Ohio History Journal

CLEVELAND'S JOHNSON: AT HOME

by EUGENE C. MURDOCK*

In an earlier article published in this Quarterly the present author

made an attempt to summarize the accomplishments of Cleveland's

Tom L. Johnson and to point out his contributions to the growth

and development of the lake city.¹ As mayor of Cleveland from

1901 to 1910, Johnson established and maintained high admini-

strative standards while pushing through a broad program of

municipal reform. He attracted wide attention and was emulated

by many other mayors, similarly caught up in the floodtide of

progressivism.

The successful battle for a three-cent street railway fare was

perhaps Johnson's most celebrated achievement, although the fare

itself was not too important then and seems utterly ridiculous today

when fares are approaching the twenty-five cent mark. Yet it had

meaning in that here Johnson compelled privileged groups, chiefly

the public utility corporations, to provide cheap and efficient services

for the people; he caused them to think not only of their own

interests but also of the citizens' welfare. The principle was the

same in his fight for natural gas, where he opposed powerful

artificial gas companies; the principle was the same in his fight

for municipal electric power, where he broke the monopoly of the

over-charging Cleveland Electric Illuminating Company. Having

learned the techniques of the monopolist when in the street rail-

way business himself, Johnson employed this know-how against his

former fellows. Why did he do it?

As students of Johnson are well aware, it was his conversion to

the humanitarianism of Henry George which prompted this change.

From the apostle of the single tax he learned that monopolists had

caused a great social imbalance, which had to be rectified. With

* Eugene C. Murdock is chairman of the department of social science and assistant

dean of the college at Rio Grande College, Rio Grande, Ohio. Tom L. Johnson was

the subject of his doctoral dissertation (Columbia University, 1951).

1 "Cleveland's Johnson," Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly, LXII

(1953), 323-333.

319

320   Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

George as his counselor Johnson carried the fight into politics. The

skeptics who doubted his sincerity failed to explain why a man, if

really ambitious for personal power, would quit a million dollar

business to become a six-thousand dollar politician.

The "Nine Years' War with Privilege," as Johnson described his

administration, embraced many other projects, all in this same

spirit of Georgian reform. Among them were the Warrensville

Farms for the delinquent, the aged, and the tubercular; the de-

velopment of the lovely Group Plan on the Lakefront Mall; the

paving of several hundred miles of city streets; the construction of

an elaborate park system; the organization of a city forestry depart-

ment; and the elimination of hazardous grade crossings.

Aside from the material products of his work, Johnson left the

Cleveland public a heritage of an indefinable quality. He taught

it the rudiments of civic responsibility, he instructed it in the dangers

of government by vested interests, and he pointed the way to better

things. These lessons were well learned and long remembered,

although Johnson himself was frequently forgotten as the first

cause. In substance, his contributions worked a revolution in

Cleveland and transformed the big country town into a great in-

dustrial metropolis.

Significant as these deeds were, however, they by no means tell

the full story of the "Maker of Modern Cleveland." From them

one learns nothing of the death of the masculine and personable

"Al," his brother, which left the mayor with so many debts he

eventually went bankrupt. One learns nothing of the vivacious and

uninhibited Bessie, his daughter, who married an Italian fortune-

seeker and brought heartbreak to her family. One learns little of

fun-loving Loftin, his shiftless son, who succeeded at nothing and

gambled away his inheritance. One catches only shadowy glimpses

of tall and dignified Maggie, the southern belle, who never quite

understood why her husband descended into politics when he might

well have lived a life of capitalistic comfort.

Johnson's three-story, stone, Victorian mansion was located at

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                321

the northwest corner of East 24th Street and Euclid Avenue.² The

porte-cochere, the ivy-clad walls, and the huge grounds gave it an

appearance of rural magnificence. Inside the main doorway one

entered upon a large rectangular hall, replete with fireplace,

couches, and chairs. The music hall opened off to the left and a

formal parlor to the right. The roomy dining hall, to the rear of

the parlor, featured an oval-shaped table, which could accommodate

twenty to thirty people. Innumerable bedrooms on the second

floor not only satisfied family needs but also provided for Arthur

Fuller, the chauffeur, James Tyler, the valet, Bidermann du Pont,

one of Johnson's early benefactors, and several guests. Music and

laughter from the attic ballroom were as familiar as the bang of

a hammer from the basement workshop.³

The Johnson family was a devoted, harmonious unit. They played,

worked, and suffered together, their diverse personalities nicely

supplementing one another. They enjoyed life, and save for the

mayor, seldom worried. Yet when a crisis arose, they linked arms

and looked unflinchingly ahead.

