What’s a guy to do—who loves politics, but can’t tolerate today’s politicians?  Answer:  Read history.  On a scale of 1-10, my disgust for the miscreants and outlaws in the 2024 race is about a 50.  But when I read about the elections before I was born, I can only muster a three or four, even for the worst of the villains.  No wonder I slip out of the current election every chance I get.  Wanna sneak away with me for a few minutes?

Let’s steal away to Chicago, 164 years ago.  The town only had 109,000 residents.  (Similar in size to places today such as Greeley, Colorado, Peoria, Illinois, Lansing, Michigan, or Tyler, Texas.)  It was a party town though, a place for getting away from home—150 trains a day terminated at Chicago.  And more ships and barges docked in Chicago each day than in New York, Boston, and New Orleans combined.  Businesses sprang up to provide all these passers-through with whatever they wanted.  It was Las Vegas, Disney World, and Hooterville combined—before any of them existed.  Where else to hold a rowdy national convention?

The Republican Party was just getting started.  It was formed in 1854, elected its first officials to congress in 1856, and had yet to elect a president.  Being young, however, they were still in their “puppy” phase—energetic and unpredictable.  Unlike puppies, however, they were also full of anger and idealism.  Object of their anger:  slavery and those who accommodated it.  Their idealism: national unity built on freedom and federal investment in infrastructure.  

The Republicans, it would turn out, would win the election of 1860.  But Republican victory would not have happened had their opposition—the Democratic Party—not split in pieces during the campaign—all but forfeiting the election.

But back to Chicago—and the Republican Convention there—which nominated Abraham Lincoln.  Lincoln was not expected to be the Republican nominee.  And he would NOT have been, had the supporters of “Honest Abe” not been incredibly dishonest.  It started by persuading the East Coast elite leaders of the party to hold the convention in Chicago—so the people of the Midwest could get a closeup look at the party.  In 1860, the swing states of national elections were almost all located in the Midwest, even though most of the GOP was located in the northeast.  The eastern leaders fell for the ruse, and the Chicago political gang had their first foot in the door.

The first problem with holding a convention in Chicago was that there was no building big enough to hold the delegates and spectators.  “Long-John” Wentworth was mayor at the time, a newly converted Republican.  I found this sentence about him:  “…the 300-pound, hard-drinking, red-haired mayor still rode his white stallion through the center of town, scandalizing the more genteel society…with his foul mouth and debauchery.”  I’m not sure whether he committed debauchery on his horse—or waited until he got off.  But no matter for our purposes today.  The mayor arranged for a quick erection of the Wigwam, a two-story pine board building that could seat 10,000.  It cost the city $5,000. The 466 delegates sat on the first floor, speakers stood on a portable stage on wheels. And  spectators crowded into the galleries on the first floor and into the second floor balcony. Thousands more milled outside, as men stood at the door and shouted the indoor speeches—word for word to them.  

 There were five major contenders for the nomination, when the convention opened on May 16, 1864.  The smug William H. Seward of New York (the front runner,) the corrupt Simon Cameron of Pennsylvania, the uninspiring Edward Bates of Missouri, the pompous Samuel Chase of Ohio, and the hillbilly Abraham Lincoln of Illinois.  Everyone thought Seward would walk away with the nomination.  His organizers had arranged for thousands of energetic Seward supporters to be transported into Chicago by train.  They were bought and paid for.  Party officials had official “admission tickets” printed up and given to Seward cheerleaders—so they could overwhelm the convention hall with their praises of the man.  

After passing some convention rules, deciding which delegates to seat, and what to put in their party platform (their official positions in the 1860 election), the Seward people tried to rush his nomination through on the afternoon of May 17.  But Lincoln’s organizers had the better shenanigans to play.

When the convention chair called for a tally sheet—so the vote could be tabulated, Lincoln’s men lied and said that it hadn’t arrived from the printer, and wouldn’t be available until the next morning.  Not suspecting any monkey play, the chair adjourned for the day, and Lincoln’s men went to work.

All through the night, free cigars and booze—and an undisclosed amount of cash—were distributed all through Chicago.  Fake admission tickets were printed up and given to Lincoln’s supporters.  They were instructed to arrive early at the Wigwam the next morning, before Seward supporters got there.  The tickets were given to Chicagoans with the loudest voices.  

The next morning, the Wigwam was packed early—by Lincoln people.  When Seward’s folks arrived, they were turned away at the door—no more room.  When Seward’s name was put in nomination—dead silence in the Wigwam, except for some cheering in the New York delegation. Everyone else wondered whether Seward really could get votes in the Midwest.  When Lincoln’s name was nominated—the place went wild with cheers.  It seemed to the delegates that the Illinoisian was the one man who could win enough states in November to capture the White House.

And so Lincoln was selected, on the third ballot. And he went on to win the presidency in November.  

As for the Wigwam, it burned to the ground during the Great Fire in 1871.  We still have pictures of it.  (Drop me a line and I’ll email them to you.)  The site is now commemorated with a plaque at the intersection of Lake Street and Wacker Drive, on the banks of the Chicago River.

There.  Are you ready to leave 1860 and head back to 2024?  Maybe not?  If you want to hang around in our time machine, there was another political convention in Chicago four years later.  In fact, there have been 25 major party conventions in Chicago.  So many stories.  So many characters.  And fortunately, hardly any of the rogues are still around to worry us.  Maybe I’ll just hang around for a few more of them—if anyone wants to join me.