcomed by her whose memory we treasure so fondly.
From this on there will be more frequent additions to the family in
the summerland of happiness--one by one we will be summoned there,
until, ere long, the family circle will be completed, and every
sorrow and pang of grief will be forgotten in the perfect happiness
of heaven. Let not this picture be marred. We must all see to it
that it is not. We must. I feel that we will all gather together
over there, parents, children, grandchildren, and together enjoy
forever the glories of the land of love.

“Let not your heart be troubled. There can be no more sorrow for
the little boy. No ill can ere betide him now. Trust in God who
doeth all things well. Let His will be done. God bless and comfort
you.

“Your loving brother,
“JOHN.”

IV

In personal appearance Senator Kern was always slender and never very robust, and in his younger days this was the more noticeable because of his custom of affecting the Prince Albert coat of the period and the high silk hat. Soon after leaving Ann Arbor he permitted his beard to grow to a considerable length and as the political “speaker with the long black beard” he was known through the length and breadth of the state for many years. His height, slender form, black beard, and keen, penetrating dark eyes, an inheritance from his mother, made him in his youth an impressive figure. In later years he abandoned the Prince Albert for a business man’s sack suit, and seldom wore a silk hat except on state occasions. His beard, now gray, was cropped short and little more than covered his chin, but the memory of the flowing beard persisted in the minds of the cartoonists and curbstone wits, and constant reference, which was offensive to him, was made to his beard which differed little from that of Harrison or Fairbanks and was a very modest affair compared to that of Hughes. He never indicated, however, that he cared for the strained witticisms about his beard, and when an acquaintance, presuming upon his friendship, wrote him and suggested that he part with it after his election to the senate he merely wrote that “the beard has been attached to me so long it would be an act of base ingratitude to desert it now.” His eyes, always his finest feature, never lost their luster or fire. He was always perfectly groomed without being noticeably so.

V

In some quarters he had the reputation of being cold and unappreciative, but this was due to his temperamental inability to gush, and he had more of a tendency among men to conceal rather than reveal his affections. No senator was ever served by assistants with greater zeal, fidelity or personal devotion, and yet with one or two exceptions he never by word of mouth in the course of six years gave any expression of his appreciation; and this reticence, together with an apparent coldness, due to preoccupation, was discouraging to them at first. Then during some recess or absence and when many miles away and without any special occasion for it he would write a letter teeming with affectionate appreciation. Perhaps a little later on he would return, and entering the office as though he had just left it, he would sometimes pass by with a scant nod and a faint smile and without pausing for a chat. He had a great heart, but he did not carry it upon his sleeve.

This was shown in his attitude toward members of his family, to whom he was tenderly devoted--he seldom mentioned them even among his intimates. That he kept for and to himself.

And yet, as the old viking, Andrew Furseth, who knew, said few men were more prone to take unto themselves the troubles and sorrows of others. After hearing the pathetic story of the suffering of the wives and children of the striking miners of Colorado, and looking upon the pictures of some of the slaughtered innocents, he sat smoking in silence for a long while, with the saddest expression on his face and in his eyes that I have ever seen. And that was not a pose--there was only one there to see, and Kern was scarcely conscious of his presence. Finally coming out of his revery and observing the presence of another, he smiled rather sadly and remarked, “Well, I guess God reigns and the government at Washington still lives.”

The Kern of the out-of-doors was not the same man as the Kern of the closet, and popular and likeable as the Kern of the out-of-doors was, the Kern of the closet was infinitely the greater--and the real Kern.

VI

As a companion in moments of relaxation Kern had few equals, and no one appreciated this more than his congressional cronies at Congress Hall Hotel, where he made his home during his service in the senate. When he first went to Washington he took up his residence here, but in the fall of 1911 he went to the Arlington, near the White House, feeling that this would encourage him to walk more. But the somber dignity and aloofness of that ancient hostelry soon palled upon him, and a longing for the companionship of his friends soon drove him back to Congress Hall.

