Bargaining With the Devil, Or, How Warren G. Harding Surviving Led to an Early Southern Strategy:
Warren G. Harding sighed wistfully as he read the election returns. How mightily he had fallen. Here he was, the incumbent who'd won over 60% of the vote four years prior, behind his opponent. It had been close-fought battle, but a losing one nonetheless. It was time to prepare a concession telegraph to send to President-elect Underwood, he supposed. As he began to write it, he inevitably found his mind thinking of the past, of how he could have survived the challenged.
It had all started with the stupid Teapot Dome thing. Albert Fall, the Interior Secretary, got caught in perhaps the most brazen example of Cabinet bribery the nation had ever seen, and even after he'd left his position in March 1923, the spectre of the scandal had hung under the Harding administration's neck like a millstone. Congressional investigation had dogged him for two years. Harry Daugherty's scandals did nothing to help. The 1922 midterms had gone poorly for his party, and the newly narrow Republican majority had arguably only been saved by how bad the 1920 result had been for the Democrats. As 1924 had dawned, Harding's once-soaring popularity slowly dropped, and the Democrats aggressively aimed for actual victory.
The Democratic Convention had come and gone and produced a surprisingly united party behind Senator Underwood. Meanwhile President Harding struggled to get his party in line; some, with, of course, Robert M. LaFollette as their ringleader, had been quite aggressive in trying to investigate whether or not he had been involved in Fall's schemes, and these inquiries seemed incapable of dying down. The general election campaign had somehow been even more scandal-ridden than the rest of his presidency. Questions over Teapot Dome still lingered, but new scandals to rock the nation emerged instead. The first and biggest of these was, of course, the discovery by the press of Nan Britton, President Harding's mistress. The Harding campaign struggled to respond to public knowledge of the president's affair; it was made worse when they found out about their illegitimate daughter, Elizabeth. This evolved explosively when the press got their hands on documents showing the Republican Party itself had been paying hush money to President Harding's
other mistress, Carrie Fulton Phillips, and the fact she'd blackmailed him to not vote for the declaration of war against Germany. New scandals became commonplace as the American people learned how the Harding White House really worked; for example, the public revelation of the president's blatant violation of the Volstead Act in serving liquor to his Cabinet didn't dent Harding's numbers much (since, after all, too many Americans were themselves engaging in such blasé violations of the act) but did draw the ire of Wayne Wheeler, the tyrant leader of the powerful Anti-Saloon League. Wheeler and the ASL would never back the wet Underwood, but would end up doing little to support the reelection of President Harding. That the president had retained Harry Daugherty in his place even as corruption scandals remained swirling around the attorney-general did nothing to staunch the bleeding.
The final factor was the president's health. In the midst of a tour of the West that had included the first presidential visit to Alaska, the president had had a sudden pique of ill health starting July 27, 1923; on August 2, he had what was later understood to be a heart attack and nearly died. The president would ultimately live, for now, but was very physically weakened by the episode, and never fully recovered. His ability to campaign in 1924 would be rather limited. In some ways this didn't affect the president much - like four years prior, his was a decidedly front-porch-style campaign - but it limited his already low-energy form of presidenting, and gave way to further negative articles as his team largely failed to hide his ill health. Indeed, the front porch style he favored likely backfired, and was part of why Underwood defeated him. Such was how the Harding reelection campaign slowly died a death of a thousand cuts. That the result was as close as it was was a testament to the natural advantages of the Republican Party of the time and the depth of the hole the Democrats had gotten themselves into in 1920.
A part of President Harding stirred and he wanted to blame it all on LaFollette. He'd launched his own "independent" bid with the support of "progressive" organizations and split the party like his own bête noire, Teddy Roosevelt. That Underwood's margin had exceeded LaFollette's share in key states like Rhode Island and Delaware and that many LaFollette voters would have chosen Underwood was lost on many men like Harding. Indeed, many historians agree that Underwood could have made much of the ground he might have lost in the Northeast in the West. But that is not something so easy to predict, especially at the time. And so the defeated president bitterly resented LaFollette for "stealing" his second term.
Harding looked at the finished telegram. Even as Rhode Island, Nevada, and Oregon remained in doubt, he knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Even if he got all three he had lost. So he ordered the telegram sent to Underwood, and became a lame duck. He left office on March 4, 1925, and died on June 3 of that year. So a scandal-ridden president passed onto the history books.