Reared in Arkansas, Mrs. Johnson, or Maggie, never outgrew her

aristocratic origins. Accustomed to wealth and a corps of servants,

she could manage a house, be a charming hostess, and circulate

easily in smart society. For twenty years after her marriage her

husband remained in business, and she continued to enjoy this

familiar way of life. Then suddenly things changed. In the eighties

and nineties Johnson began tinkering with something called the

single tax, and after a while even talked about giving up his

profitable street railway lines in order to promote "the cause." In

time, as he moved on into political circles, the old friends dropped

away, and new ones of a different cast took their places.

Although it is safe to say that Maggie never grasped the basic

purpose behind her husband's new thinking, she made every effort

2 The house was demolished in the nineteen-twenties, and the grounds are now

occupied by the Ohio Motor Company.

3 Cleveland Plain Dealer, January 21, 1909, November 11, 1912, February 19, 22,

1920; The Public (Chicago), January 6, 1906; Frederic C. Howe, The Confessions

of a Reformer (New York, 1925), 127-129; conversations with Mrs. Frances Bushea,

March 24, 1949, and Arthur Fuller, April 10, 1949.

322     Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

to adjust to it. Her home became a headquarters for the "Johnson

Circle," which, meeting frequently in the front hall, planned the

foundations for the new Cleveland. She entered the whirlpool of

politics and even accompanied her husband across the state when

he ran for governor in 1903. Sitting in the front seat of the "Red

Devil," she handed out literature to listeners and passers-by. When

the party was in remote regions, she prepared noonday snacks for

the exhausted campaigners. Unquestioned faith in the mayor per-

mitted Maggie to surmount the doubts which this family revolution

created.⁴

Loftin, the eldest child,⁵ inherited his father's exuberant spirit

along with his mother's distaste for work. He quit college, toured

the world, made three or four false starts in business, and was a

correspondent during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5. During

his frequent sojourns in New York City he received a monthly

allowance of $500, rarely an adequate amount. The worried father

repeatedly implored the youth, "Get a job, even if it's only for ten

dollars a week, get a job." Loftin played the role of a "rich man's

son" to the limit, carrying on as usual even when his father was

no longer rich.⁶

Bessie, the other child, was an exciting eighteen when her father

became mayor in 1901. An attractive extrovert, this much sought-

after young lady carried herself about with a sometimes misleading

dignity. As Loftin perhaps drew more from his mother, Bessie

drew more from her father; his talent, artistry, energy, and ob-

stinacy, all were reflected in the girl. The joy which her efferves-

cent spirit and various accomplishments brought into the family

circle was diminished by her unfortunate marriage. On the more

pleasant side, she acted successfully on the local stage, sang, played

4 Plain Dealer, April 28, 1901, September 28, 1903, January 1, 1913, December 25,

1948; conversations with Mrs. Bushea, March 24, 1949, and Mrs. Charles Unterzuber,

February 28, 1949. She died in Los Angeles, July 9, 1934, at the age of seventy-six.

Plain Dealer, July 10, 1934.

5 A son who died in infancy was born several years before Loftin's arrival in 1880.

6 Material on Loftin is not plentiful. Odd bits can be found in the Plain Dealer,

July 14, 1901, June 8, 1904, November 23, 1906, November 25, 1909, July 10, 1934.

More precise and personal information was obtained in conversations with Mrs.

Bushea, March 24, 1949, and Mrs. Unterzuber, February 28, 1949. There is conflicting

testimony as to the date of Loftin's death, but it is safe to say that he died in obscurity

in the nineteen-twenties.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                      323

the piano, wrote plays, gave recitations, and is even reported to

have written several novels. In addition to being an expert horse-

back rider, she was the first woman in Cleveland to drive an

automobile.⁷

None of this, however, prevented her from succumbing to the

romantic importunities of Frederico Mariani, a writer of sorts, who

abandoned his native Milan to seek his way in the New World.⁸

When the first rumors of an impending Bessie-Mariani match

circulated in December 1906, the pair were night-clubbing it in

New York. Mariani soon came to Cleveland, pressed his suit in

earnest, and won Bessie completely with extravagant talk of ocean

trips and Monte Carlo vacations. Despite parental misgivings, the

marriage took place late in March 1907, and the two departed for

a New York honeymoon. Within five weeks Bessie and Mariani

separated, and in spite of frantic reconciliation attempts by the

Johnsons, Mariani shortly left the United States and Bessie returned

home. The trouble, it soon came out, was that Mariani expected

Bessie to support him and when she refused to do so he abandoned

her. All of this, occurring as the street railway war was coming to

a climax, only added another weight to the mayor's already heavy

burden.⁹

Although the tragedy seemed to mount as the years passed, and

there was more to come, it was not all darkness with the Johnsons.

