Something I find interesting in Finley Peter Dunne’s writing is an understanding of, even sympathy for, corruption. Not that it’s a good thing, mind, more that people are frail and money is needed and that there’s none of us that can’t end up in circumstances where we do the shameful thing.
Today’s piece from 1899 is Finley Peter Dunne’s Hanging Aldermen. The political issue underlying it is the Chicago Traction Wars, fights over how the streetcar lines should be run. Many small corporations, a handful of big corporations, public ownership, on what terms, et cetera. The “Yerkuss” referenced here is Charles Tyson Yerkes, financier who after being convicted of larceny and attempting to blackmail President Grant went on to important roles in the Chicago and the London transport industries. He also funded the University of Chicago’s Yerkes Observatory. Theodore Dreiser fictionalized him, I read in Wikipedia, as Frank Cowperwood in three novels.
I do not know if the other figures named here represent any contemporary politicians. While Wikipedia discusses the Chicago mayoral election of 1899, it doesn’t get into the city council elections in detail before 1923.
Chicago is always on the point of hanging some one and quartering him and boiling him in hot pitch, and assuring him that he has lost the respect of all honorable men. Rumors of a characteristic agitation had come faintly up Archey Road, and Mr Hennessy had heard of it.
“I hear they’re goin’ to hang th’ aldhermen,” he said. “If they thry it on Willum J O’Brien, they’d betther bombard him first. I’d hate to be th’ man that ‘d be called to roll with him to his doom. He cud lick th’ whole Civic Featheration.”
“I believe ye,” said Mr Dooley. “He’s a powerful man. But I hear there is, as ye say, what th’ pa-apers ‘d call a movement on fut f’r to dec’rate Chris’mas threes with aldhermen, an’ ’tis wan that ought to be encouraged. Nawthin’ cud be happyer, as Hogan says, thin th’ thought iv cillybratin’ th’ season be sthringin’ up some iv th’ fathers iv th’ city where th’ childher cud see thim. But I’m afraid, Hinnissy, that you an’ me won’t see it. ‘Twill all be over soon, an’ Willum J O’Brien ‘ll go by with his head just as near his shoulders as iver. ‘Tis har-rd to hang an aldherman, annyhow. Ye’d have to suspind most iv thim be th’ waist.
“Man an’ boy, I’ve been in this town forty year an’ more; an’ divvle th’ aldherman have I see hanged yet, though I’ve sthrained th’ eyes out iv me head watchin’ f’r wan iv thim to be histed anny pleasant mornin’. They’ve been goin’ to hang thim wan week an’ presintin’ thim with a dimon’ star th’ next iver since th’ year iv th’ big wind, an’ there’s jus’ as manny iv thim an’ jus’ as big robbers as iver there was.
“An’ why shud they hang thim, Hinnissy? Why shud they? I’m an honest man mesilf, as men go. Ye might have ye’er watch, if ye had wan, on that bar f’r a year, an’ I’d niver touch it. It wudden’t be worth me while. I’m an honest man. I pay me taxes, whin Tim Ryan isn’t assessor with Grogan’s boy on th’ books. I do me jooty; an’ I believe in th’ polis foorce, though not in polismen. That’s diff’rent. But honest as I am, between you an’ me, if I was an aldherman, I wudden’t say, be hivins, I think I’d stand firm; but—well, if some wan come to me an’ said, ‘Dooley, here’s fifty thousan’ dollars f’r ye’er vote to betray th’ sacred inthrests iv Chicago,’ I’d go to Father Kelly an’ ask th’ prayers iv th’ congregation.
