Monday, Oct. 01, 1956

The Threads of Power

(See Cover)

To New York came the bold and the fearful, the strong and the helpless of the world: first the sturdy Dutch traders, then French-speaking Walloons, Norwegians, Danes, Germans, Scots, English, and, on a slow boat from Brazil, 23 Jews. By 1644, just 35 years after Henry Hudson sailed up the great river that bears his name, at least 18 languages were represented in New York's babel of tongues. In the mid-1800s, more than 1,000,000 Irish, driven by famine, poured into New York, along with endless waves of Italian, German and Balkan refugees spilling out of revolution-torn Europe. In 1885 the Statue of Liberty was going up on Bedloe's Island, with its message of compassion and hope to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. Among those to land in New York that year was Robert Ferdinand Wagner, a stocky German eight-year-old whose name was to become famous in his adopted land. Lifting his eyes toward Liberty some two years later was Morris Javits, a 23-year-old Austrian Rabbinical student who became a New York pants-maker and, later, a tenement-house janitor.

The immigrants have never stopped coming. Today, more than half of New York State's 16 million inhabitants are immigrants or the children of immigrants. New York City alone has more Irish than Dublin, more Italians than Rome, more Jews than Israel, more Puerto Ricans than San Juan. From the tangled threads of the state's 75 national and racial groups is woven the most intricate political tapestry in U.S. history.

In election year 1956, two of the major figures on that tapestry are New York City's Democratic Mayor Robert Ferdinand Wagner Jr., the only son of Immigrant Bob Wagner, and New York's Republican Attorney General Jacob Koppel Javits, a son of Immigrant Morris Javits. They have been nominated by their parties to run for the place of retiring Democratic Senator Herbert H. Lehman--and the Wagner-Javits pursuit of New York's polyglot vote involves more nuances, more subtleties, more campaigning and more voters than any other of this year's 36 contests for control of the U.S. Senate.

Friend in Need. Robert Wagner Sr. and Morris Javits were faceless in the arriving masses of the 1880s. But, like millions of other groping, bewildered, lonely immigrants, they found a friend in the New York County Democratic organization: Tammany Hall. Whatever its sins--and they were many--Tammany provided a vital service to the U.S. It met the immigrants at the docks, helped them, fed them, found them jobs, guided them through the first terrifying years in their new world. Tammany asked only their vote--which they gladly gave.

New York City thus became the nation's Democratic stronghold, and (with a valuable assist from the Democratic-oriented Liberal Party) remains so today. Of the city's 8,000,000 total population, some 5,000,000 are members of minority groups--and the vast majority have kept faith with the Democratic Party. Drawing on that faith, Democratic candidates can frequently win pluralities of more than 600,000 votes in New York City (Averell Harriman carried the city by 698,000 for governor in 1954).

Not all the immigrants lingered long enough in the city to partake of Tammany's good deeds. Some pushed northward, across the Catskills, the Mohawk Valley and the Adirondacks as far as frigid Franklin County on the Canadian border. Others moved westward across the muck flats around Syracuse to Lake Erie and the Pennsylvania line. They found themselves part of a statewide complex that had reacted against the political and economic power of the city. They discovered that their tax dollars were winding up in the pockets of Tammany's corrupt sachems. Many joined with native sons in one of the nation's great Republican bastions. Upstate New York can--and often does--return Republican pluralities of more than 700,000 (Dwight Eisenhower took the counties outside New York City by more than 1,200,000 in 1952).

All the drives and tensions, the racial currents and religious crosscurrents of New York politics take form in the persons and careers of Bob Wagner, 46, and Jack Javits, 52, the one a Catholic who was born to the political manor and now holds one of the world's biggest--and most cruelly difficult--political jobs; the other a Jew who rose from squalor to become the highest elected Republican official in the state today.

Steak by Mistake. Far more than is usually the case with father and son, young Bob Wagner's career had its genesis in old Bob's career. The first few years had not been easy for the German immigrant lad, who had settled with his parents in Manhattan's Yorkville section, a sort of East River Frankfurt. The social center for Yorkville's Vereinsmeier was Tammany's 16th District Democratic Club, and Robert Wagner became an eager, active member. To get an education he took on any and all odd jobs, while his own father contributed from a janitor's small wages and an Uncle August walked to work to add carfare savings to the boy's future. Such thrift and industry put Robert Wagner through the City College of New York, and seven years later Tammany Hall sent him to the state assembly. Within four years he was a rising Tammany star in the state senate.

Wagner met and married Margaret Marie McTague, the Catholic daughter of Irish-born parents (during their courtship he almost lost her by taking her to Feltmans Restaurant on Coney Island and ordering steaks--only to be briskly informed that it was Friday night). When their only son was christened, Tammany District Leader Mike Cosgrove stood in as godfather--and Young Bob has never since been far removed from political influences.