On the contrary, there was so much gayety and pleasure that the

unhappiness seemed out of place. Automobile driving, for example,

was the A-1 recreation of the entire family, and much time was

7 Material on Bessie has been gathered from the Plain Dealer, June 11, 1903, Sep-

tember 10, October 17, 18, 1904, April 26, July 8, 10, 1906, May 13, 1908; The

Public, April 29, 1910; Town Topics, July 14, 1906; Carl Lorenz, Tom L. Johnson,

Mayor of Cleveland (New York, 1911), 130-131; conversations with Mrs. Bushea,

March 24, 1949, and Mrs. Unterzuber, February 28, 1949. She died in New York City,

May 5, 1936. Plain Dealer, May 6, 1936.

8 Reports indicated that Mariani, a graduate of the University of Geneva, came from

a distinguished Milanese family. Although occasionally called a "nobleman," he

actually had no title. He served for a while in the Italian army and then entered

"business." He was said to possess a deep interest in literature and the drama, which,

supposedly, brought him close to Bessie. Throughout this tangled tale Mariani re-

mains a hazy figure, difficult to follow and understand. Plain Dealer, December 22,

1906, February 25, May 10, 1907.

9 Plain Dealer, December 22, 1906, February 25, March 11, 23, 24, May 10, 11, 12,

13, 1907, May 13, December 5, 1908.

324    Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

passed in "racing" up and down Euclid Avenue. Still a novelty at

the turn of the century, the automobile appealed to Loftin, Bessie,

and the mayor (such a sport, of course, was too frivolous for

Maggie), much as a new toy appeals to a child. Loftin's exploits

were regularly reported in the local press, one episode of note being

a ten-day motor trip he made from New York to Cleveland, a signal

achievement. Late in 1902 while driving to Painesville, where his

father was speaking, Loftin was arrested for exceeding a local speed

limit of twelve miles per hour.10

Bessie too loved to "speed," and took particular delight in run-

ning farmers' wagons, horses and all, into the ditch. One Sunday

afternoon in May 1901 while the Johnsons were enjoying a leisurely

drive in their carriage along Euclid Avenue, two cars raced by.

Leaning from the carriage to denounce the drivers, the mayor

stopped short. "Why it's Bessie," he ejaculated, "it's my Bessie."

The mayor followed the race to the finish, while the mortified

Maggie tugged at his coattails. Sinking exhaustedly back into his

seat he gasped, "She beat him by a block."11

Mayor Johnson himself naturally was a devotee of the new sport.

He drove faster than his children and no doubt his official position

saved him from arrest on more than one occasion. During his

campaign travels in 1902 and 1903 the big red Winton announced

his advance through the countryside. Although it was all great fun,

the mayor and his party experienced so much difficulty that one

wonders why he failed to travel by more conventional means.

Driving to Sandusky, they had breakdowns, flat tires, and ran out

of gas. Later they went into a ditch near Ravenna and saw the

battery go dead near New Philadelphia. On another occasion, as

Johnson tried to procure a cigar from his pocket, he pitched the

machine into a stone culvert. Late in September 1903 while the

mayor was campaigning near Georgetown in Brown County, the

Red Devil suffered a general collapse and was abandoned.¹² Arthur

Fuller, who drove the car on many of these trips, later recalled some

of the hazards of those dangerous days:

10 Ibid., November 4, 1902.

11 Ibid., May 28, 1901.

12 Ibid., September 2, 1902, September 12, 18, 20, 27, 1903.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                 325

Automobiles were still so new that folks were half-scared of them. If they

were walking in the road as we approached they usually jumped over a

rail fence or ran into a barnyard. Some climbed trees. It was something

awful trying to pass a horse and buggy or load of hay then. Unless we

wanted to risk an accident I had to stop and give the farmer time to get

out and hold his horse so it wouldn't kick out the dashboards or the traces.