I am indebted to Henry A. Barnhart for a picture of the Kern of Congress Hall:

“Socially speaking, Senator Kern gave little attention to society
functions in the national capital and yet he was a social favorite.
He rarely went out except on state occasions, when his leadership
in the senate necessitated his presence to add dignity or
importance to occasions; where the foremost of the nation’s
official leaders assembled in social formality. Seldom, indeed, did
he ever attend the theater, while golf, baseball and other like
recreations, resorted to by many great men as relaxation for tired
minds and bodies, had no attraction for him. Likewise he was not a
churchgoer and yet he had a sacred and profound regard for the
church and for sincere religious convictions. Although a constant
reader, cheap fiction was not a pastime for him and in his reading,
like his physical relaxations, he did everything to rest except
rest. When he read he worked industriously at it and it was
something worth while.

“The senator was socially at his best when in an environment of
informality, and gained largest relief from fatigue or
responsibilities when surrounded by a group of congenial friends
at Congress Hall Hotel, where he lived during his official career
in Washington. His hotel life was methodical. He went to bed at ten
o’clock every night and was at the breakfast table at eight in the
morning. After supper each evening (or dinner, as fashionable
Washington calls it) he would retire to his room and recline in a
comfortable chair and there for an hour, under canopy of smoke from
a ‘home made’ cigar, he would read the evening papers. Then he
would go down to the lobby of the hotel and there join the
‘statesman’s circle’ and lightly or seriously discuss the issues of
the day, swap refreshing anecdotes of laughable incidents on the
hustings, in the courts and in politics, and rarely failing to
illustrate some feature of the conversation by recounting some
misfortune or act of unsophistication of his boyhood career in a
village neighborhood near his dear Kokomo, or of his struggles to
gain a footing in law or politics. Not only did he love to indulge
in personal reminiscences, but even more did he enjoy communing
with memories of happy association with brilliant and picturesque
men of other days in every county in Indiana. His fund of
true-to-life stories was voluminous and ever delightful. He could
not ‘hold a candle’ to Champ Clark in recital of rare and
fascinating biography of great men, but in dramatic or quaint
description of their striking or peculiar characteristics and in
portrayal of the attributes which made them conspicuous as state or
national figures he was a delight extraordinary.

“Also in friendly repartee and ready wit he was a great favorite.
Speaking of his passive regard for the theater, the wife of a
well-known Indiana congressman one evening approached her husband
and the senator, as they were indulging in their daily visit, and
inquired of the former if she should order tickets for an evening
with the drama, then on at a Washington playhouse. When advised to
do so she invited the senator to accompany them. ‘Is it a good
laugh?’ he inquired. ‘No,’ she said, ‘but next week Montgomery and
Ward (slip of the tongue for Montgomery and Stone) are to be here
in the Red Mill and that will be a laugh for you.’ ‘Delightful,’
the senator replied, ‘when will Sears and Roebuck be here?’

“One evening the lone Socialist of the house was regaling a group,
of which Senator Kern was one, with an impassioned screed against
whatever was and reached a climax in the vociferous explosion, ‘My
God, Senator, has reason been entirely dethroned?’ ‘I guess it
has,’ was the senator’s meek and pacific reply.

“At another time the senator and one of his Democratic
congressional associates had been out to address a mass meeting and
the congressman spoke first and used almost an hour of the hour and
a half allotted to the two. When they returned to the hotel several
gentlemen who had accompanied them gathered about them and one
said, ‘Congressman, better have a chair, you have made a very
vigorous speech and are doubtless tired.’ ‘No, thank you,’ replied
the congressman, ‘I do not care to sit down.’ ‘I noticed that when
you were speaking,’ was Kern’s pat and mirth-provoking injection.

“Two middle-aged Indiana congressmen always occupied connecting
bachelor apartments when their families were not with them, and one
was telling the senator how the other seemed to be growing old and
childish. ‘Why, he sleeps with his watch under his pillow,’ the
solon said, ‘to help him wake up in the morning and when I go in
and call to him and tell him it is time to look at his watch he
rears up like a wild horse and acts like one.’ ‘Probably
frightened, in his half-awake condition,’ said the senator, ‘with
apprehension that you are some constituent about to ask him a
direct question as to where he stands on free garden seed.’

“But the real milk of human kindness in Senator Kern’s life was not
touchingly revealed in his tireless devotion to the needy--to the
underdog in the struggle for existence--and his patience with these
was none the less marked than with the most influential in the
country. And therefore what little social life he enjoyed was
constantly invaded by innumerable callers with a mission of self
help, to be relieved by the senator, and he would leave the social
circle, leave his dinner table, and leave the helpful comfort of
his bed when in ill health to see them, not only once, but again
and again.