Just Two Left. At six, he earned his first dollar as a page boy in the state senate, where his father already was writing a record of social legislation that later served as model for the New Deal. With his father, the boy visited Woodrow Wilson's summer White House at Shadow Lawn, N.J., went on political outings to a Long Island inn near the Good Ground estate of Tammany Boss Charles F. Murphy, rode ponyback on Governor Al Smith's Great Dane, Caesar.

The father-and-son relationship became even closer after Margaret McTague Wagner died in 1919, when young Bob was just nine. Old and young Bob hiked together in the Lake Placid woods, made the first of Bob Jr.'s seven trips to Europe, traveled together on political business to every nook and cranny of New York State (Bob knows upstate New York as do few city politicians and--more important to this year's Senate campaign--upstate New York knows him). Recalls Wagner: "Sometimes Father would show signs of fatigue as we'd ride along. But the minute he'd see a hall and a band he'd get a new lease on life." One day in 1926 Robert Wagner Sr. whisked 16-year-old Bob away on a sudden "vacation" to Deal, NJ. There the father (by that time a judge in the appellate branch of the New York Supreme Court) confronted the son with a serious matter. "Young man," said he, "there are only two of us. I feel it is only right to let you share in a decision I have to make. I have the chance to run for the U.S. Senate. It might mean a great change for both of us." Young Bob's advice: Run. Old Bob did--and was elected to the first of his four Senate terms.

Turn to the Right. Washington was a wonderful but bewildering place for the Wagners. When they first arrived, says Bob Jr., the father "suggested we go up and have our first good look at the Capitol. We left the Mayflower Hotel and hit a pretty confident course, but we took a right instead of a left. Instead of getting to the Capitol, we ended up in Georgetown." That was probably the first and last time that Robert Wagner Sr. steered a course to the right: a New Dealer in principle before the New Deal was born in fact, he is known to history as the author of the drastically pro-union Wagner Labor Relations Act (in his Senate campaign this year, young Bob carries a hero's name in upstate industrial centers), one of the architects of social security, a great and forceful advocate of civil-rights measures (a fact that young Bob will recall to the minds of New York State's 1,000,000 Negroes).

Robert Wagner Jr. soaked up the lessons of practical politics too. He recalls the 1932 Senate race, when the Republicans nominated a distinguished Jew, George Z. Medalie, to run against his father. A Brooklyn Democratic leader feared for his heavily Jewish district--but he was equal to the occasion. He dug around until he found a picture of the Senator's German grandfather, a Lutheran minister whose full beard strongly suggested a rabbinical calling. A yarmulke (skull cap) was easily inked in; the picture received wide distribution among the district's Jewish voters. Then the district leader spread the word that Medalie was an Italian. Senator Robert Wagner carried the district--overwhelmingly.

The Word From Clem. There was never a moment's doubt that young Bob Wagner would end up in politics, and his education was carefully directed toward that end. From P.S. 6 and Loyola secondary school (during this period he won elocution medals for his delivery of "Spartacus to the Gladiators" and "How Rudy Played"), he went to Connecticut's fashionable Taft prep school, thence to Yale (where he led the campus Democratic Club, harangued voters from street corners for F.D.R. in 1932, majored in economics and international relations), the Harvard School of Business Administration, a summer session at Geneva's old international-relations school (where he took a course from Socialist Clement Attlee), and Yale Law School.

Even at college, the obligations of professional politics occupied Bob Wagner's attention. There were, for example, the five New York judges who drove to New Haven every other year for the Harvard-Yale football game in a Cadillac borrowed from an undertaker. It was Bob's duty to arrange with the local mayor for a motorcycle escort for the visitors. After depositing the judges at their hotel, Bob Wagner would persuade the cops to lead him, sirens screeching, to pick up an attractive blonde Smith College student named Susan Edwards, the Presbyterian daughter of a Scotch Presbyterian father and a Quaker mother. His performance must have been impressive, since Susan Edwards is now Susan Wagner (and mother of two sons: Bobbie, 12, and Duncan, 9).

Wagner's attention to political detail, as well as his father's name and position in Tammany Hall, paid off fast. No sooner had he emerged from Yale Law School in 1937 than he was informed that Tammany would be delighted to back him for an opening in the state assembly from Yorkville. He ran, won, and on election night joined his father and some old cronies for a victory celebration in Hans Jaeger's restaurant. "They gave me the bill," says Bob, "and there went the rest of my campaign fund." Robert Wagner Sr. was only a little less pleased when, at the next election, Bob Jr. ran 125 votes ahead of him in their home district.