We got gas at drugstores or grocery stores. You always had to guess how

much was in the tank, or else make the Mayor and the reporters get out in

the road while you took out the front seat and stuck a yardstick down into

the tank underneath.¹³

Despite his indifference to the basic principles of safe driving,

Johnson experienced no accidents and was in danger only twice.

Once in Chicago he was brushed by a cable car, but due to what

the news reports called his "skillful maneuvering," he avoided a

collision. One day in 1907 when the street railway war with the

Cleveland Electric Railway Company was rising to a fever pitch, he

was run down on Euclid Avenue, oddly enough by a Cleveland

Electric streetcar. Johnson at once arrested the motorman and,

charging him with political motives, had him jailed. The mayor

soon regained his reason, however, and after an exchange of apolo-

gies the incident was forgotten.¹⁴

Though less dramatic than automobile racing, some of the other

diversions were enjoyed equally well. In the winter, for example,

the family ice rink was flooded and thrown open for skating. Even

Charles Otis, publisher of the Cleveland News and a bitter opponent

of Johnson, used to skate there with the children and their friends.

The mayor was proud of his ice rink and invested considerable

time and money in its construction and maintenance. As for indoor

entertainment, the masquerade balls were great favorites. Mrs.

Frances Bushea, then Miss Frances Fanning, a close friend of

Bessie's, has a vivid recollection of the mayor's daughter at one of

these affairs. "She appeared in a white leather cowboy suit and

did a lariat dance." At another time Mrs. Bushea recalls how

Mayor Johnson was able to conceal his own identity, incredible as

it seems, by dressing himself in a clown's suit, with vertical black

13 Ibid., March 12, 1937.

14 Ibid., June 18, 1905, August 16, September 12, 1907.

326     Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

and white stripes and a tall hat. When the grand procession began,

he asked Miss Fanning to march with him. Taking his left hand,

she noticed the missing ring finger,¹⁵ and erupted gleefully, "Why,

Mr. Johnson, it's you."

"Not so loud," cautioned the mayor, "you'll give me away.^"16

The basement workshop provided the greatest solace for Mayor

Johnson. Here he could, and did, indulge his mechanical propens-

ities without stint. That he had consummate ability in this direction

is attested by his various inventions, such as the fareboxes and the

"girder groove rail." Former Cleveland City Manager William        R.

Hopkins comments that a high New York Central official was not

far wrong when he said, "Tom L. Johnson can read a blueprint

faster than anybody."17 The Rev. Harris R. Cooley tells the story

of the time a group of people who were supposed to know some-

thing of electricity were invited to meet the scientist Charles

Steinmetz at the Johnson home. To the amazement of the guests,

however, the conversation soon outdistanced everyone but Steinmetz

and Johnson.¹⁸

The largest project the mayor attempted in his basement work-

shop was a revolutionary type of wheel-less street railway car, which

he called the "greased lightning" or "slipslide." In simple terms,

the car was floated by magnetic force between sets of rails fixed

above and below. The theory was that one magnet would keep

the car suspended, while another magnet would draw it forward.

With friction thus eliminated, Johnson figured there would be no

limit to the car's speed. One night when the evening meal was

consumed, the mayor invited his guests down to the basement,

where they beheld a roughly-finished car resting on a ninety foot

experimental track, supported by huge timbers and vertical posts.

15 Mayor Johnson allegedly lost his left ring finger during his Kentucky youth, but

no one with whom the author has talked could provide specific details on the matter.

Outside of one or two obscure hints that an affair of honor was involved, all is

darkness. Complicating the mystery are several photographs which would seem to

destroy the theory that the finger was missing. See illustrations in his autobiography,

My Story (New York, 1911), facing pp. 276, 284, and 294.

16 Plain Dealer, January 2, 1903, May 6, 1936; Cleveland News, July 22, 1948;

conversations with Mrs. Bushea, March 24, April 1, 1949.