“Indeed, none ever came to him for an audience and for hope in
vain. Sometimes he would go to his room immediately after his
supper and take one of his congenial friends with him to get
much-needed freedom from official cares and to rest through an
informal chat. Once on such occasion, the writer saw him take down
the telephone receiver and leave it off the hook, explaining that
he did it that the hotel telephone operator could not ring him a
call down into the lobby to give audience to some one who wanted
official assistance. The receiver had been off the hook but a short
time when the senator put it back, saying, ‘Possibly some poor
mortal might want to see me on a matter in which prompt action
would mean happiness to him and delay would cause him despair, and
I’d rather be harassed and nerveworn by ninety-nine undeserving
than to disappoint one in actual need of help.’ So whether it was
some dignified message bearer from the administration suggesting
congressional action or some earnest representative of labor with a
plea for legislative justice, or some agent of business interests
about to be affected by revenue taxes, or some governmental clerk
‘in bad’ with his chief, or some Oliver Twist in politics shoving
up his plate for more, or some poor old woman with no family and
few friends begging that the wolf scratching at the door of her
abode of squalor be driven away by official interference, all were
alike patiently heard and so kindly treated that they went away
with a lump of sugar in the mouth and a rising tide of hope eternal
in the heart.

“Therefore Senator Kern’s social life while in congress consisted
in evening indulgence in conversational round tables with friends,
who talked both business and pleasure, frequently interrupted by
requests of never-ending procession of favor hunters for official
influence in their behalf. He disliked so-called caste and
blue-blood breeding and society shams of whatsoever kind,
preferring the companionship of men and women of strength of
character which lifted them above the frivolous, the irresponsible
and the pretentious.

“And so his social life was really a busy and a cheering life, and
while in no sense a society man, socially he was the noble Roman
par excellent.”

VII

No one is so well qualified to tell the story of John Kern, the campaigner and man, as members of the newspaper fraternity who were assigned to “cover” him on many a tour, and called regularly at his office for many years. There was something in the temperament of the average newspaper man that appealed to him, and for practically all the reporters and correspondents who came into contact with him he formed personal friendship that was very real. This feeling was almost invariably reciprocated. The fact that many of these represented politically hostile papers made no difference with him. He was broad enough to understand.

Among the gentlemen of the press peculiarly qualified to speak, not only because of extensive experience with him, but because of the personal friendship that existed between him and them, are Louis Ludlow, the Washington correspondent, for many

_MR. KERN MEETS A PARTY WHEEL HORSE AT JASONVILLE._

Hub 1904.

FROM KIN HUBBARD’S SKETCHES OF HIS TOUR WITH KERN IN 1904--INDIANAPOLIS NEWS ]

years representative of _The Indianapolis Sentinel_ and _The Indianapolis Star_; W. H. Blodgett, the veteran political writer of _The Indianapolis News_, and Kin Hubbard, the cartoonist and creator of “Abe Martin,” who frequently accompanied Kern upon his tours sketching the crowds, and whose work was a delight to the senator. These men knew the Kern of the campaign more intimately than the politicians for he unburdened himself to them with greater freedom and his confidence was never betrayed.

VIII

Among the press correspondents with whom Senator Kern was associated for many years none were more intimately identified with him than Louis Ludlow, the Washington correspondent, for many years the representative at the national capitol of _The Indianapolis Sentinel_ and _The Indianapolis Star_. I am indebted to Mr. Ludlow for the following reminiscences:

“The writer of this article campaigned with John W. Kern for five
weeks in 1910 when he was contesting with Mr. Beveridge for the
senatorial toga. We shared together the exhilarating novelties and
disappointing hardships, the bitter and the sweet, of that five
weeks’ strenuous tour. We rode together in the same rickety
day-coaches and stuffy interurban cars, bunked at the same hotel
and rooming houses, participated in the same miseries and
inconvenience of travel inflicted upon us by a campaign schedule
that knew neither rhyme or reason, and whatever social recognitions
came his way he very considerately insisted that I should share. He
treated me in every respect as a comrade, although the paper I was
writing for at the time was politically hostile to him and was
giving him an editorial wallop every day.

