As Americans head to the polls today, I’m sure everyone is pondering the 1924 battle between Calvin Coolidge and John W. Davis. What? You’re skeptical? Well, if they aren’t, they should be. And they can start their studies by taking a gander at Garland Tucker’s new book, The High Tide of American Conservatism.

On it’s surface, Tucker’s book tells the story of an election, the presidential contest of 1924 that pit Republican Calvin Coolidge against Democrat John W. Davis.

But it’s really a tandem biography of two prominent conservatives. Such books are never easy to write, often ending up as a lopsided treatment of two main characters, with one getting all the attention and the other relegated to the margins. Not so with Tucker’s book, however, which does a fine job with both its protagonists. Its fine sense of balance clearly derives from Tucker’s obvious admiration for both men.

Tucker’s principal goal is fairly straightforward: he wants to remind us that 1924 marked the last time both major parties nominated genuine conservatives for the presidency. Throughout the book, he stresses the  philosophical commonalities between Coolidge and Davis — commonalities that might surprise  readers inclined to view the political universe in binary terms, with Republicans consistently on the right and Democrats always on the left. While such a view is oversimplified even in today’s political arena, it’s even more misleading when projected into the past.

Tucker is unhappy with the historiographical treatment of both Coolidge and Davis. “Modern historians have consistently and regrettably ignored or belittled them,” he contends. Coolidge has been reduced to a caricature of mindless conservatism, while Davis has been nearly forgotten. Both men deserve better. Coolidge, for his part, was a thoughtful and decent man.  ”Not only did he articulate a coherent, thoughtful strand of conservatism,” Tucker writes, “but he also came — quite accurately — to be seen as an icon for those solid American values of honesty, hard work, self-reliance, and thrift.”

Davis shared many of these virtues, while adding a few more to boot. He was able, honest, charming, and smart, Tucker maintains. And he was every inch the conservative that Coolidge was. “Davis was a Democrat dedicated to small government, states’ rights, individual freedom, and free trade in the tradition of Jefferson, Madison, Cleveland, and Parker,” he observes.

The 1924 election pit these two pillars of conservatism against one another. “It is remarkable that both political parties nominated a bona fide conservative,” Tucker notes, “and, in some ways, this election was a defining moment in American presidential election history.” Indeed, it represented high tide of American conservatism, Tucker contends. (As opposed to the high tide of progressivism, which occurred in 1912 when all three major candidates for the presidency — including Bull Mooser Theodore Roosevelt — could make a plausible claim to the mantle of progressive politics).

Tucker casts the 1924 election as part of a longer drama. “Twentieth -century American political history was certainly dominated by the conflict betweent he left and the right over the proper role of government,” he writes. Tucker’s book offers a lucid, readable, and and extremely valuable portrait of two key players in this drama over the role of the state.

Even more important, however, Tucker reminds us that partisan alignments are not timeless. Democrats and Republicans have not always arrayed themselves in simple, predictable patterns along the ideological cleavage between statists and anti-statists. Such alignments have changed. And they will again.

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Two weeks before election day in 1924, Washington Star cartoonist Clifford Berryman took aim at the partisan competition over tax cuts.

In an era of buoyant revenues and restrained spending, lawmakers felt free to promise additional tax relief. Partisan divisions centered not on the desirability of tax cuts in general, but on their distribution in particular.

For the most part, Democrats were eager to raise income tax exemptions, thereby freeing more Americans from a tax widely considered a rich man’s burden. Republicans, by contrast, were more interested in cutting marginal rates for the income tax, while also arguing for elimination of the federal estate tax.

Find more on 1920s tax policy at the Tax History Project at Tax Analysts.

 

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As Americans prepare to go to the polls next week, we might consider Coolidge’s thoughts on voting. Here’s a selection from his November 3, 1924 radio address on the duties of citizenship:

We are always confronted with the question of whether we wish to be ruled by all the people or a part of the people, by the minority or the majority; whether we wish our elections to be dominated by those who have been misled, through the presentation of half truths, into the formation of hasty, illogical and unsound conclusions; or whether we wish those to determine the course of our Government who have through due deliberation and careful consideration of all the factors involved reached a sound and mature conclusion. We shall always have with us an element of discontent, an element inspired with more zeal than knowledge. They will always be active and energetic, and they seldom fail to vote on election day. But the people at large in this country are not represented by them. They are greatly in the minority. But their number is large enough to be a decisive factor in many elections, unless it is offset by the sober second thought of the people who have something at stake, whether it be earnings from in vestment or from employment, who are considering not only their own welfare, but the welfare of their children and of coming generations. Our institutions never contemplated that the conduct of this country, the direction of its affairs, the adoption of its policies, the maintenance of its principles, should be decided by a minority moved in part by self-interest and prejudice. They were framed on the theory that decisions would be made by the great body of voters inspired by patriotic motives. Faith in the people does not mean faith in a part of the people. It means faith in all the people. Our country is always safe when decisions are made by a majority of those who are entitled to vote. It is always in peril when decisions are made by a minority.

via Calvin Coolidge: Radio Address from the White House on the Duties of Citizenship, November 3, 1924.

Incidentally, the slideshow at the top of this post shows Calvin and Grace Coolidge completing their absentee ballots for the 1924 election. All photos are courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.

