Anything for a Vote Read online

  Getting voters drunk was a surefire way to earn their support.

  JOHN ADAMS

  VS.

  THOMAS JEFFERSON

  “[I pray] that your administration may be filled with glory and happiness …”

  —Thomas Jefferson, in an unsent letter to John Adams

  No man can be president for long without becoming, as John Adams so nicely put it, “the Butt of Party Malevolence,” and George Washington was no exception. During his last term of office, Washington often wished he were back home with Martha, swilling Madeira on the front porch.

  Every day brought a new headache. When a few farmers in western Pennsylvania refused to pay an excise tax on whiskey, Washington put down the so-called Whiskey Rebellion with what freedom-loving early Americans thought was excessive force. Perhaps predictably, Republicans began calling our first president a tyrant and a dictator.

  Then there was the issue of relations with Great Britain—a touchy subject, to say the least. American sympathies with France—a country then at war with Britain—caused friction in London, and it seemed as though further hostilities between the former mother country and her colonies might be inevitable.

  Washington sent Chief Justice John Jay to London to hammer out a treaty; he came back with a document that, while not perfect, gave America peace with Great Britain. Washington signed it, and Republicans howled, calling it a cop-out to Federalist “monarchist” tendencies and supposed desire to return America to England.

  Throughout his career, Washington benefited from a superb sense of timing, and 1796 was no exception. That winter, he began to hint that he was going to leave office; on September 19 of the same year, he had published his “Farewell Address,” in which he warned against divisive political parties. This was all to no avail—as soon as the farewell was released, hungry politicians began scheming to fill Washington’s shoes.

  One of these men—Thomas Jefferson, Washington’s former secretary of state—couldn’t resist a parting shot at his old boss and Revolutionary comrade: “The president is fortunate to get off just as the bubble is bursting, leaving others to hold the bag.”

  It’s nice to know that even the author of the Declaration of Independence occasionally fell prey to mixed metaphors.

  THE CANDIDATES

  FEDERALIST: JOHN ADAMS John Adams was a two-term vice president and getting on in years (he would turn sixty-one during the campaign). His acerbic personality won him admirers and enemies in equal measure. While pretending he was planning on leaving public life—he liked to discourse on the “foul fiend” of electoral degeneracy—Adams highly desired becoming president. “Hi! Ho! Oh, Dear!” he gaily started off one letter to his wife, Abigail, when it became apparent that Washington would not seek a third term.

  REPUBLICAN: THOMAS JEFFERSON Jefferson had retired from his secretary of state position in 1793 to return to Monticello and attend to his affairs (including the one he had with Sally Hemings, the slave by whom he sired several children). As 1796 approached, he still maintained that life in politics—what was even then being called the “game”—was “a useless waste of time.” But it was clear to everyone where his ambitions lay.

  THE CAMPAIGN

  The ten weeks after the publication of Washington’s farewell address were filled with feverish activity and loud proclamations by both parties—except for the candidates. Following what would generally be the custom for the next century, Jefferson and Adams maintained an aloof and dignified public silence.

  Even though a good deal of campaigning was already under way, there was no official manner of picking the candidates. The Constitution said nothing on the issue, and the first national nominating convention was more than thirty years away. Until then, prominent members of each party decided on the candidates and then tried to convince their fellow members to follow suit.

  They achieved varying degrees of success. Since the parties themselves were barely formed, party discipline was a joke: Electors often voted based on local enmity, personal friendship, or mere whimsy. (In 1796, nearly 40 percent of the 138 electors voted for candidates not in their own parties or for candidates not even on the ballot!)

  What the parties lacked in organization, they made up for in vicious character assassination. For anyone who loves the democratic process, it’s reassuring to see how immediately and full-heartedly politicians in early America launched malicious attacks through handbills, pamphlets, and articles in various party journals.

  In the Republican newspaper Aurora, editor Benjamin Franklin Bache (grandson of Benjamin Franklin) immediately went for the throat—or rather, the tummy—by referring to the chubby Adams’s “sesquipedality of belly.” (This meant, literally, that his stomach was 18 inches long.) Bache also warned that Adams was “champion of kings, ranks, and titles.”

  Not to be outdone, Federalists cited Jefferson for his supposed “atheistic” tendencies and his love of the French Revolution, especially the bloody, screaming mob. Jefferson’s Republican followers became “cut-throats who walk in rags and sleep amidst filth and vermin.”

  Meanwhile, in the first examples of balancing a national ticket by the judicious selection of a vice-presidential candidate, Federalists nominated southern diplomat Thomas Pinckney to offset New Englander Adams, while Republicans paired the Virginian Jefferson with Aaron Burr, the up-and-coming New York lawyer and early Tammany operative.

  As usual, Alexander Hamilton acted the spoiler. Taking advantage once again of what was rapidly being acknowledged as a defect in the Constitution—the fact that electors voted for two candidates—he urged certain Federalist voters to withhold their votes for Adams entirely and vote only for Pinckney. If his plan had succeeded, Pinckney (whom Hamilton rightly considered far easier to manipulate than Adams) would have become president and Hamilton the power behind the throne.

