Baltimore Evening Sun (12 January 1912): 6.

How the molasses gurgles dutifully from the Old-Fashioned Administration’s journalistic jug:

Chairman Norman E. Mack, of the Democratic National Committee; Thomas Taggart, Roger Sullivan and other distinguished Democrats, who spent several hours in Baltimore yesterday, spoke highly in praise of the Mayor. While they lauded the work of Congressmen Talbott, Robert Crain, S. Davies Warfield, Omar Hershey and others, they vigorously and emphatically declared that the people of Baltimore should take off their hats to the Mayor of Baltimore.

Penetrating further (to change the figure) into the bowels of this eulogy, one discovers that Sonny’s Friend was the “general” in supreme and awful command on Tuesday. Also, that he had the mysterious and potent aid of “close petsional friends” in Congress—a modest euphemism, no doubt, for “admirers.” Also, that he kept up the faith of the faint-hearts behind him when many of them threatened to run. Also, that his strategy was marked by “every form of ingenuity,” bar none. Also, and finally, that he “and his constituents”—?—succeeded in winning their victory “just at the time when defeat seemed imminent.”

Others, of course, contributed their little mites, but only as “constituents,” bottle- holders, choristers. For instance, there was the Hon. Bob Crain. Bob collected the $100,000—but without all those forms of ingenuity the money would have been as dross. Again, there was the Hon. Sol Warfield, an oily, ingratiating, insinuating fellow, enormously skillful at opposing the evil impulses of deliberative bodies. Sol did his best, but it was as a mere colonel of the line, and not as the general in command. And the Hon. Joshua Frederick Cockey Talbott—what of him? He, too, must have had a few “close personal friends in Congress,” where he has voted “Aye” for 19 years—but not as many, of course, as his more gifted leader. It was Sonny’s Friend who led and triumphed. It was Sonny’s Friend who won the day.

The spread of such news is one of the highest functions and privileges of an official newspaper. The common prints of the day—the so-called “independent” papers—are inevitably full of errors, if not of downright libels. In the present case, for example, they smeared their thanks for Tuesday’s great victory over two-score or more of musketeers—among them Bob with his supererogatory check, Fred with his corporal’s guard of friends, Sol with his extraordinary talent for checkmating sinister legislative enterprise. All those thanks, it now appears, should have gone to one man—to the one man inflamed with “an optimism born of successful accomplishment”—for instance, the accomplishment of beating the merit system, that of driving ruffians of the Finney type from the schools, that of putting down Sunday novel-reading, so sweet, so sinful!

Is such stupendous enterprise to go unrewarded? Are the boys to be withheld from that patriot brow? Of course not. Republics, perhaps, may he ungrateful, but not official newpapers. Here, at once, is the reward, the lollypop, the salve: Such qualities of leadership suggest the desirability of increasing the opportunities for its [their?] exercise. Why should not his party avail itself of those qualities? * * * If Harmon or any other Western candidate be nominated for President, wh should not the South and the East be simultaneously recognized by naming for Vice President a Maryland Democrat of proven ability as a leader? * * * Mr. Preston has not only the requisite qualifications for the honor, but he is as well the man upon whom Maryland Democrats could most effectively concentrate its resources. He has deserved well of his party, of his city and of his State. * * *

It is a great pleasure to second this nomination. If the Hon. Mr. Harmon gets first place on the ticket it will be a triumph of Democracy as opposed to democracy. The honorable gentleman belongs to the plug hat brigade; he wears silk lingerie and undetachable cuffs; he is accused of flirting with the pundits and bluebloods; his common associates, it is whispered, are scoundrels who habitually say “I saw” instead of “I seen.” To flavor and redeem the ticket a real democrat must be added—a Jacksonian democrat of purest ray, intimate with the common people and appreciative of their wisdom—a democrat who detests and wars upon aristocracy—a believer in democracy indiluted and undisinfected. Harmon will placate Wall street and inflame the college professors, but there must be a running mate to appeal to the wool hats, a leader for the Tenth Legion, a hero for the great masses. Well, here he is. Here is Andrew Jackson reincarnated and embellished. Here is the armed foe of learning. Here is the super-Mahon.

Sign confronting City Councilmem and jobseekers outside the door of the Throne Room in the City Hall:

WARNING!
It is unlawful to expectorate or spit upon the floors, stairways or upon any part of any public building under the control of the Mayor and City Council of Baltimore City.
THIS LAW
WILL BE RIGIDLY ENFORCED
By Order of the Mayor.
George T. Ames,
Supt. of Public Buildings.

Let the Hon. Mr. Ames now add to the sum of human knowledge by explaining, in a footnote, the exact physiological difference between expectorating and spitting.

Whether a public posturer is more absurd in the white robe of a martyr, his eyes rolling to Heaven, his chest heaving with sobs, a lake of tears beneath him, or in the tin pansiere and papier mache helmet of a hero, his ears alert for the clapper-clawing of the vulgar, his face radiant with an expectant smile—here is a problem that must ever engage and flabbergast the connoisseur of bunk.

Only 1,222 days more! But in 1,222 days there are three long years! And in three long years there are three fat tax-bills!

Et tu, Stovey? Can it be that guile has penetrated that pure heart? I refuse to believe it.

Boil your drinking water! Cover your garbage can! Grab and assassinate the few surviving flies! Send your money to the boomers!

Seven cheap but aseptic cigars to the Hon. Henry A. McMains, D. O., for each and every, etc., etc., etc.

The House of Delegates pays a ward heeler $5 a day to check the hats of members. The regular wage is 60 cents a day and the tips. Laugh, taxpayers, laugh!