“This was the longest period of intensive campaigning I ever had
with Mr. Kern, and it gave me a clearer insight into his human
trait and interesting mental processes, as well as his breadth of
vision and nobility of character, than I ever had before; but
compared with my long association with him, he as a leader of his
party in state and nation and I as a newspaper writer, this five
weeks’ tour was but a brief span. I had long before and on many
occasions campaigned with Mr. Kern up and down Indiana, criss-cross
and in every other way, and his office in the Stevenson, afterward
the State Life building, was one of the stations on my daily beat
at Indianapolis. I would no more have thought of letting a day pass
without calling on Mr. Kern at least once than I would of going
without my breakfast. In fact, as a zealous news gatherer I thought
infinitely more of having my daily (often twice-daily) talk with
Mr. Kern than of any mere culinary diversion.

“Our acquaintance had extended over a rounded period of an even
quarter of a century when this good man was called to his reward.
When, as a green country boy from the backwoods with hayseed--lots
of it--in my hair, I went to Indianapolis in 1892 to get a job on a
newspaper, Mr. Kern took a friendly interest in me. Perhaps he
thought I needed some attention; at any rate from that time to the
hour of his death he was a true and loyal friend. He was even then
a leader at the bar, and with the passing of Thomas A. Hendricks he
easily held first rank as the most popular Democrat in Indiana. His
office on North Pennsylvania street, Indianapolis, was a mecca for
Democrats from every nook and corner of the state. I remember him
as a tall, slender distinguished-looking man with jet black
whiskers, worn much longer than the style of beard he affected in
later years.

“About that time the Indianapolis National Bank blew up,
precipitating a train of sensations that shook the foundations of
the state. Mr. Kern, who was in all the big cases in those days,
was appointed attorney for the receiver of the bank. I was assigned
by _The Indianapolis Sun_ to cover the developments, and, speaking
in the vernacular, it certainly was ‘some’ job for a cub reporter.
I think I must have driven Federal Judges Baker and Woods nearly
crazy trying to extract some news from the court, for I even called
on them at their homes at unseemly hours, and if I had been a
sophisticated reporter and they had not possessed a benevolent
disposition they probably would have haled me up for contempt of
court for some of the irregularities I committed. Mr. Kern was my
particular prey. On one occasion, after I had had the boots scooped
off me by a virile opposition, I went to Mr. Kern, determined that
henceforth not the slightest atom of news about that bank failure
should escape me.

“‘There isn’t any news to-day; not a bit in the world,’ he told me.

“‘Well,’ I said, making my last stand, ‘have you heard any rumors?’

“Mr. Kern often told me in after years that, considering all the
circumstances, my positiveness and the comical way I spoke, that
was the funniest question ever put to him. He never got over it.
The last time I called on him for news at his office in the

_MR. KERN CROSSING WHITE RIVER ON A FERRY AT ELLISTON._

Hub 1904.

KERN’S FAVORITE KIN HUBBARD SKETCH--INDIANAPOLIS NEWS]

federal capitol he looked up from behind a stack of letters and
said, quizzically:

“‘Any rumors to-day?’

“While Mr. Kern, while not in the public service, enjoyed a large
law practice, he had a greater non-paying clientele than any other
lawyer I ever knew. He was always giving freely of his time and
talent, without money and without price. Sometimes he made charges
that were ridiculously nominal, but in cases of poverty and
distress he was more likely to make no charges at all, even in
cases that involved a great deal of work. If all those whom he
helped to get out of difficulties and keep out of trouble, without
one cent of recompense, could be compiled it would be a long one.
His law practice, to a very extraordinary extent, was made of
unrewarded kindnesses to others.

“One day on entering his office I saw lying on a table a shining
new quarter. I also saw at a glance that Mr. Kern was very much
amused about something. Then he told the story.

“One of his numerous impecunious but devoted admirers had been in
difficulties and had come to him for advice on a law point. It was
not an easy nut to crack and Mr. Kern spent the greater part of two
days looking up the authorities and had given him a decision that
fit the case and ended the trouble. The client was fully grateful
and asked the amount of his bill.

“Not a cent,” was the reply.

