On January 1, 1876, the U.S.S. Trenton was launched from the New York Navy Yard. She was an odd ship to be sure, given that she was propelled out of port by a steam-driven screw, but also sported three full square-rig masts to assist it. Unfortunately, timing is everything, and even with this sterling set of qualifications, the U.S.S. Trenton was still only the runner-up in the 1876 “most rigging and screwing” championship.
First place went to the 1876 presidential election.
With the possible exception of the 1796 and 1800 elections between Jefferson and John Adams, in which the members of the Electoral College—at that time nothing more than a rabble of carefully preened partisan gigolos—straightforwardly conspired amongst themselves to get their party’s candidate elected with complete indifference to the American voter, the 1876 election stands as the single most horrifying degradation of American democracy. In fact, the ironies and absurdities are so extreme that it the only reason it cannot be referred to as an “abortion” is because the end result was the birth of a new administration.
In 1876, the Republican party was fractured right down the middle. The Stalwarts were staunch believers that political “patronage”—the rewarding of those who campaigned for you with political offices such as ambassadorships and cabinet posts—was a vital part of the American system. The Half-Breeds wanted to minimize or abolish the practice, which tended to favor those who financially contributed most heavily to a campaign. This issue may seem…familiar to anyone following the current election cycle.
In brief, the Stalwarts and Half-Breeds would go at it until President Garfield was elected in 1880. He was a Half-Breed reformer, but earned his eternal distinction by being our second assassinated president when Charles Guiteau shot him. Guiteau had written several terrible speeches in support of Garfield, and believed that this lackluster effort somehow entitled him payment from the Garfield administration in the form of a cushy consulship appointment to Paris. The fact that he expected the blessing of a coveted position once held by Jefferson from a man who ran against the idea of patronage is often cited as evidence that Guiteau was one shell short of a murder-suicide. Sadly, Garfield need not have died at all had any of the dozens of doctors who examined him heeded the groundbreaking antisepsis research presented by Dr. Joseph Lister when he visited the United States during 1876, but in fairness, 1876 was a particularly gangrenous election year.
The 1876 Republican primary convention was, by any standard, a nightmare. It featured no less than ten candidates, was sharply divided by internal politics and spiteful rhetoric, and took seven ballots to select a candidate. Poor James G. Blaine won the first six ballots by a whopping plurality—more than 160 votes over his nearest opponent—but the convention became contested when he fell shy of the 378 votes necessary to secure the nomination. The delegates arrayed against him took an “anyone but Blaine” stand, and argued amongst themselves as the votes came and went. Initially, support leaned towards Oliver P. Morton—an Indiana governor noted for jailing political opponents during the Civil War—and turned to Benjamin Bristow as Blaine appeared to strengthen. Then, all of a sudden, the gridlock broke in the seventh voting pass as Rutheford B. Hayes received a landslide of votes to bring him to 381. It was shocking to say the least. Other than a few dregs who received two or three votes apiece, Hayes had been running dead last of the significant candidates before he started to gain ground in the race to second place. As no viable alternative to Blaine surfaced through voting persuasion, the anti-Blaine Republicans met privately in a room, calmly walked out a while later, and handed the candidacy en masse to the milquetoast Hayes.
Finally, the stage was set for a general election showdown with Democrat Samuel J. Tilden, Governor or New York.
The election itself was nightmare. By the end of the state tallies, Tilden had 184 Electoral College votes—one shy of the presidency—and Hayes had 165. Unfortunately for Tilden, when no candidate receives more than 50% of the E.C., the House of Representatives gets to choose the president, but in this case it wasn’t as simple as reading the Constitution and following procedure. The voting returns of Florida, South Carolina and Louisiana were flatly contested owing to fraud and disenfranchisement. The three southern state elections were plagued by Democrats constructing ballots that featured pictures to assist illiterate voters in selecting their ticket…
…featuring the face of the deceased Republican Abraham Lincoln as the symbol in an attempt to confuse the electorate. Moreover, the Democrats had viciously conspired to prevent southern blacks from voting despite the Antebellum amendments guaranteeing the rights of black men to vote. Widespread disenfranchisement was reported, and ultimately, all three southern states submitted two conflicting voting results to Congress. The total number of votes at stake, including one from Oregon, was 20: precisely the number needed to give Hayes—the proverbial “turd that won’t flush”— the 185 votes to carry the election.