  THE WINNER: JOHN ADAMS

  The electors cast their ballots in their respective state capitals on the first Wednesday in December. At this time in American history, there was an odd law stipulating that ballots could not be opened until the second Wednesday in February, when both houses of Congress were in session. It seemed like weeks of rumor and wild speculation would ensue—but by the middle of December, the cat was out of the bag and everyone knew that John Adams had squeaked into the presidency, seventy-one votes to Jefferson’s sixty-eight. He was president, indeed, but the wisdom of the framers of the Constitution had ensured that he had a member of the opposition party as his vice president.

  Over the next four years, this would mean nothing but trouble.

  FRANCOMANIAC VS. THE ANGLOMAN In charges that foreshadowed the “egghead” slurs thrown at future presidential candidates such as Adlai Stevenson and Eugene McCarthy, Federalists smeared Jefferson as a “philosopher” and, worse, a “visionary.” Jefferson, harrumphed one writer, was “fit to be professor in a college … but certainly not first magistrate of a great nation.” Just to make sure people got the point, Jefferson was also called an anarchist and a Francomaniac.

  Of course, Adams had his own share of detractors and bizarre nicknames (including “Monoman” and “Angloman”). The Republican Boston Chronicle wrote quite seriously that if Adams were elected, hereditary succession would be foisted upon America in the form of his son, John Quincy. (With Jefferson, the paper added, who needed to worry? Even if he had hidden monarchist intentions, the man had only daughters.)

  Federalists warned that Thomas Jefferson was “soft on France” and supported bloody, screaming mobs.

  THOMAS JEFFERSON

  VS.

  JOHN ADAMS

  “The Republic is safe.… The [Federalist] party is in rage and despair.”

  —John Dawson, Republican Congressman, Virginia

  By 1800, the American population had increased to 5.3 million; Washington, D.C., had replaced Philadelphia as the new “Federal City”; and a mellow dude named John Chapman, a.k.a. Johnny Appleseed, was wandering through Ohio Territory, dispensing wisdom
as well as gardening tips.

  And in a harbinger of things to come, America had its first presidential free-for-all—the first election in which, at the end of the day, bodies lay strewn everywhere. Forget Bush vs. Gore, forget Nixon vs. Kennedy, forget most of the really nasty national elections you’ve experienced in your lifetime. The 1800 contest between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson can be ranked as one of the top five dirtiest elections of all time—and all because of two reasons:

  One: It is hard to think of two parties in the history of American politics who hated and vilified each other more than John Adams’s Federalists and Thomas Jefferson’s Republicans.

  Two: For the first and last time in American history, a president was running against his own vice president.

  What a way to begin a century.

  THE CANDIDATES

  FEDERALIST: JOHN ADAMS The chief foreign policy issue of Adams’s presidency was America’s relationship with France. Since the French and the British were at war and America had signed the Jay Treaty with Britain, the new French Republic declared that any American trade with Great Britain was an act of war, and French seamen began boarding American ships and seizing goods.

  When Adams tried to raise money for a larger navy to counter the threat, he was attacked by the Republicans for being a warmonger. When he attempted negotiations with France, Hamilton’s gang called him an appeaser. The guy just couldn’t win.

  Another factor in the 1800 campaign was the Alien and Sedition Acts, steered through Congress by the Federalists during the height of war fever. Under the Sedition Act, anyone who criticized or sought to undermine the U.S. government or the president could be fined or thrown in jail, and many were. Republicans reviled the law as a violation of Constitutional rights. People weren’t even safe in the neighborhood bar—a New Jersey tavern patron was arrested and fined for drunkenly noting that the president had, to put it indelicately, a big ass.

  Despite Federalist reservations about Adams (and “reservations” may be a mild word, as one prominent Federalist prayed openly that the president might suffer a carriage accident), he was the only candidate they had. For his vice-presidential running mate, the party picked General Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, brother of Adams’s 1796 veep nominee, a seasoned diplomat, and Southern ticket balancer.

  REPUBLICAN: THOMAS JEFFERSON Thomas Jefferson had spent most of the four years of his vice presidency adroitly keeping a safe distance between himself and his boss, John Adams. Therefore, almost nothing with which Adams was associated—including the Sedition Act, which Jefferson had done little to keep from passage in Congress—rubbed off on his vice president, and he was in a strong position to run.

  As Jefferson’s vice-presidential candidate, the Republicans once again picked Aaron Burr, whose star had continued to rise since the ’96 elections.

  THE CAMPAIGN

  What a difference four years can make. The 1796 presidential campaigns had begun roughly one hundred days before the election. But by 1800, the parties were launching attacks a full year before any votes were cast.

  The first strike against Adams came from Jefferson himself, who secretly hired a writer named James Callender (the kind of hack one pictures skulking in the back of foul taverns, cackling as he scratches away with his quill) to assail the president in print. Callender set to work with a vengeance. Adams, he wrote, was “a repulsive pedant,” a “gross hypocrite,” and, most interesting, “a hideous hermaphroditical character which has neither the force and firmness of a man, nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman.” Not surprisingly, Callender was jailed for nine months under the Sedition Act, which gave the Republicans a convenient martyr.

