Welcome to New York (2)
The people chosen as the worst presidents in American history are usually a predictable bunch.
After all, these kinds of polls are usually just a case of "the pot calling the kettle black."
Even with my limited knowledge, which I’d brushed up on during my business trips to the U.S. to build some common ground, names immediately sprang to mind: Harding, William Henry Harrison, Franklin Pierce, Andrew Johnson, and then, at the very bottom of the barrel beneath all of them, James Buchanan.
And, shockingly, three of those names are tied to the era surrounding the American Civil War.
It was a testament to just how sensitive and sharply divided this period was in American political history.
Among them, James Buchanan was a peculiar case. Though he was a Northerner, he was a Democrat who held positive views on slavery, which earned him the party's support. He was expected to be the talent who could bridge the nation's divide—appealing to the North by virtue of his origin while representing the interests of the South.
Furthermore, because the Whig Party—his opponent in the presidential race—was fractured, Buchanan was destined to be elected the next President of the United States with relative ease.
Up until this point, there was a pervasive sense of crisis in American public opinion that if the opposition to slavery became too extreme, the nation would tear itself apart.
“I was curious about the young man who became the Cotton King of Mississippi at twenty, but I didn’t expect to see such a dashing young fellow in person. I imagine the ladies are lining up just for a chance to meet you.”
“I am merely a greenhorn who was lucky enough to inherit a great deal of property. I still lack so much, and I ask for your continued guidance.”
Even if the man before me was destined to be immortalized as the worst president in American history, he was, for now, the current presidential candidate and the man who would become the next president.
If I got on his bad side even a little, the next four years could be hell, so I had to make sure I stayed in his good graces.
But maintaining too close a relationship with a man whose term would end in the outbreak of the Civil War and who would be remembered as the absolute worst was also a suicide mission.
Damn it, how did my life end up being such an extreme tightrope walk?
“There was a congressman in the party who was quite impressed by what you did in Bloomington. How should I put it? The Whigs... no, since they’ve split into the American Party and the Republican Party, should I call them the old Whigs? Anyway, they said it was a brilliant feat that pointedly skewered their contradictions.”
“...You are too kind. I merely rented a restaurant with money.”
“No, no. You sent slaves, who are barred from such places, into the restaurant you rented with that money, and fed them food that Northern blacks could never dream of tasting in their entire lives, didn’t you? The Southern congressmen in the party couldn’t stop praising the spirit that only a young man could show.”
Sigh. A party in a town like Bloomington, just by renting a restaurant, reaches the ears of a presidential candidate?
It hit me once again, painfully, just how sensitive a time this is in America.
“I heard you also met Lincoln of the Republican Party and had a talk?”
“Yes. He seemed very interested in how a young man from the South like myself feels about slavery.”
“Ho-ho...”
“So I told him honestly. I said that while Mr. Lincoln’s words might spare me, they sound no different than a declaration that my children and grandchildren will be turned into beggars.”
“A pathetic man. He always loses elections because he only spouts such unrealistic nonsense. The same goes for Fremont, that man who will be the Republican presidential candidate.”
A rare spectacle: the man destined to be immortalized as the worst president in American history disparaging the man who would be recorded as the greatest.
Naturally, Buchanan didn’t even perceive Lincoln as a rival right now.
He might have been wary of Fremont, the Republican candidate, but he saw no reason to pay attention to a "serial loser" who had served as a senator and ambassador to Britain.
“The candidate’s words are correct. What good would it do to forcibly abolish slavery, other than ending up with the country split in two?”
“Exactly. I am the only one who can save this nation in crisis. Receiving the support of young men like you gives me even more confidence. Ho-ho-ho.”
His eyes gleamed strangely at the mention of the word "support," and he continued in a subtle tone.
“So, I hope that people like you will continue to be a strong pillar for the Democratic Party. Shouldn’t supporters and politicians form a tighter bond so that the Union does not split any further?”
In an age without TV or the internet, gaining the support of local notables is the absolute fundamental of any election.
But frankly speaking, wouldn’t anyone with voting rights in Mississippi cast a blind, landslide vote for Buchanan anyway?
There was no need for me to help with the campaign, and that’s not what they wanted, either.
“Haha, of course. The candidate being elected is the wish of all of us living in Mississippi, not just myself.”
Of course, flattery like this, empty words, has no effect.
To be blunt, why else would Tammany Hall, the incarnation of money-driven elections, have called me here?
It meant I should show some "sincerity" without making them say it out loud.
However, handing a campaign donation directly to Tammany Hall here was too much of a risk.
If I opened my wallet here, I’d have to pay an amount befitting my status, and such a large sum would immediately remain on record with the finance committee.
I didn’t know about now, but I couldn’t leave any room for someone to snipe at me later, saying, "That James Seth fellow is a total villain!"
So, the best strategy was to provide the donation in a way that wouldn’t leave an official record.
“Candidate, this is a payment authorization form used by Duncan, Sherman & Co., where I primarily conduct my business in New York.”
After signing this paper, which acted like a check in the modern era, I filled in the amount so that only Buchanan could see it.
“Ho-ho, this fellow. Things like this should go through the election committee... hmm?”
[Please pay $10,000 to Democratic candidate James Buchanan]
“Te... ten thousand?”
A staggering sum, amounting to one-seventh of my annual net profit.
Even the great Buchanan’s face twitched at such a massive donation, which would feel like millions of dollars in the modern era.
This wasn’t given to Buchanan’s election committee; it was a personal donation to the politician James Buchanan.
“Ahem! My, I am truly grateful for your heart, but such a large sum is supposed to be received through official channels...”
