Traitor to His Class: The Privileged Life and Radical Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt by H. W. Brands Page A

it that they are protected in the discharge of their public duty. They shall not suffer because they are faithful to the people.” Just how he proposed to do this, he didn’t say. His own means—and Sara’s—rendered him impervious to Tammany’s economic counterattack, but they didn’t stretch far enough to cover all his allies.
    Tammany unveiled other weapons. Sheehan was Irish, as were Murphy and many of Tammany’s most loyal supporters. Old-stock Americans of such pedigrees as Roosevelt’s often looked down on the Irish, especially the destitute refugees of the Great Famine of the 1840s and their heirs. Though in his case inaccurate, imputations of anti-Irish feeling in Roosevelt’s opposition to Sheehan and Tammany weren’t implausible. From allegations of anti-Irishism to charges of anti-Catholicism was a short step, which Tammany’s rumor-mongers readily made.
    Roosevelt denied the rumors vigorously. “This is absolutely untrue!” he shouted. “We do not ask and do not care from what stock a man may have sprung or what his religious beliefs may be. All we ask is that he be a fit man for United States Senator.” He pointed out that the insurgents included a number of Irishmen and Catholics. Yet his denials simply gave the accusations a larger audience, as Tammany reckoned they would.
    Roosevelt fumblingly counterattacked. He alleged that Sheehan was in bed with Thomas Fortune Ryan, an infamous speculator who, with Tammany’s help, had managed to monopolize rail transport in much of New York City. Or if Sheehan wasn’t in bed with Ryan, at least he was in church with Ryan: Roosevelt asserted that the two attended the same ten o’clock mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It was a silly charge—hundreds of worshipers attended the same service—and Roosevelt soon let it drop.
    But he held his ground otherwise. The insurgency wasn’t going away, he declared. “The Sheehan men can keep up the struggle as long as they choose. They will find that we can stand it as long as they can. They must be aware, however, that the longer they keep up the battle the worse it is for the Democratic Party.”
    Murphy eventually agreed. He invited Roosevelt to his hotel suite. The day happened to be Roosevelt’s twenty-ninth birthday, and the Tammany boss exuded good cheer. He met Roosevelt with what Roosevelt afterward characterized to reporters as a “delightful smile,” and he conducted the interview with respect and friendliness. “I know I can’t make you change your mind unless you want to change it,” he told Roosevelt (again by Roosevelt’s account). “Is there any chance of you and the other twenty men coming around to vote for Sheehan?” Roosevelt responded, “No, Mr. Murphy…. In the first place, we believe a great many of our Democratic constituents don’t want him to be the United States senator, and in the second place, he is altogether too closely connected with the traction trust in New York City.” In Roosevelt’s version, Murphy said he accepted this reasoning. He intimated that he had chosen Sheehan more from a sense of personal obligation than from conviction that he was the best man for the job. He told Roosevelt that if the insurgents were dead set against Sheehan and could never vote for him, then he—Roosevelt—should tell Sheehan this to his face, and explain why. Presumably, once Sheehan realized he couldn’t be elected, he would withdraw and save the party further embarrassment.
    Roosevelt inferred from the session that Murphy was weakening. He proceeded to his house on State Street to enlist Eleanor’s further support. “My husband came home and announced that the gentleman he was fighting against would be with us for luncheon the next day,” she recalled. “After luncheon I was to entertain ‘Blue Eyed Billy’ Sheehan’s wife while my husband talked to him in his study. Lunch was not so bad, for I had my husband to carry the burden of the conversation, but after lunch we