"As disgraceful a scene as ever smirched a legislative body"
And this was BEFORE the vote. Chicago, November 4, 1893
Saturday, March 9, 2024. Good morning. Well, we've come to the key events of this story, and it’s going to take more than one installment to tell what happened.
I wish I could use newspaper quotations to tell the whole story because each paper's florid and amusing language is fun to read. But even putting space aside, I can’t because each paper had a different spin on what happened and why. I need to parse that for readers. When there are meaningful variations in accounts, I’ll include them.
Where were we?
Here is a link to the home page if you want to read past issues.
• Saturday night, October 28: Mayor of Chicago Carter Harrison is assassinated. Politicians and the press angle for a succession process since Chicago does not have laws to replace a mayor who dies in office.
• October 29: Hours after the Mayor’s death, newspapers start promoting their candidates for temporary Mayor.
• Monday, October 30: The World’s Fair closes. The City Council meets to prepare for the mayor’s funeral. The Chicago Tribune continues its vendetta against Governor Altgeld.
• Tuesday, October 31: The mayor lies in state at City Hall. Newspapers and politicians plan for a fight over the mayor’s seat. Attorneys look for a succession plan.
• Wednesday, November 1: Carter Harrison’s funeral. Lawyers adopt a succession plan: Aldermen will elect a temporary mayor from among them. A few weeks later, a special election will be held to elect a mayor to fill out the term.
Thursday, November 2. Republican aldermen nominate George B. Swift. Epstean casts a blank ballot. Republicans call for the pro-tem election to take place on Saturday at 11 am, three hours before the Democrats’ scheduled caucus. The Dems reschedule to Friday.
Friday, November 3. The Democrats nominate John McGillen, Chair of the Democratic Campaign Committee and a leader in the City Council. Rumors abound of planned shenanigans during the election on Saturday.
Saturday, November 4. Actually, back to Friday, November 3
As ever, we need to back up a bit. According to the Sunday, November 5, papers, the Democratic bosses had met Friday night to plot their scheme to get McGillen elected mayor.
First, they had to bribe five Republicans before the vote to either vote for him or stay away from the City Council chamber. But aldermen were fickle, so they couldn't rely on bribery alone. McGillen would also have to chair the meeting so that he could force through a motion for a secret ballot so that "their" aldermen could vote safely. To get McGillen into the Speaker’s chair, they’d need his legendary skill in parliamentary procedure.
This was going to take some work. Under ordinary circumstances, Republicans would never allow the Democratic nominee to chair a meeting where Republicans were the majority. But McGillen had an ace in the hole: Reading Clerk John G. Neumeister. Neumeister's job was to implement the Chair's instructions. He'd be crucial as the enforcer of McGillen’s unorthodox orders. He was also, well, an enforcer.
A few words about John Neumeister. Neumeister had been a member of the infamous "Hatch House gang." They ensured that Election Days went the Democrats' way. Whether they used brawn or weapons was up to them. They usually used both. In later years, Neumeister became one of Chicago's best-known cheesemakers. (You can still find crockery that once contained his wares for sale. )
By Saturday morning, Democratic alderman Johnny Powers had reported to the other Democratic bosses that he had paid off enough Republicans to ensure McGillen's win. But everything had to go right - as it were - for this to work.
Saturday, November 4.
Well before the 11 a.m. start time of the meeting, it was clear that trouble was brewing. For one thing, the (democratic) Chief of Police had stationed a couple of dozen “burly” police officers near the entrance to the Council chamber. Their job was to let no one enter except aldermen, city officials, and newspaper reporters. Lawyers and political operatives still made it past the phalanx.
There were also, at least according to the Inter Ocean,
“…fifteen or twenty typical toughs, ward heelers, and shoulder-hitters (who) stood in the Council chamber in the guise of ‘special policemen.’ They were not officers but were given a semblance of authority by means of police department stars, which they wore conspicuously.”
According to the Herald, the catafalque that had supported Carter Harrison’s coffin still stood in the City Council chamber, adorned with flowers and ferns. It must have been a sobering moment as the aldermen filed by to take their seats. By the time Neumeister finished calling the roll, all aldermen - 38 Republicans and 30 Democrats - were seated.