“The client was one of those self-important individuals. He
insisted.

“‘There is no charge; it’s all right. Good luck to you,’ protested
Mr. Kern.

“‘Now I’ll tell you, John,’ said the benevolent client with the air
of one who was conferring a great favor, ‘I never get anything
without paying for it. Here’s a quarter and if you’ll stand by me
I’ll bring you some more business some time.’

“So saying, he laid the twenty-five-cent piece on the table and Mr.
Kern was so flabbergasted he let him go without saying another
word.

“Mr. Kern’s honor shines through all his professional transactions
with an illuminating glow. I know an instance where a well-to-do
man employed Mr. Kern as attorney in an alienation suit. The man
was not altogether to blame; there were extenuating circumstances,
but enough guilt to make the outcome exceedingly precarious if the
aggrieved party carried out his threat to file suit, to say nothing
of the notoriety. Mr. Kern was not one of those lawyers who
believed in fostering litigation. In this case, as many others, he
advised settlement out of court. His client virtually turned over
his fortune to Mr. Kern with authority to affect a settlement on
the best terms possible.

“After exercising his wonderful powers of diplomacy and persuasion
he (this was in his early days at the bar) returned to his client.

“‘What would you say if I told you that I had settled your case for
$10,000?’ he asked.

“‘I would say it is pretty high, but you have performed a real
service for me and I’m glad to get out of it.’

“‘What would you say then if I told you I had settled for $8,000?’

“‘That would be better; I would indorse that settlement right from
the start.’

“‘Then,’ persisted Mr. Kern, ‘what would you say if I told you I
had settled for $5,000.’

“‘I’d be tickled to death.’

“‘Well,’ said Mr. Kern, ‘at the risk of a sudden termination of
your earthly career I will tell you that this whole matter has been
adjusted and that you are to pay only $1,000.’

“And then, to top it all off, Mr. Kern charged him a nominal fee,
finding his reward mainly in the satisfaction of having got
somebody out of trouble.

“Mr. Kern’s sense of humor was exquisite. Whether in the court room
or on the hustings the ‘human side’ of things appealed to him with
mighty force and often, especially in his younger days, when he was
practicing in the courts of Kokomo his quick wit won his cases. On
a certain occasion a Kokomo roisterer got into trouble and engaged
Mr. Kern to defend him in a justice of the peace court. A hog knows
infinitely more about Sunday than that justice knew about law. Mr.
Kern saw that the only salvation for his client was to force
through an immediate trial. It was after dark when his client was
haled into court. The squire adjusted his spectacles in a knowing
way and said:

“‘This case will be continued until to-morrow and the defendant
will be remanded to the county jail.’

“‘May it please the court,’ said the young attorney, ‘nothing of
the kind will be done. We are entitled to justice speedily and
without delay and this trial goes on.’

“‘Will the attorney at the bar consent to tell this here court what
is his authority for that statement?’

“‘Certainly; it is contained right here in the bill of rights.’

“Then Mr. Kern read that part which says that justice shall be
speedy and without delay.

“‘Would this court presume that it has the power to set aside that
fundamental guarantee?’ he asked dramatically.

“The court remarked that he guessed his young friend ‘knowed what
he was talkin’ about’ and ordered the trial to go on. A jury was
impaneled, the trial lasted all night, and at daybreak Mr. Kern’s
client was cleared. This was one of many stories that Mr. Kern used
to tell about justice as she was dispensed at Kokomo in his early
manhood.

“Mr. Kern had a way of making use of ridicule as a very effective
weapon in a law suit. He could lampoon an adversary out of court
and do it in a way that left no sting. A Republican state
administration a decade or so ago started a crusade against Thomas
Taggart’s establishment at French Lick. A constable from the
vicinity swooped down and made a raid. This was followed by
proceedings brought in Judge Tom Van Buskirk’s court at Paoli,
looking, as I recall it, toward a revocation of the charter. I was
sent down to report the trial for an Indianapolis paper. Mr. Kern
was attorney for Mr. Taggart and one of his first acts was to give
me an interview, which he wrote in long hand, setting forth an
imaginary description of the raid that had been conducted by the
‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’ It so happened
that the valorous constable did have one eye as Mr. Kern, who knew
everybody, was aware. The interview made bully copy and it caused
that case to be laughed out of court. Thereafter the issues
involved were obscured by the one outstanding feature--the
‘one-eyed constable from Stamper Creek township.’