17 Conversation with Hopkins, August 6, 1949.

18 Plain Dealer, December 2, 1934.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                  327

As the mystified group watched, Johnson turned on the magnetic

current. Nothing happened, and in a moment the car, track, and

supports went crashing to the floor. Grimly the mayor restudied

his calculations, and concluding that a readjustment of the magnetic

force would solve his problem, rebuilt the track. Frederic C. Howe,

a close friend, described the second test:

"Greased Lightning" actually moved. The car was propelled forward and

backward as rapidly as it was safe to permit in the short ninety-feet of

track in the cellar. It was an interesting sight to watch the loading of the

car, for as each additional passenger stepped on there would be a slight

downward movement until the contact finger touched the lower rail when

it would immediately resume its former position. The car in motion was

necessarily absolutely noiseless and without the least vibration. With eyes

closed, at the slight rate of speed at which it was necessary to move in the

cellar, the occupant could not tell whether the car was in motion or not.

Had the speed been greater the only difference would have been the feeling

of the air current.¹⁹

Convinced that he had mastered the practice as well as the theory

of "greased lightning," Johnson traveled to Schenectady to interest

General Electric in his project. Apparently he succeeded, for the

company sent on a crew of experts, who after weeks of investigation,

submitted a favorable report to the home office. Although con-

tracts for a two-million dollar experimental track in Schenectady

were drawn up, the company backed out of the bargain before

actually signing the papers. Because the street railway war, which

dominated all phases of Johnson's last years, now was entering

a critical stage, the mayor failed to push the matter any further.

In March 1914 an isolated news item reported that Mrs. Johnson

received a patent for "greased lightning," but nothing was heard

of it again. It is doubtful if the invention had real merit, or

certainly General Electric would not have been so reluctant to

develop it.²⁰

Shortly after becoming mayor, Johnson purchased some property

near the village of Independence, south of the city, which he soon

19 Johnson, My Story, xxx-xxxi; Howe, Confessions of a Reformer, 141.

20 Plain Dealer, March 19, 1914; Howe, Confessions of a Reformer, 142.

328    Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

refashioned into a trout farm. For several summers, when City Hall

pressure became great, he shut his desk and repaired to this lovely

suburban retreat. In addition to relaxation it provided ample op-

portunity for scientific experimentation. When he found his brooks

running dry, he developed a siphon which drained in water from

surrounding farms. He also built a mechanical geyser, for a de-

scription of which we are again indebted to Fred Howe:

He was . . . in high feather and drove us out to the . . . farm at more

than his usual reckless speed. There, after some mysterious maneuvering

with machinery, a stream of water gushed from the ground high into the

air. It ran for a few minutes and then subsided. Then it started again. Its

periodicity was perfect. The flow could be timed with a watch.²1

Yet Johnson played, as he worked, with intense vigor. The calm

quiet of the trout farm was incompatible with his restless energy.

Carl Lorenz writes:

In about three years he sold the farm and fish, having become tired of it,

yet the farm, with its gully and pond, was a most picturesque piece of

property. But he had only thought of the fish and the fresh vegetables of

the farm and not of its beauty.²²

Being a man of corpulence, Johnson had an understandable

distaste for exercise. Still scattered stories survive of an occasional

interest in hunting, golf, and even baseball. He took Loftin to

Kentucky in December 1902 for a visit with relatives and a few days

in the field. However, except for a few birds the catch was nil. The

trip had other frustrations too, for in Frankfort father and son were

mistaken for tramps and denied hotel accommodations.²³ Although

Johnson enjoyed golf, his success on the links was limited. When

running for governor in 1903, he encountered his rival, Myron T.

Herrick, on the first tee of the Euclid course. After analyzing the

impact of golf on the single tax and home rule, the candidates

swung into the game. Following a close match, Herrick triumphed

one up.²⁴

21 Ibid., 140.

22 Plain Dealer, September 9, 1903; Lorenz, Tom L. Johnson, 127-128.

23 Plain Dealer, December 9, 1902.

24 Ibid., August 3, 1903.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                  329

A strong baseball enthusiast, Johnson frequently attended games

and was on close terms with Napoleon "Larry" Lajoie, the great

second baseman, who managed the Cleveland club at that time.

One of the best of all the Johnson photographs shows the mayor

seated next to Peter Witt and Burr Gongwer in the left field

bleachers of old League Park, completely absorbed in the action on

the field. One year when the Naps were faring well, he set up a

bulletin board on Public Square to record the team's progress.

