The Progressive Era | A Bruising Fight | 4
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As we explore the triumphs and tragedies that shaped America, we're always striving to paint a vivid, nuanced picture of the past. And with Wondery+, you can experience that vision in its purest form. Enjoy ad-free episodes, early access to new seasons, and exclusive bonus content that illuminates the human stories behind the history. Join Wondery+, in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts, and see American history through a whole new lens. Imagine it's January 1910 in the Belgian Congo.

The heat of the midday sun bears down on you as you sprint through your safari camp. You're the secretary to former President Theodore Roosevelt, and you've just come from the telegraph office in the nearest town. You come to a stop outside Roosevelt's canvas tent, panting. He sits on a low stool, meticulously oiling his rifle in advance of tomorrow's white rhino hunt. He looks up at you as you gasp for air, holding up a crumpled telegram in your hand.

Roosevelt carefully sets down his rifle and stares at you in shock. Roosevelt rises abruptly, knocking over the stool.

He begins pacing, back and forth, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust. Pinchot was like a son to me, and we accomplished so much together. More than 200 million acres preserved, land that would have been stolen by the coal barons, stripped bare by loggers. It's a legacy to be proud of, for sure, sir. What was Taff thinking? Does he think I wouldn't hear about this? Does he think I wouldn't care?

Roosevelt exhales sharply, his fist clenched by his sides.

"'Daw, Taft, that big pink porpoise of a man. How could I let him worm his way back into my good graces? I gave him his job, and now he knifes me in the back? What else is he doing? I'll try to find out more. Perhaps I can get my hands on a newspaper, or we can send a message to Pinchot through the American embassy.' Roosevelt picks up his nearby rifle, cocks it, and raises it to his cheek, looking down the sides. "'Find out whatever you can. I'm not going to let Taft dismantle my legacy.'

You swallow hard at a loss for how to ease Roosevelt's anger and confusion. You know the president won't stand for this betrayal. He may not currently be in power, but his influence is as strong as ever.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. American History Tellers

In January 1910, former President Theodore Roosevelt was on a hunting expedition in Africa when he learned that his hand-picked successor, William Howard Taft, had dismissed Gifford Pinchot, the man chiefly responsible for Roosevelt's conservation agenda.

Roosevelt had left office with a strong record of progressive achievements. He had protected millions of acres of wilderness and signed a Pure Food and Drug Act and a Meat Inspection Act into law. He'd also taken on the trusts and expanded the government's power to regulate the railroads. But in his mind, there was still work to be done. And Roosevelt was counting on Taft, a longtime friend and trusted ally, to preserve and expand his legacy.

But soon, his disappointment in Taft would ignite a battle for control over the Republican Party and pave the way for the climactic election of 1912. This is Episode 4, A Bruising Fight. On March 4, 1909, ten inches of snow blanketed the nation's capital in the hours leading up to the inauguration of William Howard Taft. It was the worst blizzard to hit Washington, D.C. in 20 years.

Howling winds battered the White House windows as Taft met with outgoing President Theodore Roosevelt for an early breakfast. At their meeting, Roosevelt quipped, The storm will soon be over. As soon as I am out where I can do no further harm to the Constitution, it will cease. Taft replied, You're wrong. It is my storm. I always said it would be a cold day when I got to be president.

Roosevelt's remark was a wry acknowledgment of the conservative critics who accused him of stretching the limits of the Constitution to enact reform. And like Roosevelt, Taft would face the challenge of navigating the conservative and progressive factions of the Republican Party, too. If he defied the conservatives, he would lose any hope of passing legislation. But if he worked with them, progressives would accuse him of abandoning Roosevelt's reform agenda.

During his two terms as president, Roosevelt had led these two sides of the Republican Party through sheer force of will. But Taft lacked Roosevelt's natural political skill and passion for entering the fray. He was a former judge who took a more cautious approach to politics. He disliked conflict and was more comfortable with the status quo. But he was also kind and warm-hearted, and he and Roosevelt had been friends for nearly two decades.