“As a campaigner Mr. Kern never indulged in camouflage. He
disdained, for instance, to resort to the usual artifices to work
up a crowd. If people came to hear him he was glad, but he would
not permit any spectacular side shows to drum up audiences. In some
places during the memorable campaign of 1910 the crowds that turned
out were distressingly small, but those who attended came because
they were earnestly seeking to be enlightened and not solely to be
entertained. Therefore it could always be said that his speeches
rated very high from the standpoint of effectiveness. While he
interspersed many stories and jokes throughout his speeches he
never did so without pointing a moral and he often rose to the
sublime heights of eloquence. He was so sociable, so easily
approached, so companionable that he made friends everywhere and
riveted them to him with hooks of steel.

“The campaigning was strenuous and Mr. Kern was no longer young in
years, but his buoyancy and ability to accommodate himself to
situations as they arose enabled him to see the silver lining to
every cloud. We had to arise in all hours of the night to make
train schedules. One night, in making the jump from Brownstown to
Washington, Indiana, the train was due to arrive at Ewing, which is
connected with Brownstown by two streaks of rust, shortly after
midnight. It was several hours late, however, and in a frolicsome
mood Mr. Kern insisted that we arouse a village restaurateur and
have him cook us a breakfast of his favorite kind, consisting of
bacon and eggs. This the restaurateur did gladly and sent us on our
way rejoicing.

“An interesting contretemps occurred down in a town in the First
district. The reception committee slipped a cog and we arrived
without attracting attention and made our way to the best hotel in
the town, which was none too good. No sooner had we deposited our
luggage on the floor than in came the reception committee in a
state of breathless agitation. Mr. Kern was beckoned to one side
and the startling information was imparted to him that it would
never do for him to stop at that hotel and that quarters had been
reserved for him at a rooming house down the street. It seemed that
there were two hotels in the place, both run by Democrats.
Representative Boehne had been there a short time before and had
stopped at the crackerjack hotel, and now it was imperatively
necessary, in order to preserve the political equilibrium, that Mr.
Kern should stop at the place down the street. Being myself under
no such restrictions of political expediency I turned in at the
best hotel and had a good night’s rest. Before I did so I went down
the street to see how Mr. Kern was faring. His room was over a
billiard hall and the cracking of the ivories resounded for half a
block. If I were made to guess I would say that he did not sleep a
wink that night, but he accepted the situation with sweet
resignation, just as he did every other situation in life.

“On the interurban car returning to Evansville something happened.
The car came to a standstill with a suddenness that caused
everybody to pitch forward and then the lights went out. Without
was Stygian darkness. It was a darkness that was absolutely black.
After what seemed an interminably long time the motorman returned
to the car, the conductor and motorman indulged in the usual bell
talk preliminary to getting away and the car proceeded.

“‘What did we hit back there?’ Mr. Kern asked the motorman.

“‘We hit a cow,’ replied the motorman, none too pleasantly.

“Quick as a flash Mr. Kern said: ‘Permit me to congratulate you on
being able to tell the gender of the animal on a night like this.’

“The senatorial campaign ended with both of the candidates speaking
in their home city, Indianapolis. The Republicans arranged as a
grand finale a monster meeting at Tomlinson Hall, preceded by a
street parade in which it seemed that half of Marion county
participated. On the Democratic side the plan was for a number of
ward meetings, to be addressed by the Democratic senatorial
candidate. The brilliant genius who made the arrangements staged
the last of these meetings, the very closing of the campaign, to
take place in a south-side saloon. It was to be a sort of
hand-shaking affair. Mr. Kern was ushered into the room before he
recognized the character of the place. He left immediately and that
was the only time during the campaign when he showed any
manifestations of anger. He expressed in plain terms his opinion of
the dunderhead who had made the arrangements.

