In New York

Last week a man got a job. He is a slender, witty young man of 44. He has had other jobs. Once he wrote songs, wrote "Will You Love Me in December as You Do in May?" He wrote it for a show that failed, but he married the understudy of the leading lady, and the song made a hit; so his royalties were satisfactory. He had also a job with a subway company that did not build a subway. Then a very efficient political boss gave him a job in the state legislature, which he held for quite a time.

Last week he got another. He did not get it by book learning, for he confesses that in all his life he has never read twelve books from cover to cover. Although he likes baseball, sits at the ringside at nearly all good prize fights, and is a confirmed first-nighter at the theatre, it is hardly likely that any of these specialties got him a job. Perhaps his neat way of dressing contributed. He is a natty dresser, likes rather a tight fit in his clothes, favors a green fabric with a white stripe, is given to wearing patent-leather shoes.

The job he got pays $25,000 a year. Moreover it is a responsible position--Mayor of a great municipality. Its greatness can be measured in a number of ways: in area 314.75 square miles; in population 5,873,356 inhabitants, 2,000,000 of them foreign born; in Italians, larger than Rome; in Irishmen, larger than Dublin; in Germans, larger than Bremen; in Jews, 10% of all those in the world; in telephones, more than in London, Paris, Berlin, Rome and Leningrad combined; in annual pork consumption, 450,000,000 lb.; in annual banana consumption, 435,000,000 lb.; in annual onion consumption, 85,000,000 lb.; in annual sugar consumption, 525,000,000 lb.; in total annual food consumption, four and a half million tons.

And little Jimmy Walker, who all his life has lived in only two houses down in Greenwich Village, came out of the New York Senate to rule over New York City, its Italians, its Irish, its Germans, its Jews, its telephones, its gourmands and many more. "Happy New Year," said the city; "1926 will be different from 1925."

But 1925 was also different from 1926. In both years a Democrat occupied the City Hall, which sprawls out in a little park at the foot of the Woolworth Building and gazes fondly through its front windows at a marble Hercules called Civic Virtue.

In 1925 John F. Hylan sat in the Mayor's chair--Hylan, onetime motorman on the L, which has its terminus across the square from the City Hall; Hylan, dubbed "Red Mike," with his red hair only partly dimmed from sitting several years on a Judge's bench; Hylan, whom all dailies except the Hearst papers made the butt of jokes and the target of civic invective; Hylan, from Brooklyn, who was never a Tammany man although Tammany helped him to the mayoralty twice for a total of eight years; Hylan, who himself declared that he was persecuted by the traction "interests" and volunteered to defend the populace from their "schemes."

On next to the last day of his term Mayor Hylan resigned in order to get a pension of $4,205.99 a year. He however went to his office next day while the President of the Board of Aldermen was technically Mayor. Then Mr. Hylan made his adieux to the City Hall. For 30 days, he said, he would rest and consider, then he would announce what his future would be. At the inauguration of Mayor Walker, speaking by invitation, he said:

"I recalled this morning the null happiest days of my life.

"The first was the day on which I led the prettiest little country lassie in a hamlet upState to the altar and we were married.

"The second was Jan. 1, 1918, when I was inducted into the office of Mayor of the greatest city.

"The third was the day on which the great responsibility that a Mayor must assume was ended, and that is practically today.

"I want to take this opportunity to thank the people of the city for their support and for the confidence they have shown in me during the eight long years I have been in office.

"I want to compliment the Mayor of this city for continuing in office some of the commissioners who served during my term as Mayor. They are capable and experienced men, and, I am sure, will render valuable service to the city and the new Administration.

"I want to congratulate you, Mr. Mayor, on having so many friends present. As I look about me, I remember some of their faces on Jan. 1, 1918, and again on Jan. 1, 1922.

"Other times may come. Other Mayors have been elected to this high and important office and other Mayors will be elected to this great office, but never will any Mayor endeavor to serve the people more than I have tried to serve the people during the eight long years that I have been Mayor.