On Inauguration Day, it took 6,000 workers and 500 wagons to clear the snow off the parade route. But at noon on March 4, 1909, Taft took the oath of office and became the nation's 27th president. In his inaugural address, he promised to enforce the reforms carried out by Roosevelt. At the end of Taft's speech, Roosevelt leapt to his feet and rushed forward to congratulate him. He put his hands on Taft's shoulders and said, God bless you, old man.

Then, after an emotional goodbye, Roosevelt set off for Union Station. He would sail to Africa less than three weeks later. Meanwhile, in the days after his inauguration, Taft called Congress into a special session, intending to make good on a campaign promise to progressive reformers to reduce the country's high protective tariffs.

At a time before any federal income tax, duties on goods coming into America made up the bulk of national revenue. Conservative Republicans believed that high tariffs promoted economic growth by shielding American industries from foreign competition. But progressives believed that high tariffs primarily benefited big businesses and monopolies at the expense of consumers and smaller businesses.

The House began debating a bill with moderate tariff reductions on some goods, but during negotiations, the powerful Senator Nelson Aldrich and his conservative allies managed to insert hundreds of tariff increases on other goods. Critics complained that only obscure items were left duty-free, such as sea moss, canary seed, or curling stones. Finally, after months of wrangling, the bill passed with only modest reductions in overall rates.

Taft was far less inclined than Roosevelt to interfere with the legislative process, so he signed this compromise bill into law, much to the disappointment of progressives. But although the bill failed to fulfill Taft's campaign promise to reduce tariffs, Taft defended it, saying it achieved reductions on some goods while continuing to protect other industries from foreign competition. Then he went a step further, calling the law the best bill that the Republican Party ever passed.

This shocked progressives, and one journalist accused Taft of showing his true colors, declaring, Then Taft's relationship with progressives worsened even further when he replaced Roosevelt's Interior Secretary with a conservative corporate lawyer named Richard Ballinger.

And in the late summer of 1909, Ballinger made plans to turn over public coal lands in Alaska to a private syndicate for profit. When Chief Forester Gifford Pinchot heard this, he rushed to warn President Taft that America's natural resources were in jeopardy. Imagine it's September 1909 at the White House. You're the chief forester for the U.S. government, and you're meeting with President Taft at his request.

You step into his office and find him seated behind his desk. He looks up and waves you in. Ah, wonderful to see you again. Shall I have my secretary bring coffee? No, sir. Thank you. I'm quite all right. You take a seat as Taff leans back in his chair, folding his hand over his protruding stomach. I've given careful consideration to your claims of malfeasance by Secretary Ballinger.

but I'm afraid I haven't seen a shred of substantial evidence to support them. No evidence, sir. There's plenty of evidence. My source is certain that Ballinger accepted legal fees from land developers just months before he took office at the Interior Department. He's been acting in their interests, not the interests of the country, not the interests of conservation. Well, conservation is a noble cause, but I fear you've allowed your passion to color your judgment here. You're seeing conspiracy where none exists.

You lean forward, gripping the arms of your chair. Mr. President, the facts of the case are plain to see. Ballinger is trying to privatize protected land. He could undo years of progress. If you retain him as a member of your cabinet, you would not only be endangering conservation, but you'd also be endangering President Roosevelt's legacy.

At the mention of Roosevelt, though, there's a flicker of anger in Taft's gaze, and you know you've struck a nerve. Now, I know you and President Roosevelt are close, and he endowed you with power far beyond your official responsibilities. But I am not Roosevelt, and I will not be swayed by sensational claims. So you're happy to take Ballinger at his word? I have the utmost confidence in Mr. Ballinger, just as I have the utmost confidence in you. I hope you know that. But it's time to put this matter to bed.

Your jaw tightens and you give the president a stiff nod. Of course, Mr. President. Your words ring hollow. The president believes he can smooth this over and keep you in line, but you're already planning your next move. If Taft won't listen, then perhaps it's time you talk to the press and put the matter before the American people.

