By Paul Carrier
Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft and the muckrakers of the Progressive Era have had their share of biographers. In one sense, then, Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Doris Kearns Goodwin finds herself treading a well-traveled path in her latest book.
But The Bully Pulpit takes an innovative approach to these two presidents, journalists Ida Tarbell and Lincoln Steffens, and other reformers in their circle. It does so by exploring, in one volume, how their lives and missions intersected more than a century ago.
In effect, Goodwin has written a biography of the early stages of a movement, as seen through the eyes of some of its key players, both political and journalistic. She focuses on the initially close friendship between Roosevelt and Taft, as well as the role crusading reporters played in pushing the changes Roosevelt and Taft championed before Woodrow Wilson defeated both of them to capture the presidency in 1912.
Goodwin writes that her “process of discovery” led her to realize the tale she tells here has “three interwoven strands.” One is the story of Roosevelt, who crusaded to expand the role of government. Another is the story of Taft, a leading Roosevelt ally who later “found himself at sea” when he succeeded Roosevelt as president in 1909. Goodwin says Taft floundered in large part because he was “temperamentally unsuited to make use of the story’s third strand - the bully pulpit that had provided the key to his predecessor’s success.”
With 752 pages of text, plus notes, index, etc., this is a hefty tome, and although Goodwin’s style is accessible and lively, The Bully Pulpit does not make for quick reading. More than 125 pages into the book, Roosevelt and Taft have yet to meet. It's even later before S. S. McClure, the crusading magazine publisher who figures prominently in Goodwin’s story, makes an appearance.
The early sections provide a heavy dose of biographical information about the youth and early adulthood of the two future presidents. Their parents, wives and in-laws get a going-over as well. The political wrangling in these sections is sometimes obscure. This delays the synthesis of forces that are at the heart of Goodwin’s account.
Goodwin draws a fine, even humorous, comparison between Roosevelt and Taft who, despite their early friendship, were opposites in many ways. Roosevelt was a dynamo; critics called him erratic. Taft was deliberative and judicial. Not only was Roosevelt a good deal shorter (and lighter) than the hefty Taft, but Roosevelt was an aggressive whirlwind who did not suffer fools gladly. Amiable, self-spoken and cherubic, Taft was a gifted lawyer but a dry, long-winded speaker plagued by insecurities and procrastination. Still, Taft said their “common views and sympathies” brought the two men together.
Even before Roosevelt and Taft ascended to the presidency, it was clear that Taft lacked Roosevelt’s knack for meeting with critics or cultivating the support of powerful editors and writers. Roosevelt did just that during his contentious stint as a reform-minded police commissioner in New York City in the 1890s, as governor of New York and even as president. Taft, a U.S. Circuit Court judge before he joined Roosevelt’s White House team, issued progressive rulings from the bench and later displayed strong administrative skills in the American-run Philippines. But as president, he made no concerted effort to nurture journalistic relationships. And he failed to develop a forceful speaking style.
The Bully Pulpit becomes especially compelling when Goodwin finally tosses McClure and his journalists into the mix. A self-made man who overcame poverty to establish what Goodwin calls “the most exciting and influential magazine the country had ever seen.” McClure was a publishing sage who employed the nation’s best investigative reporters. His supercharged persona swung between periods of manic brilliance and bouts of depression and exhaustion that were so severe he spent months on end recuperating.
Roosevelt and McClure’s team had a remarkably symbiotic relationship. As president, Roosevelt often tapped his friendship with progressive journalists to garner first-hand information that helped him craft and pursue his reform-minded agenda. The journalists, in turn, sometimes sought Roosevelt’s feedback on pending articles, or turned to him for tips, leads, and ready access to key federal officials.
Goodwin’s weaving of multiple strands into one narrative is both the strength and the weakness of The Bully Pulpit. The book introduces us to myriad characters from various backgrounds, all of them fascinating. Each of Goodwin’s three story lines is enticing, but they do not always mesh seamlessly, creating a disjointed whole because the linkages seem forced at times.
A joint biography of Roosevelt and Taft, or an examination of Roosevelt and the muckrakers, might have flowed smoothly. In fact, Goodwin is at her best with her deeply moving look at the gradual collapse of the Roosevelt-Taft friendship, their bruising 1912 battle for the presidency, and their eventual reconciliation. But with its triple focus, The Bully Pulpit has one strand too many.