"I have been 100% loyal to the people of this city. I have been 100% loyal to my party. I have been 100% loyal to my friends."

Then he stepped off the stage. The induction of Mr. Walker was gradual. He took the oath of office three days in advance in order that there might be no hiatus in the mayoralty (his term technically began on the stroke of 12:00 on New Year's Eve). The ceremony was attended by some 200 friends. The mayor elect was an hour and a half late for the ceremony because he had been attending a funeral.

Almost twelve hours after he had legally become Mayor, Jimmy Walker, dapper and swagger, descended from his car in front of the City Hall. The crowd was tremendous. As it surged around him he grinned: "Let me in, I want to go to work." Every room in the building was crowded. In one of the largest, crowded with 700 or 800 people, Mayor Walker took the oath a second time, then Mr. Hylan spoke. When he had done, the Mayor spoke, saying: "I, too, Judge Hylan, am very happy today." Then he began to read his prepared address. Before he finished a woman fainted in the crush. He stopped reading and said: "That is the substance of my message today. My address has been given to the papers and you can read it there." He administered the oath of office to his Secretary and to the Assistant to the Mayor, then he closed the ceremony:

"I understand now that there is some serious swearing to be done, but that will take place in the Mayor's office. Will all those gentlemen who have so kindly and patriotically consented to assist the new administration make their way to the floor below?"

The crowd drowned him out with laughter. On the floor below he swore in some 30 members of his Administration and shook hands, grinning, for several hours. Finally he drove away to stop at an undertaker's to pay his respects at the bier of a friend's mother before going to his New Year's dinner.

So New York City had its first glimpse of its new administration and began to note down its impressions:

1) The Administration is Tammany through and through--not the old Tammany which gained such a bad name, nor the pseudo-Tammany of Hylan--but the "new Tammany" of Al Smith, Olvany and natty Jimmy Walker.

2) Walker is apparently intent on throwing out partisanship from certain parts of the city government. His appointments for Police Commissioner, Health Commissioner, and Commissioner of Plants and Structures were considered to be made on the basis of qualifications, with politics only as a minor consideration. It was announced in advance that the Health Commissioner would not be appointed without the approval of the Academy of Medicine. In a part of his address which he did not read, Mayor Walker promised:

"It is my intention, as soon as conditions will permit, to ask men and women best qualified by experience and training to give their unselfish service to the development of a city plan based upon a scientific survey of the city, Booking forward to a simplification of government machinery and the elimination of duplicate effort--a comprehensive city plan to which this city may grow in the future."

What was considered one of the Mayor's best appointments was the naming of George V. McLaughlin as Police Commissioner. Mr. McLaughlin had been Superintendent of State banks. He is not a Tammany man, has held office under both Republicans and Democrats. A six-foot, 207-lb., muscular man, his type is indicated by the story of his first appearance at Police Headquarters--the day before he took office:

He went up the steps two at a time, and entered the elevator before the policemen chatting in the lobby had recognized him. "Where is the Police Commissioner's office?" He was let out at the second floor, "strode vigorously" down a long corridor, "pushed aside a heavy door," and went into the Commissioner's office beyond. He stayed with his predecessor 17 minutes, and strode out. Photographers were waiting for him. "Will you pose?" He hesitated, nodded. "Make it snappy now!" Reporters began to ask questions: "Have you been sworn in as Police Commissioner?" "No, I have not." "Will you be here tomorrow?" "Yes." He hurried down the stairs with a policeman chasing him. In the street the policeman caught up: "Mr. Commissioner, won't you use your Department car?" "No." He hurried to a taxi cab. "I'm waiting for another fare," said the driver. A detective whispered to him, "That's the new Police Commissioner." The driver changed his mind; off went the cab with Mr. McLaughlin.

He commands a small army of 14,000 men.