The Call from Carmine. World War II interrupted Wagner's political career. Given an Army Air Corps commission, he spent 1942 making speeches in defense plants, served in Europe for 2 1/2 years, handling judge-advocate duties and planning bombing raids. He returned in 1945 as a lieutenant colonel, with six battle stars--and a deafness in his left ear caused by a bomb blast in England. His partial deafness was something of an asset in his next series of jobs: appointive posts during the uproarious administration of Mayor William O'Dwyer. Elected Manhattan Borough President in 1949, Wagner showed an amazing aptitude in one of the toughest fields of New York politics: staying out of trouble. That was precisely the aptitude sought by Tammany Hall Boss Carmine De Sapio, who was himself cliff-hanging after some disastrous political defeats, when it came time to nominate a mayoralty candidate in 1953. With De Sapio's backing, Wagner walloped the fifth-rate Incumbent Vincent Impellitteri and Reformer Rudy Halley in the primary, scored an easy win in the general election.

Robert Wagner Sr. did not live to see his son installed in City Hall. He had retired from the Senate in 1949 and, under young Bob's loving care, lived out his years in his Islip, N.Y. retreat. Born a German Lutheran, trained as a U.S. Methodist, converted to Catholicism in 1946,* he died in 1953.

Price of Improvement. To do a mediocre job as mayor of New York is itself a tremendous challenge; to do a first-class job is apparently impossible. Bob Wagner has risen above the mediocre--but he has fallen far short of the impossible. His greatest assets, says an associate, are "a cast-iron behind and an awesomely retentive memory." Years ago, his father told him: "Young man, when in doubt, don't." Bob Wagner doesn't. His habit of delaying decisions has brought criticism--but it has also kept him from making the monumental blunders of his predecessors.

Slowly, carefully, cautiously, he has made important improvements; e.g., he created the office of city administrator, hired competent officials for top policy-making posts, modernized the city's housing code to improve the lot of tenement dwellers, hired nearly 3,000 new police men (total force: 22,750), switched many a cop from a desk job to a beat--and cut the city's major crime rate by 21%. He has performed the chore of greeting hundreds of visiting dignitaries with all the devotion--if not the flair--of Jimmy Walker. On a trip abroad he and Susan Wagner religiously followed the New York politician's traditional "Three-I League" route--from Ireland to Italy to Israel. At home he has never been one to interfere with soundly established political customs and practices. He has kept Tammany hacks out of top policymaking jobs--but rarely takes a job away from the boys at a lower level. His celebrated efficiency is tempered with practicality; e.g., when a blue-ribbon Management Survey Committee suggested that fire protection could be maintained and $1,000,000 a year could be saved by closing 30 fire houses, Wagner yielded to the protests of neighborhood groups and the fire houses stayed open. The sum total of Wagner's administration is that he has increased welfare services, topped the old bureaucracy with well-paid, capable administrative leadership and in the process New York City's annual spending has gone up by one-third--from $1.5 billion to nearly $2 billion.

Nonetheless, Bob Wagner's record proves him a skilled New York politician, and he will have need of all his skills this fall. As a friend says, Bob Wagner received from his father a "running start" in politics. But he will find in Republican Jack Javits an opponent who was born running--to stay alive. And Javits has never learned how to slow down.

Dollars to Democrats. When Bob Wagner, as a boy, was hobnobbing with New York's great and near-great, Jack Javits was a skinny-legged Jewish kid on Manhattan's Lower East Side ("In New York State," he says, "that is like being born in a log cabin"). Of his boyhood, Javits recalls that "the most money I ever had was a penny--and that only on a special occasion." His mother, Ida Littman Javits, had been abandoned by her parents in Palestine and forced to start work at the age of six. Illiterate until she was past 50, she helped support her family by selling dry goods from a pushcart (last winter, on a trip to Israel, Javits stopped in Safed to dedicate Ida Littman Javits Street). The Javits family lived rent-free because Immigrant Morris Javits worked as janitor for three verminous tenements. In these tenements were enough voters to whet Tammany's appetite. An arrangement was made: at election time, Morris Javits reported to a nearby saloonkeeper and received funds to pay off tenants willing to vote Democratic 40-c- per vote). As a reward, Morris received petty Tammany favors.

Years later (after nearly working himself to death--as a candy-store delivery boy, lithographic-supply salesman, bill collector--while going through high school and New York University Law School), it came time for Jack Javits to make his own decision about party affiliation. He remembered how his father had been sent vote-buying by Tammany--and Jack became a Republican. He was a devoted and active follower of that able, highly eccentric Republican Fiorello La Guardia.

Pencils to Literates. By 1946, after his discharge as a lieutenant colonel in the Army's chemical-warfare branch, Jack Javits had made enough of a name as a promising young Republican lawyer to be offered the party's nomination for Congress from Manhattan's 21st District. It was not much of an offer: Tammany Hall had been carrying the 21st by two-to-one margins for 25 years. That made no difference to Jack Javits; he eagerly accepted the offer and flung himself into the campaign, having also picked up the endorsement of the Liberal Party.