But The Bully Pulpit takes an innovative approach to these two presidents, journalists Ida Tarbell and Lincoln Steffens, and other reformers in their circle. It does so by exploring, in one volume, how their lives and missions intersected more than a century ago.
In effect, Goodwin has written a biography of the early stages of a movement, as seen through the eyes of some of its key players, both political and journalistic. She focuses on the initially close friendship between Roosevelt and Taft, as well as the role crusading reporters played in pushing the changes Roosevelt and Taft championed before Woodrow Wilson defeated both of them to capture the presidency in 1912.
Goodwin writes that her “process of discovery” led her to realize the tale she tells here has “three interwoven strands.” One is the story of Roosevelt, who crusaded to expand the role of government. Another is the story of Taft, a leading Roosevelt ally who later “found himself at sea” when he succeeded Roosevelt as president in 1909. Goodwin says Taft floundered in large part because he was “temperamentally unsuited to make use of the story’s third strand - the bully pulpit that had provided the key to his predecessor’s success.”
With 752 pages of text, plus notes, index, etc., this is a hefty tome, and although Goodwin’s style is accessible and lively, The Bully Pulpit does not make for quick reading. More than 125 pages into the book, Roosevelt and Taft have yet to meet. It's even later before S. S. McClure, the crusading magazine publisher who figures prominently in Goodwin’s story, makes an appearance.
The early sections provide a heavy dose of biographical information about the youth and early adulthood of the two future presidents. Their parents, wives and in-laws get a going-over as well. The political wrangling in these sections is sometimes obscure. This delays the synthesis of forces that are at the heart of Goodwin’s account.
Goodwin draws a fine, even humorous, comparison between Roosevelt and Taft who, despite their early friendship, were opposites in many ways. Roosevelt was a dynamo; critics called him erratic. Taft was deliberative and judicial. Not only was Roosevelt a good deal shorter (and lighter) than the hefty Taft, but Roosevelt was an aggressive whirlwind who did not suffer fools gladly. Amiable, self-spoken and cherubic, Taft was a gifted lawyer but a dry, long-winded speaker plagued by insecurities and procrastination. Still, Taft said their “common views and sympathies” brought the two men together.
Even before Roosevelt and Taft ascended to the presidency, it was clear that Taft lacked Roosevelt’s knack for meeting with critics or cultivating the support of powerful editors and writers. Roosevelt did just that during his contentious stint as a reform-minded police commissioner in New York City in the 1890s, as governor of New York and even as president. Taft, a U.S. Circuit Court judge before he joined Roosevelt’s White House team, issued progressive rulings from the bench and later displayed strong administrative skills in the American-run Philippines. But as president, he made no concerted effort to nurture journalistic relationships. And he failed to develop a forceful speaking style.
The Bully Pulpit becomes especially compelling when Goodwin finally tosses McClure and his journalists into the mix. A self-made man who overcame poverty to establish what Goodwin calls “the most exciting and influential magazine the country had ever seen.” McClure was a publishing sage who employed the nation’s best investigative reporters. His supercharged persona swung between periods of manic brilliance and bouts of depression and exhaustion that were so severe he spent months on end recuperating.
Roosevelt and McClure’s team had a remarkably symbiotic relationship. As president, Roosevelt often tapped his friendship with progressive journalists to garner first-hand information that helped him craft and pursue his reform-minded agenda. The journalists, in turn, sometimes sought Roosevelt’s feedback on pending articles, or turned to him for tips, leads, and ready access to key federal officials.
Goodwin’s weaving of multiple strands into one narrative is both the strength and the weakness of The Bully Pulpit. The book introduces us to myriad characters from various backgrounds, all of them fascinating. Each of Goodwin’s three story lines is enticing, but they do not always mesh seamlessly, creating a disjointed whole because the linkages seem forced at times.
A joint biography of Roosevelt and Taft, or an examination of Roosevelt and the muckrakers, might have flowed smoothly. In fact, Goodwin is at her best with her deeply moving look at the gradual collapse of the Roosevelt-Taft friendship, their bruising 1912 battle for the presidency, and their eventual reconciliation. But with its triple focus, The Bully Pulpit has one strand too many.