“As a senator of the United States Mr. Kern at once took high rank
in Washington and advanced in position and influence with a
swiftness that was amazing. His election to the leadership of the
controlling party after he had been a senator only a fraction of
his first term was wholly without precedent. Hard, intelligent
work, combined with personal popularity, won for him a prestige
never before accorded to a first termer. He saw through the thin
veneer of Washington society and formed an intense dislike for its
sham. Aside from White House functions and those of a few
senatorial friends, about the only dinners and receptions he
attended were those occasionally given by Indianians, and then he
sometimes got his dates curiously mixed. An instance that
Vice-President Marshall relates occurred one night when Mr. Kern
was discovered by the vice-president groping his way through one of
the halls of the Willard Hotel. The vice-president hailed him.

“‘Where do you think you are going, John?’ he asked.

“‘I am going to your apartment to take dinner with you,’ was the
reply.

“‘That can’t be because I am going out to dinner now.’

“‘But you invited me,’ said the senator.

“‘Look at your invitation,’ came back the vice-president, who could
hardly restrain his mirth.

“Senator Kern did so and a light broke. The invitation was for the
next night. They had a good laugh together. On the next night the
senator forgot all about the invitation and did not attend. All of
which illustrates the fact that when it came to society matters he
was not a J. Hamilton Lewis.

“It would be impossible to speak of Senator Kern’s successful
regime as a leader of the greatest law-making body in the world
without paying a high tribute to the personal equation.

“His magnetic and lovable personality held sway in the senate and
made him the greatest conciliator among all the leaders that held
that position of high responsibility. In ironing out differences
and bringing contending elements together he was the master.

“It would be impossible to speak of Senator southern senator once
remarked, ‘except to say that you can’t talk with him two minutes
without falling in love with him. He captivates you, suh.’

“Perhaps this explains why Senator Kern, a northern man, never
lacked southern support in the senate, although the party leaders
almost invariably have been southern men. Nor was there any
semblance of the mailed fist in his leadership. He made it a point
to cultivate friendly relations with all the senators. They
regarded him as a companion and a comrade. He had a joke for every
occasion and sometimes a playful senator would perpetrate a joke on
the leader.

“I shall never forget an occasion, for instance, when Senator Kern
received a letter from Senator Saulsbury of Delaware, now the
president pro tem. of the senate. Senator Kern had been lecturing
Democratic senators on the necessity of maintaining a quorum and
the evils of absenteeism. Senator Saulsbury had planned a cherished
trip to Europe and one fine day, unknown to Senator Kern, he set
sail from New York. When the outgoing vessel passed Sandy Hook he
sat down and wrote a letter to Senator Kern that bristled with
belligerency. He told him he had grown tired of his ‘tyrannical
rule’ of the ‘autocratic’ senate leader and had decided to ‘set
himself free.’ He bade defiance to the senate ‘boss’ and dared him
to cross the pond and get him. Of course the anger assumed in the
letter was all camouflage, as better friends than Senators Kern and
Saulsbury never lived. Some months later when Senator Saulsbury
returned they had a merry laugh over it. One could as easily
imagine the Washington monument bending over to salute the morning
sun as to think of a kittenish senator issuing such a challenge for
example to Senator Martin, the predecessor and successor of Senator
Kern in the senate leadership.

“In my capacity as one of the correspondents at the capitol I
naturally was brought into close contact with the leader. Senator
Kern was fond of taking long walks and frequently I was with him on
these strolls. His high position did not make the slightest
modification in his democratic ways. Correspondents could go to him
at any hour of the day or night with perfect assurance that they
would receive courteous treatment and straightforward answers. We
met on unusual occasions as, for instance, when we stood up as
witness at the wedding of two dear friends, now Mr. and Mrs. W. S.
Ryan.

“This same Mr. Ryan was the ‘Bill’ Ryan who was featured in some of
Mr. Kern’s speeches back in the 1910 campaign. He would challenge
the correctness of statistics presented on the stump by the
Republican speakers to prove that their administration of affairs
had been a success. He would point out that figures are misleading
unless one knows how to analyze them.

“‘They remind me of Bill Ryan’s watch,’ he would say. ‘When the
hour hand points to eight and the minute hand to three Bill knows
it is half past four.’