  The Federalists fired back, spreading rumors that Jefferson had swindled his legal clients, that he was a godless atheist from whom one had to hide one’s Bibles, that he had been a coward during the Revolutionary War, and that he slept with slaves while at home in Monticello. A few mischievous Federalists even spread the rumor that Jefferson was dead, knowing full well that it was actually a Monticello slave by the same name who was deceased.

  The vicious sallies increased, and by fall both parties had reached a peak of character assassination. The Republicans, in particular, had discovered the power of the press—their attacks ran in single-page circulars, newspapers, and pamphlets as long as fifty pages. In one of the first attempts at true national organization, Jefferson’s party set up Committees of Correspondence that were responsible for producing these broadsides and disseminating them to voters.

  But an election this boisterous could not simply take place in print. Federalists liked to hold military parades; Republicans planted liberty poles. Both parties threw picnics and barbecues, where they plied voters with huge amounts of alcohol. At a Republican dinner in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, everyone drank sixteen toasts—one for each state of the Union—before tying into a half-ton of beef and pork.

  Although Adams held out hope for a great victory, most politicians at the time considered Jefferson almost a sure winner. The ubiquitous Alexander Hamilton, Adams’s nemesis, tried to make sure of it. In October, Hamilton published a most astonishing document, the Letter from Alexander Hamilton Concerning the Public Conduct and Character of John Adams, Esq., President of the United States, fifty-four pages of what one historian has called unremitting vilification. “If we must have an enemy at the head of the government, let it be one whom we can oppose … who will not involve our party in the disgrace of his foolish and bad measures,” wrote Hamilton.

  Although Hamilton had long been known for his machinations, the letter was a shock to everyone. To try to understand the impact, imagine if Senator John McCain sent an E-mail to Republican Party faithfuls under the subject heading “e-mail from John McCain concerning the Public Content and Character of George W. Bush” and go on to accuse the president—the nominal leader of his party—of suffering from “distempered jealousy,” “extreme egotism,” and an “ungovernable temper.”

  Some historians feel that Hamilton had temporarily lost his mind; others think the publication was a calculated ploy to throw votes away from Adams and to Charles Pinckney, who would be more sympathetic to Hamilton’s extreme Federalist agenda. There is even the possibility that the letter was stolen from Hamilton and published without his consent. In any event, Hamilton was attacked by both parties, and he retired from politics after the election. Four years later, he was shot and killed in a duel by Vice President Aaron Burr.

  THE WINNER (EVENTUALLY):

  THOMAS JEFFERSON

  Election Day was December 3, and electors met in their respective state capitals to cast their votes. Once again, the law stipulated that ballots would not be opened until early February, when both houses of Congress were in session. And once again, word leaked out early—Jefferson was the winner. “The Jig Is Up!” cheered one Republican Party newspaper. Another writer declared: “Here ends the 18th century. The 19th begins with a fine, clear morning.”

  There was just one small problem. By the end of December, it became clear that Republican candidates Jefferson and Burr had actually tied for the presidency at seventy-three votes each (Adams received only sixty-five). The problem with the two-vote system now became more apparent than ever. In past elections, Republican electors might have “wasted” a handful of votes on Adams or Pinckney, or even a minor candidate, just to make sure Burr did not receive an equal number as Jefferson (ensuring his position as VP). But in such a close contest, every vote mattered, so every Republican voted for Jefferson and Burr. The result was a tie.

  To make matters worse, the Constitution dictated that the Republican runoff election should be resolved by the House of Representatives—which, ironically enough, was controlled by the Federalists!

  Burr initially declared he would be happy to serve under Jefferson, but this was only because he mistakenly thought he had lost the election by one vote. His spirit of cooperation vanished when he realized that he had a pretty fair shot at becoming president. In fac
t, many Federalists came to him, offering their backing—anything to keep Jefferson out—and Burr’s chances of winning rose exponentially.

  On February 11, during a massive snowstorm, the House of Representatives met in Washington, D.C., to vote for the president. All members were there, even one who was so ill he had to be carried on a stretcher for two miles through the snow and then placed in a bed in an adjoining chamber. Vice President Jefferson, who was the Senate president, counted the electoral ballots and certified the vote at seventy-three apiece for him and Burr. Then the House deliberated on who would be the next president.

  The slate was now blank. Each of the sixteen states had a single vote, and the winner needed a majority of nine states to take the prize. Over the course of six days, thirty-six ballots were recorded. For the first thirty-five, the results were the same: eight states for Jefferson, six for Burr, two undecided—no winner. In the back rooms of taverns and the antechambers of the House, the behind-the-scenes maneuvering was intense. Federalists wooed Burr, but he wouldn’t agree to their agenda in exchange for a chance to become president. The deadlock continued.

  Finally, on February 17, a Federalist congressman from Delaware who opposed Jefferson abstained in the voting, as did Federalists from Maryland, Vermont, and South Carolina. With these states out of the balloting, Jefferson was quickly elected, winning ten out of sixteen votes, with Aaron Burr as his vice president.