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Today marks the 85th anniversary of Calvin Coolidge’s one and only inaugural address. Silent Cal had been president since 1923, assuming the office when Warren Harding died. But he won the job in his own right during the 1924 election, and his March 4 inauguration gave him a chance lay out his big argument for small government.

In his inaugural address — the first to be broadcast nationally on radio — Coolidge made some of the most famous (or perhaps notorious) statements of his political career. For instance, he offered a ringing indictment of excess taxation.  “The collection of any taxes which are not absolutely required, which do not beyond reasonable doubt contribute to the public welfare, is only a species of legalized larceny,” he declared.

Strong stuff, that. In fact, the vehemence of Silent Cal’s rhetoric brings to mind some of the intemperate talk we hear from modern day Tea Partiers. Legalized larceny? Sounds a lot like tyranny to me.

But Coolidge was not, by nature or philosophy, an intemperate man. Nor was he an anti-government zealot — he was committed, for instance, to big government notions of law and order. He also displayed, especially while governor of Massachusetts, a certain amount of sympathy for progressive causes, including women’s rights and organized labor. (His crushing of the 1919 Boston Police Strike notwithstanding).

But taxes brought out some of Coolidge’s most impassioned rhetoric. He believed deeply, for instance, that property rights were crucial to political liberty. “Under this republic,” he declared, “the rewards of industry belong to those who earn them. The only constitutional tax is the tax which ministers to public necessity. The property of the country belongs to the people of the country. Their title is absolute.”

Coolidge urged lawmakers to move ahead with sweeping tax reduction. The nation had effectively demanded it, he argued, by giving Republicans control of both Congress and the White House. As the GOP moved ahead with its well-established program of economy, the party had a moral responsibility to put tax cuts front and center.

The time is arriving when we can have further tax reduction, when, unless we wish to hamper the people in their right to earn a living, we must have tax reform. The method of raising revenue ought not to impede the transaction of business; it ought to encourage it. I am opposed to extremely high rates, because they produce little or no revenue, because they are bad for the country, and, finally, because they are wrong. We can not finance the country, we can not improve social conditions, through any system of injustice, even if we attempt to inflict it upon the rich. Those who suffer the most harm will be the poor. This country believes in prosperity. It is absurd to suppose that it is envious of those who are already prosperous. The wise and correct course to follow in taxation and all other economic legislation is not to destroy those who have already secured success but to create conditions under which every one will have a better chance to be successful. The verdict of the country has been given on this question. That verdict stands. We shall do well to heed it.

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In a recent column for the Washington Examiner, Gene Healy of the Cato Institute suggests that Barack Obama could learn a thing or two from Calvin Coolidge. In particular, the president might take a lesson from from Silent Cal’s modesty.

Calvin Coolidge, a genuinely humble man and a fine president, wrote in his autobiography that it was “a major source of safety to the country” for the president “to know that he is not a great man.”

Healy’s got a point, albeit one suffused with a dollop of wishful thinking. Yes, it would be nice of modern presidents weren’t consumed by their own grandeur.  But were their predecessors ever really so humble?

I might buy the argument that George Washington was humble. After all, not many men turn down an offer to be king. But then again, Washington didn’t either.

Still, Washington had an appreciation for both opportunity and responsibility. He knew when it was time to step up, but he also knew when it was time to step down. That’s a fine thing, and every one of his successors — save one  – has followed his lead.

But that doesn’t mean Washington was humble. Indeed, plenty of evidence suggests that his character included plenty of vanity and ambition. And I think it’s fair to say that every other president has been similarly infused with a keen appreciation of his own self-worth.

Which brings us back to Coolidge. Was he really humble? Well, maybe. Certainly, his governing style suggests that he didn’t consider himself indispensable to any situation.

But Coolidge was also a deeply ambitious politician who managed his career and public image with the utmost care. His was not an accidental presidency, either in origin or execution. The “Silent Cal” trope captures something important about Coolidge, but it also obscures his goals, ambition, and skill.

Coolidge, I think, believed deeply in his own capacity and character. I think he yearned to be president and did what was necessary to win — and keep — the job.

What’s striking about Coolidge is not his humility, but his respect for things larger than himself. Coolidge had faith in Coolidge, but he also had faith in America, its people, and its political institutions. In that sense, I think the title of his campaign book, Have Faith in Massachusetts, is revealing. Deep down, I think Coolidge believed he was a great man — or at least a pretty damn impressive one. But he believed that America was much greater.

So readers: tell me what you think? Was Coolidge humble?

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In 1924, as Coolidge prepared for his first presidential campaign (having run for vice president in 1920 and later succeeding to the  presidency upon the death of Warren Harding), he faced a crowded field of Democratic hopefuls. This drawing by the famed political cartoonist Clifford Berryman pokes fun at the proliferation of candidates.

The Democrats suffered through a bruising convention in New York. When the dust finally settled, John W. Davis got the Democratic nod, but only on the 103rd ballot (making this the longest deadlock in convention history, if I’m not mistaken).

Lots of good it did them: Davis lost badly to Coolidge in the general election.

But there’s lots more to learn about the 1924 Democratic convention. And about Clifford Berryman, who did some damn fine cartoons over a very long career. Good stuff.

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