“‘Tis not, Hinnissy, that this man Yerkuss goes up to an aldherman an’ says out sthraight, ‘Here, Bill, take this bundle, an’ be an infamious scoundhrel.’ That’s th’ way th’ man in Mitchigan Avnoo sees it, but ’tis not sthraight. D’ye mind Dochney that was wanst aldherman here? Ye don’t. Well, I do. He ran a little conthractin’ business down be Halsted Sthreet ‘Twas him built th’ big shed f’r th’ ice comp’ny. He was a fine man an’ a sthrong wan. He begun his political career be lickin’ a plasthrer be th’ name iv Egan, a man that had th’ County Clare thrip an’ was thought to be th’ akel iv anny man in town. Fr’m that he growed till he bate near ivry man he knew, an’ become very pop’lar, so that he was sint to th’ council. Now Dochney was an honest an’ sober man whin he wint in; but wan day a man come up to him, an’ says he, ‘Ye know that ordhnance Schwartz inthrajooced?’ ‘I do,’ says Dochney, ‘an I’m again it. ‘Tis a swindle,’ he says. “Well,’ says th’ la-ad, ‘they’se five thousan’ in it f’r ye,’ he says. They had to pry Dochney off iv him. Th’ nex’ day a man he knowed well come to Dochney, an’ says he, ‘That’s a fine ordhnance iv Schwartz.’ ‘It is, like hell,’ says Dochney. ”Tis a plain swindle,’ he says. ”Tis a good thing f’r th’ comp’nies,’ says this man; ‘but look what they’ve done f’r th’ city,’ he says, ‘an think,’ he says, ‘iv th’ widdies an’ orphans,’ he says, ‘that has their har-rd-earned coin invisted,’ he says. An’ a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘I’m an orphan mesilf,’ says Dochney; ‘an’ as f’r th’ widdies, anny healthy widdy with sthreet-car stock ought to be ashamed iv hersilf if she’s a widdy long,’ he says. An’ th’ man wint away.
“Now Dochney thought he’d put th’ five thousan’ out iv his mind, but he hadn’t. He’d on’y laid it by, an’ ivry time he closed his eyes he thought iv it. ‘Twas a shame to give th’ comp’nies what they wanted, but th’ five thousan’ was a lot iv money. ‘Twud lift th’ morgedge. ‘Twud clane up th’ notes on th’ new conthract. ‘Twud buy a new dhress f’r Mrs. Dochney. He begun to feel sorrowful f’r th’ widdies an’ orphans. ‘Poor things!’ says he to himsilf, says he. ‘Poor things, how they must suffer!’ he says; ‘an’ I need th’ money. Th’ sthreet-car comp’nies is robbers,’ he says; ‘but ’tis thrue they’ve built up th’ city,’ he says, ‘an th’ money ‘d come in handy,’ he says. ‘No wan ‘d be hurted, annyhow,’ he says; ‘an’, sure, it ain’t a bribe f’r to take money f’r doin’ something ye want to do, annyhow,’ he says. ‘Five thousan’ widdies an’ orphans,’ he says; an’ he wint to sleep.
“That was th’ way he felt whin he wint down to see ol’ Simpson to renew his notes, an’ Simpson settled it. ‘Dochney,’ he says, ‘I wisht ye’d pay up,’ he says. ‘I need th’ money,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid th’ council won’t pass th’ Schwartz ordhnance,’ he says; ‘an’ it manes much to me,’ he says. ‘Be th’ way,’ he says, ‘how’re ye goin’ to vote on that ordhnance?’ he says. ‘I dinnaw,’ says Dochney. ‘Well,’ says Simpson (Dochney tol’ me this himsilf), ‘whin ye find out, come an’ see me about th’ notes,’ he says. An’ Dochney wint to th’ meetin’; an’, whin his name was called, he hollered ‘Aye,’ so loud a chunk iv plaster fell out iv th’ ceilin’ an’ stove in th’ head iv a rayform aldherman.”
“Did they hang him?” asked Mr Hennessy.
“Faith, they did not,” said Mr Dooley. “He begun missin’ his jooty at wanst. Aldhermen always do that after th’ first few weeks. ‘Ye got ye’er money,’ says Father Kelly; ‘an’ much good may it do ye,’ he says. ‘Well,’ says Dochney, ‘I’d be a long time prayin’ mesilf into five thousan’,’ he says. An’ he become leader in th’ council. Th’ las’ ordhnance he inthrojooced was wan establishin’ a license f’r churches, an’ compellin’ thim to keep their fr-ront dure closed an’ th’ blinds drawn on Sundah. He was expelled fr’m th’ St. Vincent de Pauls, an’ ilicted a director iv a bank th’ same day.
“Now, Hinnissy, that there man niver knowed he was bribed—th’ first time. Th’ second time he knew. He ast f’r it. An’ I wudden’t hang Dochney. I wudden’t if I was sthrong enough. But some day I’m goin’ to let me temper r-run away with me, an’ get a comity together, an’ go out an’ hang ivry dam widdy an’ orphan between th’ rollin’ mills an’ th’ foundlin’s’ home. If it wasn’t f’r thim raypechious crathers, they’d be no boodle annywhere.”
“Well, don’t forget Simpson,” said Mr Hennessy.
“I won’t,” said Mr Dooley, “I won’t.”
Share this:
Another Blog, Meanwhile 