For months, he went from store to store until he had called on every retail merchant in the district; he averaged six speeches a night, endorsing price and rent controls, arguing for lower tariffs and higher immigration, championing organized labor and attacking the National Association of Manufacturers. When he discovered that the district had high literacy, he switched from handing out cigars to handing out pencils stamped with his name.

Javits' frenzied campaigning won him the 1946 election, and he bustled off to Washington. There, he represented more constituents than some U.S. Senators: his congressional district had a population of 300,000, with 44 Protestant churches, 14 Catholic churches, 23 synagogues and a 10% Negro bloc.

"Who Else?" As a Congressman, Javits' voting record was independent liberal and not always in line with the G.O.P.'s newly won majority in the 80th Congress. He voted against the Mundt-Nixon anti-subversive bill and against funds for the House Committee on Un-American Activities. He also voted for aid to Greece and Turkey in their fight against Communism, for the establishment of the Voice of America and for an unsuccessful bill to outlaw state poll taxes. "We thank God for Javits," exulted a Democratic leader, "because in a tight spot we can almost always count on him for another vote." But some Republican leaders grasped an essential point: a Representative is primarily an ambassador from his district. One time Javits came forward apologetically to explain a maverick vote to G.O.P. Leader Joe Martin. "Don't worry about it," said Martin. "Your job is to represent your district. That's what you're here for. We want you back."

Javits went back: he was re-elected three times, and by 1954 had clearly earned the dubious right to run against Democrat Franklin Delano Roosevelt Jr. for attorney general of New York. Some New York Republican leaders were reluctant to accept Javits because of his liberal record. Finally Tom Dewey arose at a party caucus that lasted until 4 a.m. "Who else," demanded Dewey, "have we got?" Javits not only ran against F.D.R. Jr., but he walloped him by 170,000 votes and was the only Republican on the state ticket to breast the Democratic tide. Manhattan's Javits carried upstate New York by nearly 663,000 votes. By that stunning victory he automatically became the only logical, available choice for this year's Republican senatorial nomination.

By last week, when Democrat Bob Wagner was still cautiously, methodically planning his campaign (which he will open formally this week), Republican Jack Javits was off and running. On Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, Jewish ritual forbade his riding in a car. He therefore set off on foot from the swank, twelve-room Park Avenue apartment where he lives with his strikingly handsome wife Marion and their three children (Joy Deborah, 8, Joshua Moses, 6, and Carla, 1). Exposing his conservatively tailored $200 suit to a driving rain, he walked across a twelve-mile radius on Manhattan's Upper West Side to visit six synagogues. It was 8 p.m. before a bedraggled Jack Javits returned from the last intoned "Shalom Aleichem." Said he: "I feel more dead than alive."

"Any Questions?" But next morning Javits was up bright and early to start off on an upstate trek that included an Ulster County Ukrainian picnic (asked if he wanted a drink, Javits requested "any kind of cocktail, as long as you make it with Ukrainian vodka") and, later in the week, trips to Plattsburg and Potsdam in New York's far north. In conservative Franklin County, some Republican leaders were skeptical about Javits for reasons that included his recent brush with the Senate Internal Security Subcommittee (TIME, Sept. 17). But the liberal-minded candidate with the gleaming white teeth, the gleaming blue eyes and the gleaming bald head settled most of their doubts in a one-hour conference. Said one, emerging from the session: "What he did was say, 'Here I am. I'm Jack Javits. This is my program. This is what I think. Any questions?' " By the time the questions had been answered, the local Republicans seemed ready to go all the way with Candidate Jack Javits, conqueror of Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr., in his effort to take the scalp of another famous political son.

What infinite energy, brusque independence, and a flashing mind can accomplish, Republican Javits will accomplish in his crucial fight to hold onto normal Republican margins upstate and to cut into normal Democratic margins in New York City. He is already off to a far faster start than Candidate Wagner, whose lethargic beginning has some Democrats chewing their fingernails. But Wagner is quietly confident, well aware that he has behind him a great name in New York politics, an unblemished record of winning elections in New York City.

Despite the careful measuring of minority blocs, and the canny calculation of special-interest appeal, the Wagner-Javits race probably will be run on a plane higher than that in many another state. For in the strange and wonderful political world that is New York, Bob Wagner and Jack Javits understand and respect each other, just as they understand and respect New York's minorities-that-make-majorities. New York in a special sense understands and respects both candidates for what they are and whence they have come. Understanding them in this way, the voters are better prepared to judge the full importance of the 1956 issues, to absorb what a Democratic son of a German-born U.S. Senator is trying to say about the Democrats, and what the Republican son of an Austrian-born janitor is trying to say about the Republicans in Election Year 1956.

* His conversion stemmed from a promise made long before to his wife, and came after countless, soul-searching talks with his great and good friend, Catholic Al Smith.

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