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Hank Johnson, Chuck Foster, Dr. Crookman and Gorman Gay, National Chairman of the Republican National Committee, sat in the physician’s hotel suite conversing in low tones.
“We’re having a tough time getting ready for the Fall campaign,” said Gay. “Unfortunately our friends are not contributing with their accustomed liberality.”
“Can’t complain about us, can you?” asked Foster.
“No, no,” the politician denied quickly. “You have been most liberal in the past two years, but then we have done many favors for you, too.”
“Yuh sho right, Gay,” Hank remarked. “Dem crackahs mighta put us outa business efen it hadn’ bin fo’ th’ admin’strations suppo’t.”
“I’m quite sure we deeply appreciate the many favors we’ve received from the present administration,” added Dr. Crookman.
“We won’t need it much longer, though,” said Chuck Foster.
“How’s that?” asked Gay, opening his half-closed eyes.
“Well, we’ve done about all the business we can do in this country. Practically all of the Negroes are white except a couple of thousand diehards and those in institutions,” Chuck informed him.
“Dat’s right,” said Hank. “An’ it sho makes dis heah country lonesome. Ah ain’t seen a brown-skin ooman in so long Ah doan know whut Ah’d do if Ah seen one.”
“That’s right, Gay,” added Dr. Crookman. “We’ve about cleaned up the Negro problem in this country. Next week we’re closing all except five of our sanitariums.”
“Well, what about your Lying-In hospitals?” asked Gay.
“Of course we’ll have to continue operating them,” Crookman replied. “The women would be in an awful fix if we didn’t.”
“Now look here,” proposed Gay, drawing closer to them and lowering his voice. “This coming campaign is going to be one of the bitterest in the history of this country. I fear there will be rioting, shooting and killing. Those hospitals cannot be closed without tremendous mental suffering to the womanhood of the country. We want to avoid that and you want to avoid it, too. Yet, these hospitals will constantly be in danger. It ought to be worth something to you to have them especially protected by the forces of the government.”
“You would do that anyway, wouldn’t you Gay?” asked Crookman.
“Well, it’s going to cost us millions of votes to do it, and the members of the National Executive Committee seem to feel that you ought to make a very liberal donation to the campaign fund to make up for the votes we’ll lose.”
“What would you call a liberal donation?” Crookman inquired.
“A successful campaign cannot be fought this year,” Gay replied, “under twenty millions.”
“Man,” shouted Hank, “yuh ain’t talkin’ ’bout dollahs, is yuh?”
“You got it right, Hank,” answered the National Chairman. “It’ll cost that much and maybe more.”
“Where do you expect to get all of that money?” queried Foster.
“That’s just what’s worrying us,” Gay replied, “and that’s why I’m here. You fellows are rolling in wealth and we need your help. In the past two years you’ve collected around ninety million dollars from the Negro public. Why not give us a good break? You won’t miss five million, and it ought to be worth it to you fellows to defeat the Democrats.”
“Five millions! Great Day,” Hank exploded. “Man, is you los’ yo’ min’?”
“Not at all,” Gay denied. “Might as well own up that if we don’t get a contribution of about that size from you we’re liable to lose this election. … Come on, fellows, don’t be so tight. Of course, you’re setting pretty and all you’ve got to do is change your residence to Europe or some other place if things don’t run smoothly in America, but you want to think of those poor women with their black babies. What will they do if you fellows leave the country or if the Democrats win and you have to close all of your places?”
“That’s right, Chief,” Foster observed. “You can’t let the women down.”
“Yeah,” said Johnson. “Give ’im th’ jack.”
“Well, suppose we do?” concluded Crookman, smiling.
The National Chairman was delighted. “When can we collect?” he asked, “and how?”
“Tomorrow, if yuh really wants it then,” Johnson observed.
“Now remember,” warned Gay. “We cannot afford to let it be known that we are getting such a large sum from any one person or corporation.”
“That’s your lookout,” said the physician, indifferently. “You know we won’t say anything.”
Mr. Gay, shortly afterward, departed to carry the happy news to the National Executive Committee, then in session right there in New York City.
The Republicans certainly needed plenty of money to reelect President Goosie. The frequent radio addresses of Rev. Givens, the growing numbers of the Knights of Nordica, the inexplicable affluence of the Democratic Party and the vitriolic articles in The Warning, had not failed to rouse much Democratic sentiment. People were not exactly for the Democrats but they were against the Republicans. As early as May it did not seem possible for the Republicans to carry a single Southern state and many of the Northern and Eastern strongholds were in doubt. The Democrats seemed to have everything their way. Indeed, they were so confident of success that they were already counting the spoils.
When the Democratic Convention met in Jackson, Mississippi, on July 1, 1936, political wiseacres claimed that for the first time in history the whole program was cut and dried and would be run off smoothly and swiftly. Such, however, was not the case. The unusually hot sun, coupled with the enormous quantities of liquor vended,