Without radio and television the fans had no way of knowing what

happened until the evening baseball "extras" came out. The last

letter Mayor Johnson ever wrote was addressed to the Cleveland

manager, extending best wishes for a successful 1911 season.²⁵

Along intellectual lines he studied French for many years and

employed a tutor to instruct himself and his children.²⁶    Lessons

were conducted not only at the breakfast table but also at City

Hall, and after a while Johnson could read and speak the language

with a pedestrian facility. He read some history and philosophy,

seeking that knowledge which a lifetime of business and politics

had denied him, but mathematics and scientific works had greater

appeal. Fred Howe, who should know, tells us that the mayor was

never through learning. "At 50 he was as eager to know new things

as he had been at 25."²⁷ During his final illness he turned to

lighter literature, such as the works of Scott and Kipling. Aside

from reading he enjoyed an occasional table game. Tom Schmidt

recalls that the mayor frequently played checkers with a quaint old

shoemaker on Bridge Street, who regularly defeated his celebrated

guest. Chess too was a game well suited to his mathematical mind.²⁸

On the other hand, the theater had little appeal for Johnson, and

only something special, such as a performance by Bessie, could

induce him to attend.

*           *           *

25 Ibid., April 11, 1911.

26 The tutor, Louis Devineaux, was an unlucky choice. To provide a raison d'etre

he was named secretary of the Sinking Fund Commission in 1903. He demonstrated

his gratitude by absconding with $13,000 in 1909. Although never apprehended (he

went home to France), he was indicted by a grand jury and convicted in absentia.

Ibid., February 3, 5, 20, 21, March 20, 1909; Lorenz, Tom L. Johnson, 134-135.

27 Howe, Confessions of a Reformer, 143; see also Brand Whitlock, Forty Years

of It (New York, 1925), 154-155.

28 Conversation with Schmidt, February 22, 1949.

330    Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

It is beyond the range of this review to relate the story of the

street railway battle. From inauspicious beginnings in 1903 this

struggle over control of the street railway system assumed an ever-

growing importance as the years passed. By 1908 the frustration,

bitterness, and violence which it engendered had taken a savage

toll on all principals, Johnson in particular. The mayor's private

misfortunes, which soon became merged with his public problems,

hurried him to an early grave.

The decline and fall of Tom L. Johnson can be told in two parts:

one, the financial; and two, the physical. To understand the first of

these we must look briefly at the affairs of Albert Loftin Johnson,

the mayor's younger brother. A muscular six-footer, Al was good-

natured, popular, and capable. He and his brother were close com-

panions in work and play, and some sources hint it was he who

induced Tom to make his first run for congress in 1888.29 They

came to Cleveland together in 1879 and painstakingly built up

valuable street railway properties. When Tom left business during

the middle nineties, Al stayed on. By 1900 he had developed the

Lehigh Valley railroad system, and was toying with such projects

as a London subway, a Brooklyn-Philadelphia interurban, a three-

cent franchise for Philadelphia, and the most grandiose scheme of

all, a transcontinental interurban system. Suddenly, in July 1901,

at the age of thirty-nine, and only three months after Tom became

mayor, Al died.³⁰

Although this was a tremendous personal loss to Johnson, the

matter did not end there. As executor of his brother's estate he soon

realized that the assets came to but a fraction of the estimated

$20,000,000, and even what remained was tied up in various trac-

tion enterprises. With no cash available to meet immediate de-

mands, the mayor was faced with the difficult problem of whether

or not to remain in politics. By choosing to carry on his fight for

municipal reform he was unable to devote the necessary time for

a reordering of his brother's affairs. Later, when suffering financial

reverses at every turn, he remarked, "I could go back into business

29 Plain Dealer, July 17, 1929.

30 Ibid., July 3, 4, 5, 8, 10 ,13, 1901, July 17, 1929.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                  331

and make it all up, but I am not going to do it." The Rev. Mr.

Cooley commented, "He could not do it and be true to his vision."31

Seeking to save Al's estate, Johnson converted his own securities,

chiefly government bonds, and applied the proceeds to Al's prop-

erties. However, a long-term decline in their value had already set

in, and the panic of 1907 only hurried catastrophe along. Without

avail Johnson continued to pour his own wealth into the breach;

eastern creditors increased their pressure. As with the street rail-

way war, the crisis here also arrived in the summer of 1908. The

mayor turned to the Sheffield Land and Improvement Company of

Lorain for liquid funds. As president he considered this concern

to be a sort of savings bank, a solid, substantial corporation which

could be depended upon for help in an emergency. To his sorrow

he now learned that someone had squandered over half a million

dollars of the firm's assets. The Sheffield Land and Improvement

Company was bankrupt, and as the mayor at once recognized, so

was he.³²

Everything now struck at once. The Depositors' Savings and Trust

Company, organized by Johnson and his associates to provide bank-

ing facilities for the low-fare street railway companies, failed late

in 1908.33 A City Hall incident recalled by Fred Howe pinpoints

the desperateness of the mayor's situation:

The opposition lawyers served a notice on him that securities lodged with

a New York bank would be sold on a certain day to satisfy a loan of

$70,000. Tom listened. Finally he said, "I hope you will be able to get

more out of them than I have. I can't sell them, possibly you can." . . .