Congress was at a complete loss as to how to handle the situation, so they appointed a special commission of seven Republicans, seven Democrats and one independent to certify the election. Unfortunately for democracy, or at least the Democrats, the one independent who ostensibly had the only meaningful vote, quit, and was replaced by a Republican. The result was precisely what one would expect. The vote magically split along partisan lines to award all 20 contested E.C. votes to Hayes. For the first time in history, the loser had carried not just a plurality of the popular vote, but a 50.7% majority of the vote in the election that still holds the distinction of having the highest voter turnout (81.1%) of any in American history. Tilden would go to his grave stating that he was the most blessed president in history, as he had been elected to the position and never actually had to suffer the stress of the job. Hayes on the other hand, became the least likely officeholder our nation has ever had. Nobody wanted him at the Republican convention, over 50% of the American people voted against him, and it took political shenanigans akin to an act of god to be gifted the 5% of the E.C. votes necessary to carry the day.
Sadly, these are not the only infamous distinction the election holds. 1876 was the only presidential election determined by a single EC vote (185-184). Also, until George W. Bush defeated Al Gore in Florida (once again, somehow in the spotlight of democratic travesties) by less than 600 votes, the 889 margin in South Carolina was the closest of any state election. Worse, Colorado was admitted to the Union on August 1, 1876. It was allotted three E.C. votes, but because it had no time to organize elections before November, the state legislature appointed three electors and held no popular vote. Translation: Colorado was created a state by a Republican president and congress just in time for the election, formed its own Republican-controlled government, was gifted three E.C. votes, and appointed three Republican stooges to personally deliver them to the Republicans on a platter in November without asking anyone who actually lived in Colorado what they thought about it. Frankly, it’s probably the most impressive political coup in American history, and even more so given that any one of those three votes would have swung the election. There is no other instance in the history of the United States where electors have been granted unilateral and un-mandated freedom to influence an election, and it would be the last time that any state legislature would appoint electors for a state.
Finally, the presence of third-party candidate had a profound effect on an election in which he was supposed to be a non-factor. Peter Cooper was known for building the first steam locomotive, and was pushing 90 when he ran under the banner of the Greenback party in 1876. He was statistically insignificant in every state but Indiana—a state that broke for Tilden and his vice presidential running mate Thomas A. Hendricks. Despite Hendricks being Indiana’s sitting governor, the Democratic ticket carried the state’s nearly 450,000-strong voter rolls by a mere 5,515 votes. Cooper, although he entertained precisely zero hope of being president, picked off a whopping 17,233 votes that probably would have swayed the state in favor of Hayes.
Of course, anyone who can do a little math will realize that this would still have left Hayes five E.C. votes shy of the Promised Land, but keep in mind that it’s one thing to shuffle a paltry 25% of an election’s contested votes to a candidate, and something else entirely to hand over every one of twenty disputed E.C. votes from four states to a candidate who lost the popular vote by almost a quarter of a million ballots. Had Hayes won Indiana, the Democrats never would have had the bargaining chip they did at the end of the day: the end of Reconstruction.
After the 1876 election commission gave its verdict to Congress, the Democrats were understandably livid. The Democrats had historically controlled the South since they had formed in response to Andrew Jackson losing the presidency in 1824 to John Quincy Adams. That year, all four presidential candidates ran under the banner of Thomas Jefferson’s Democratic-Republicans—one side of the Jefferson/Adams election rigging debacles from 1796 and 1800—marking the last time in history that an entire political party would campaign unopposed. John Quincy Adams’ election was a bitter pill for Jackson and his supporters to swallow, as Jackson had won a plurality of the popular vote (41.1%) and the Electoral College, but because he didn’t win the required majority (50% of the Electoral College) the House of Representatives voted to give the presidency to John Quincy Adams.
Now, in 1876, the Democratic party of Jackson found itself for the second time on the receiving end of a losing, winning effort—spectacularly only a single E.C. vote shy and holding more that 50% of the popular vote—and they were not going to go quietly. In what became known as the Compromise of 1877—a completely informal agreement negotiated behind closed doors—the Democrats agreed not to contest the election commission’s result for Hayes on two conditions: as president, Hayes would remove the remaining troops stationed in South Carolina and Louisiana who were enforcing black civil rights, effectively ending Reconstruction, as well as thrown in a few southern senate seats to boot. The net result of this is that the Democratic party would be virtually guaranteed the political support of the South at the expense of blacks until, oddly enough, Democrats pushed through the Civil Rights Act in the 60’s.
That is perhaps the greatest irony in the history of American politics. Had the black vote not been stifled by Democrats in 1876, Hayes likely would have won all 20 votes fair and square. However, in order to buy the election, the Republicans agreed to allow those same voters to be disenfranchised for nearly another 100 years.
And all of this in the centennial year of American independence. Happy Birthday, America.