“I thought of that, but I felt it might place an excessive burden on you, Candidate. Doesn’t it feel a bit too obvious for a tycoon who inherited a large number of slaves to be pouring money into the Democratic Party?”
“Ah... that is true as well.”
“You have the tremendous strength of being from the North. But your opponents will try to frame you as someone who plays with money stained by slavery to dilute that advantage. I don’t want my donation record to be used to prevent that.”
It’s easy to say, but it’s human nature to be reluctant to part with even a cent if there’s no benefit to oneself.
Like the seasoned politician he was, Buchanan wore a friendly smile while subtly probing to uncover my true intentions.
“Since I’ve received such a large sum, I must naturally reward you. What position do you desire?”
It might be unfamiliar to a modern person, but the U.S. at this time was rife with the spoils system, where politics and business were inextricably linked.
Spoils. It meant treating public office as spoils of war obtained through hunting. In modern public administration, the spoils system is usually criticized as the incarnation of corruption, but at the time, it was considered a necessary evil.
Before the spoils system, cronyism, where a specific class monopolized high-ranking positions, was rampant.
However, Buchanan must have assumed I had some intention in donating such a large sum of $10,000. If I refused too much, he might actually become suspicious.
“...I have no desire to hold public office. If I did, I would have officially donated through the party. If a young man like me were to buy a high-ranking position with money made from slaves, it would be a perfect target for the opposition party. They would watch me like hyenas, waiting for me to make a mistake, and bite as soon as they saw an opening.”
“Hmm... I thought it might be good to entrust you with a federal marshal or customs position.”
“I don’t have the capacity for public office. Instead—though I don’t know if I can call it a substitute—I plan to purchase a large amount of land in Pennsylvania next year. There are signs that the brine business will be booming. And while I’m at it, if I prepare a large-scale transshipment warehouse and link it to the timber business, I think it could be quite profitable.”
“Purchasing land in Pennsylvania?”
If my memory serves me right, Titusville, Pennsylvania, is definitely an oil-producing region.
Fortunately, it’s not yet a time when oil is profitable, but it’s certain that the time is not far off.
It’s not particularly strange for a Southern tycoon to purchase land on a large scale, so there shouldn’t be any suspicion.
Isn’t there no better item to use as a stepping stone before switching industries later?
“Is there any reason for me to lend you my strength just to buy land?”
“Pennsylvania is a place with strong support for the North. I’m worried that if I, a Southerner, buy land, people might pick at it for no reason. I was hoping that if I had a letter of recommendation from a senator or a relevant agency, such things wouldn’t happen...”
“Ho-ho... you really are a friend with no greed. Is that really all you need?”
“Yes.”
Since there are no campaign finance laws at all at this point, it doesn’t matter legally whether I give $10,000 or $50,000.
Buchanan was more than satisfied as he tucked the check I handed him into his pocket.
“I hope your new business in the North goes well, too.”
He had effectively issued me a permit.
Not leaving a record while not getting on the bad side of a Democratic president.
Couldn’t I call this a great success?
In any case, it’s power that’s certain to fail, so the best thing is not to get too excited and just be perceived as a moderately likable pick.
So, from now on, like this...
“Ah, but wouldn’t it be better to have a decent title for land acquisition? It would be much easier to exert influence if you were in charge of postal affairs.”
Ah, Buchanan, buddy... please!
I told you, I have no intention of doing anything with you!
Please, just erase me from your memory!
By the time the banquet was in full swing, James Seth left early, feeling sorry for keeping his sister waiting too long.
Perhaps deeply impressed by the young man who had shown such a short but definite presence, James Buchanan was silent for a while.
Augustus Schell, the New York State Democratic Chairman who had naturally approached his side, chuckled and raised his glass.
“You seem quite surprised by the donation the young man left behind?”
“It was heavy. And yet, I was surprised because what he wanted was so modest.”
“I heard it from the side as well. He wanted to buy land and asked for help so that relevant agencies could provide convenience... truthfully, I think this should be seen as him showing the bare minimum of sincerity.”
“He is a smart young man. He must have judged that since he inherited such vast wealth, there would be those who envy him, so holding public office would be poison in the long run. He is still young, after all.”
An accurate analysis.
In fact, Augustus had already been promised that he would become the Collector of the Port of New York if Buchanan became president.
That was why he felt that the young man who had drawn a line, saying he had no intention of accepting any public office, was remarkable.
At first, he had wondered if there was some hidden motive, but he could feel the firm will from James that he truly did not want to go into public office.
When Buchanan confirmed that Augustus had reached the same judgment as himself, he smiled contentedly and clinked his glass.
Buchanan smiled as he looked at the rippling liquid with a clear clink sound.
“I called him because I thought it would be good to get to know him at least once, but I like him much more than I expected.”
“Then, will you appoint him to a position? He said he didn’t want one.”
“That’s why I’m even more tempted.”
If Buchanan and Augustus had both reached the same judgment, James’s appearance just a moment ago was definitely not acting.
If it had been acting, that was all the better.
It meant he was a young man with the ability to easily deceive people like themselves, who had rolled around in the political scene for over a decade.
“There are many who act like they have no interest in power, but there are very few who truly don’t. If that young man grows well, he could become a good politician who leads the Democratic Party in the future.”
“I have the same thought as you, Candidate.”
If there was even the slightest possibility of him becoming a competitor, he would have stepped on him in advance, but there was a 40-year age gap between Buchanan and James.
It’s human nature to want to nurture a young person who doesn’t seem like a competitor but looks competent.
Buchanan was convinced that for the Democratic Party to continue to hold power, young men like James needed to be able to stand out.
It was the moment when the old, stagnant geezers were getting all excited because a promising newbie had appeared.