When the attorney left I asked him what he meant. "That's the end of

my fortune," he said. "They can sell these securities for any price and take

a judgment over against me for the balance. There is nothing left but the

Euclid Avenue home."³⁴

On November 19, 1908, Mayor Johnson, without bitterness or

31 Ibid., December 2, 1934.

³2 Ibid, April 11, 1911.

33 Johnson, My Story, xxi, 265; Plain Dealer, July 31, August 10, November 10, 13,

December 9, 15, 16, 1906, February 13, 1907, November 16, 1908, January 1, 1909.

34 Howe, Confessions of a Reformer, 144-145.

332     Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

regret, announced publicly that his fortune was gone. Before a

tense press conference he said:

I had entered the fight in the city with certain ideals before me. I wanted

to fight privilege and special interests, and I had already decided to give

up working for dollars. So I concluded to stay right here and do what I

could to help my brother's children at long distance.³⁵

Preoccupied with the mayoralty, burdened by his brother's obliga-

tions, and unable to fit his income to the extravagant demands of

his family, Johnson saw his wealth vanish. A younger, stronger

Johnson could have recouped the losses, but this Johnson was

neither young nor strong.

Although hundreds of telegrams and letters of understanding

poured in from across the country, the hard fact remained that

this was the end. The servants, the automobiles, and the Euclid

Avenue home must go. In January 1909 the family rented a suite

in the Knickerbocker Apartments at East 83rd Street and Euclid

Avenue, and about a year later the home was sold for $200,000,

half of which went to satisfy outstanding debts. Morris Glauber,

the new owner, clearly recalled the day he moved into the house.

"There was a large silver key for the front door, and when Mr.

Johnson handed it over to me, tears stood in his eyes."³⁶

Johnson's physical decline roughly paralleled his financial and

political misfortunes. It was about 1905 when doctors first advised

him to eat more sensibly. That this was not idle talk is attested by

a glance at the mayor's morning menu. Regularly he broke his

fast with fruit, cereal, ham and eggs, fried potatoes, flapjacks,

syrup, toast, and coffee.37   On one occasion, while campaigning

downstate, he is reported to have purchased and consumed twenty-

35 Plain Dealer, November 20, 21, 1908.

36 In addition to the previous citations, material on the loss of the Johnson fortune

was gleaned from the Plain Dealer, April 11, 1911, November 11, 1912, January 1,

1913, February 22, 1920, December 2, 1934; Lorenz, Tom L. Johnson, 177-178; The

Public, November 27, 1908; conversations with Mrs. Unterzuber, February 28, 1949,

and Thomas Schmidt, February 22, 1949.

37 Conversations with Peter Witt, July 17, 1948, Thomas Schmidt, February 22,

1949, and Mrs. Bushea, April 1, 1949.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home                  333

two cantaloupes for lunch.³⁸ It is hardly necessary to append

Marvin Harrison's terse comment, "He ate like a hog and killed

himself."³⁹

In response to these warnings Johnson did abandon sugars and

starchy foods, but he continued to eat immoderately. This, com-

bined with his gruelling work schedule, financial worries, and

political setbacks, caused a sharp break in his health by mid-1909.

He failed rapidly from this point on, with the pain increasing and

the body in atrophy. Here photographs speak far more effectively

than words. While in 1907 we still see a healthy looking, robust

man, within a year the change has set in. The collar hangs loose

around the neck, the eyes are sunken, the features are pinched,

and the power has gone from the jaw. Soon these characteristics

became accentuated until, on his deathbed, Johnson is unrecog-

nizable. During his illness his weight dropped from 230 to 170

pounds.