The first order of business was to select the meeting Chair. Neumeister and McGillen were ready to play their parts. Democratic Alderman Powers (the gent who had handed out cash the night before to the Republican aldermen) called out, “McGillen!” Republican Alderman Kent shouted, “Hepburn!”
McGillen ran for Neumeister as if a starting pistol had gone off. He grabbed the gavel from the Reading Clerk, strode to the Speaker’s chair, and banged on the podium for order. Hepburn headed for the Speaker’s podium and stood at Neumeister’s desk.
Neumeister was now up. To quote the Herald, he shouted, "All in favorofAldermanMcGillentakingthechairsayaye-carried.”
The Republicans shouted with outrage and the Democrats with approval. Hepburn stood stubbornly next to Neumeister, ignoring the “vote.” Neumeister angrily pushed Hepburn away. In doing so, Neumeister ripped away crepe from the Mayor’s chair. This act seemed to send all the aldermen to their feet, especially the Republicans, who were still calling for a roll call of the vote.
McGilllen called for Inspector Ross to eject Hepburn. Ross took a few steps towards Hepburn, then seemed to reassess the situation. He stayed on the platform but didn’t interfere, motioning other police officers to come closer.
Democratic Alderman Tripp then handed an ordinance to McGillen. At the same time, Alderman Madden handed one to Hepburn. Republicans believed they'd voted for Hepburn to be Chair and were treating him as such.
Ignoring Madden and Hepburn, McGillen asked Neumeister to read Tripp’s resolution. At almost the same time, Hepburn recognized Madden. Madden had just finished reading the document (an ordinance to set a date for a special election for mayor) and was handing it over to Hepburn when Neumeister came between them, grabbed the paper, and tore it up.
It is unclear why George B. Swift jumped in. So to speak. According to the Tribune, Swift was the author of the resolution. In any case, Neumeister’s ripping up of the document was the last straw. I include two newspaper accounts of what happened next.
Chicago Tribune:
[Swift] rushed from his seat, made a bound over the reporter’s inclosure into the space behind the Clerk’s desk, and pushed [Neumeister] before him, exclaiming: “You ruffian, why did you tear up my resolution?”
Chicago Herald
Alderman Swift had not participated in active hostilities up to this time. Neumeister’s last act exasperated him. He bounded from his chair. The next seen of him he was astride Neumeister’s neck. How he got there no one knows. He does not know himself, he says. But perched on the burly Neumeister he was like a baby on horseback. All Neumeister did was shake himself and the little alderman fell off. He was not hurt.
One might have thought that the unseemliness, not to mention indignity, of the physical altercation that had just transpired would have chastened the legislative body to resume its deliberations. That didn’t happen.
Alderman Thomas Carey, a Democrat from the “fighting 29th,” lived up to the reputation of his ward. He tore off his coat and took his place next to Neumeister as they swung at Republicans. It was when Carey grabbed an ice pitcher and Neumeister a cuspidor that all aldermen and the police rushed towards the fighting group.
[I will note that every newspaper reported detailed accounts of the melee. Only Democratic papers printed illustrations.]
The threat of actual bloodshed seemed to sober Swift up. He approached Hepburn and asked him to recognize McGillen as Chair. When Hepburn demurred - to put it mildly - Swift went up to McGillen, grasped his hand, raised it high, and addressed the crowd. All papers reported his brief statement.
“I want my friends, in the interest of peace - and the good name of the city, to recognize Mr. McGillen as Chairman, though I desire to protest against the manner of his selection and the grossly scandalous conduct of the clerk.”
As the Chicago Times described it, the mood in the room changed abruptly.
Reason came slowly with the sight of plucky little George Swift and the equally plucky John McGillen, clasping hands above the crepe which hung in torn and tattered loops from the speaker’s chair. The flush of anger was supplemented by the blush of shame.
--Chicago Times, November 5, 1893
I’m guessing no more than half an hour had transpired from the beginning of the meeting to the selection of the Chair. The next item hurdle on the agenda was setting the rules for voting. Alas, the feeling of amity would not last long.
We’ll get to that - and maybe even the (first) vote for mayor - next week.