“The brightest senate page I ever knew bore the euphonious nickname
of ‘Christopher Columbus.’ His real name was Weirisk, but in a
moment of facetiousness I bestowed the name of ‘Christopher
Columbus’ upon him for no other reason than that he was born and
reared at Columbus, Ohio. Though the name finally came to be
abbreviated down to ‘Chris’ it was as ‘Chris’ that he was known to
scores of correspondents, to whose service he was assigned. He was
as keen as a whip and bright as a new dollar, and, withal, had a
sense of the dignity of his position and a constant care not to
offend any one.

“One afternoon I sent ‘Chris’ into the senate chamber to ask
Senator Kern if I could see him. When the lad returned he was
plainly agitated. He hemmed and hawed and made no response that I
could understand.

“‘Mr. Ludlow,’ he finally said, ‘I don’t like to tell you what
Senator Kern told me.’

“That was interesting.

“‘Why?’ I asked.

“‘Because it is not a bit favorable to you.’

“‘Oh, pshaw, Chris,’ I insisted, ‘I haven’t got all afternoon to
waste. What did he say?’

“‘Senator Kern told me to tell you to go to the hot place,’
answered ‘Chris,’ who looked as if he would gladly have sacrificed
his right arm rather than have delivered that message. Just then
the senator came out of the chamber shaking with laughter.

“A little later another page nearly fell over when Senator Kern, on
being told that I would like to see him, asked whether I was ‘drunk
or sober.’ Subsequently he made that inquiry so often that the
pages, who were my friends, learned to respond instantly, ‘Sober,
sir.’

“Senator Kern’s kind heart made him the prey of impecunious and
designing individuals who were always trying to ‘touch’ him and
seldom unsuccessfully.

“One day the senator was called into the marble room by a smooth
citizen who said he lived at Elwood, Indiana, and told of meeting
the senator there when he was one of the appreciative and
applauding auditors. After recalling these pleasant and
circumstantial facts he wound up by asking the senator for the loan
of the small sum of a dollar, which the senator readily granted,
thankful that the request was not for ten dollars, the usual
amount.

“The senator then returned to the chamber and was sitting by the
side of his colleague, Senator Shively, when the same man sent in a
card to the latter. Senator Shively went into the marble room and
when he resumed his seat five minutes later Senator Kern asked:

“‘Who was your friend?’

“‘He was from Elwood and he just wanted to talk to me about old
times. He recalled one occasion when I spoke at Elwood and he was
kind enough to say it was a corking good speech.’

“‘Honest Injun, Ben,’ how much did he touch you for?’

Senator Shively jumped as if startled.

“‘Fifty cents,’ he answered.

“‘Well, that shows he thinks I am the better senator. He stung me
for a dollar,’ said Kern.

“‘No, I think he sized you up as the easier mark,’ came back
Shively, and they then adjourned to the cloak room and told the
story to a group of senators, who enjoyed it hugely.

“Reminiscences with Senator Kern as the central and radiating
figure might be told by the hour, but even reminiscences must come
to an end. It so happened that I was the last man in Washington to
bid him a final good-bye. He had come from his room at the Congress
Hall Hotel and summoned a taxi to take him to the depot. Passing me
at the entrance of the hotel he extended his hand and said, brave:

“‘Good-bye; I am going down to the sanatorium at Asheville to take
a post-graduate course.’

“I was inexpressibly shocked a few days later to learn that his
spirit had winged its flight to the blessed Summerland.”

IX

After Mr. Ludlow no newspaper man was thrown into such frequent contact in the discharge of professional duties with Senator Kern as William H. Blodgett, who has been for so many years the political writer of _The Indianapolis News_. In campaign after campaign he has been assigned by his paper to cover the tours of the party leaders, and has reported all the conventions, state and national, for an equal period. He made one of the “Kern party” on practically every important tour that Kern made during the last eighteen years of his career. Mr. Blodgett’s reminiscences throw an interesting side light on the character of the senator:

“When John W. Kern answered the final call there passed out of the
lives of the newspaper fraternity one with whom they were always
bound by a strong chain with links of admiration, respect, honor
and friendship. To them it was not the United States senator who
died. It was the man whose soul had gone away; and while the
newspaper men may remember for a time the public acts of John W.
Kern as United States senator, so long as they live they will never
forget his personal attributes, and his kind and courteous
treatment of them; and the cold grave where he lies can never chill
the steadfast, kindly and unfaltering friendship the men and women
of the press bore him--a friendship that can not be calculated.