After nine exhausting years of remaking his adopted city, Johnson

left office January 1, 1910, and spent his last year searching for

physical relief. When a five-week stretch in a New York hospital

proved unavailing,⁴⁰ he abandoned the medical men and fought on

alone. He passed more than a month in Europe,⁴¹ and then moved

to Nantucket Island for the summer.⁴² Returning to Cleveland

late in August, Johnson suffered through his last seven months, in

and out of bed, dictating his memoirs. Although he forced himself

to attend four banquets during the 1910-11 winter season, where

incidentally even former enemies joined in the warm response, his

days were clearly numbered.⁴³ A sharp sinking spell occurred the

night of March 14, and although he rallied once or twice thereafter,

he remained immovable in bed with his eyes closed. Frequently he

38 Plain Dealer, September 20, 1903.

39 Conversation with Harrison, August 2, 1949.

40 Johnson, My Story, 296.

41 Plain Dealer, March 22, 23, 24, April 17, May 7, 8, 1910; Johnson, My Story,

297-299.

42 Johnson, My Story, 302-304.

43 Plain Dealer, October 12, November 2, 1910, January 7, March 12, 1911; Johnson,

My Story, 305-312.

334    Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

lapsed into unconsciousness. A more serious sinking spell, on

April 4, hastened the end. Thirteen minutes before nine o'clock

on Monday night, April 10, 1911, "a faint smile on his wasted

face," Tom L. Johnson breathed his last.⁴⁴

Wednesday dawned gray and ominous. A damp spring chill was

in the air and there was the threat of rain. The sun broke through

the clouds early in the afternoon, but shortly thereafter it again

became overcast and a light drizzle began. About three o'clock a

crowd gathered in front of the Knickerbocker. While solemn lines

of policemen formed the silent thousands into symmetric patterns

on either side of the sidewalk and across the street, the brief

funeral rites were performed inside. Only the most intimate friends

attended the private services in the family's fourth floor suite. The

Rev. Mr. Cooley presided, assisted by the weeping Rev. Herbert S.

Bigelow. Shortly after four o'clock the rose-blanketed casket ap-

peared in the doorway, borne by eight of Mayor Johnson's closest

associates. Cooley and Bigelow led the way to the waiting hearse.

Six mounted policemen preceded the hearse and a procession of

eight carriages came after it. Police Chief Fred Kohler, who had

directed crowds at so many of the mayor's meetings, rode in an

automobile some distance ahead. As the cortege set out on its five-

mile journey to Union Depot, rain continued to fall.

Estimates vary as to how many people lined Cleveland's main

thoroughfares that dreary April afternoon. Some said 100,000,

others 300,000. The impressiveness of the occasion, however, was

not owing to the numbers in attendance. It was impressive by the

silence, by the bared heads, by the moistened eyes, by the way the

thousands waited, taking what positions they could without push-

ing and jostling, and by their quiet departures once the procession

had passed. The cortege moved by Mayor Johnson's former home

at East 24th Street. That once stately mansion, the scene of so many

happy triumphs, was closed up and dilapidated from disuse. At

East 9th Street the procession turned north to Superior and then

down Superior past the City Hall at East 3rd Street.

44 Plain Dealer, March 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 26, 28, 31, April 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9,

10, 11, 12, 1911; Johnson, My Story, 312-313.

Cleveland's Johnson: At Home              335

The City Hall closed at three o'clock and members of council

and many city employees waited on the front steps for over an

hour to pay their respects. Upstairs, Mayor Herman Baehr, who

had defeated Johnson in November 1909, stood quietly by the

south window, his head bowed. The waning daylight illuminated

a photograph of Mayor Johnson on the opposite wall. Although

Public Square was jammed, the same quiet order obtained. The

procession moved on to West 3rd Street, north to Front Street, and

down the hill to the old Union Depot. There the casket was placed

aboard a waiting train, and the small group of family and friends

who were to accompany it to New York entered a private car. The

train reached Grand Central Station early the following morning,

April 13, 1911, where another group of friends waited. Little

noticed in the swirling metropolis, the casket was taken through

a side exit to the hearse and thence across the Williamsburg Bridge

to Brooklyn's Greenwood Cemetery. Here in the Johnson family

plot, only a few feet from the remains of Henry George, Tom L.

Johnson was laid to rest.45

45 Plain Dealer, April 13, 14, 1911; Cleveland Press, April 14, 1911; Johnson, My

Story, 313; Lorenz, Tom L. Johnson, 202-203.