President Taft insisted that the charges against his Interior Secretary Richard Ballinger were groundless. Still, Chief Forester Pinchot refused to give up. First, he leaked information about Ballinger's plans to reporters, accusing the Secretary of endangering public land and using his position for private gain. Then, in January of 1910, he wrote a letter to a senator attacking Ballinger. The letter was then promptly read on the Senate floor, and for this insubordination, Taft fired Pinchot.

When news of the controversy reached Roosevelt on his African safari, he was furious, convinced that Taft was directly challenging his legacy. And for progressives, Pinchot's dismissal confirmed their worst fears too, that Taft had abandoned them for the conservative camp.

So that by the spring of 1910, Taft's willingness to compromise on causes dear to them led many progressives to come out against renominating him for a second term. Taft was dismayed by this, and the stress began to show in his appearance. His typically ruddy complexion turned pale and his weight ballooned to 320 pounds.

Meanwhile, Americans eagerly waited for Roosevelt to weigh in on the growing divide in the Republican ranks. In June 1910, he returned home from his travels to a hero's welcome. But despite his irritation with Taft, he told reporters that he would not comment on political matters, declaring, I want to close up like a native oyster.

Nevertheless, Roosevelt struggled to stay on the sidelines. At just 51 years old, he still had plenty of energy, ambition, and popularity, but no power and his chosen successor seemed to be dismantling his reforms. Privately, he told his son that it had become clear to him that Taft is utterly helpless as a leader. So by that summer's end, Roosevelt broke his promise to stay out of politics, and he began taking to the stump across the Midwest.

On August 31, 1910, he spoke to an audience of Civil War veterans at a park at Osawatomie, Kansas, a place associated with anti-slavery radical John Brown. There, he outlined a bold new progressive agenda, what he called the New Nationalism.

Roosevelt's speech that day would be the most incendiary of his career. He compared John Brown and Abraham Lincoln's fight against slavery to what he considered the great problem of the 20th century, the fight against special interests. He declared that America was being ruled by a small class of enormously wealthy and economically powerful men whose chief object is to hold and increase their power.

In his speech, Roosevelt demanded that the federal government free itself from the sinister influence of special interests, calling for a stronger national government to regulate industry, promote social justice, and ensure equality of opportunity. His vision emphasized a powerful presidency and a progressive judiciary that would prioritize the welfare of the American people rather than corporations and private property. He also announced his support for an income tax and an inheritance tax on large fortunes,

as well as regulations on child labor and insurance programs to help workers injured on the job.

At the conclusion of this speech, the audience in Kansas roared its approval and the cheers lasted long after Roosevelt left the park. This frenzied applause was only repeated as he continued his speaking tour throughout the Midwest, but in the East, conservative commentators were horrified. The New York Evening Post branded Roosevelt a self-seeking, hypocritical braggart, while the New York Tribune called the speech, frankly, socialistic.

By fall, Roosevelt had driven a wedge in the Republican ranks, which greatly damaged the party in the 1910 midterm elections. In November, the Democrats won control of Congress in a landslide, as the Republicans lost 58 seats in the House and 10 in the Senate.

But it wasn't just the splintering of the Republican Party that shifted the balance of power in Congress. Rising inflation and high living costs also led many voters to embrace Democratic candidates. And in the South, white Democrats exploited racist fears about what might happen if Roosevelt's vision of a strong central government came to pass.

Roosevelt believed his new nationalism platform offered a path forward for progressives. But he was increasingly at odds with Republicans and his own hand-picked successor, William Howard Taft. And there was another growing political movement on the horizon, socialism. Worried for his legacy and the future of progressive reform, Roosevelt would soon be forced to make a momentous decision to secure his vision for America's future.

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Today is the worst day of Abby's life. The 17-year-old cradles her newborn son in her arms. They all saw how much I loved him. They didn't have to take him from me. Between 1945 and the early 1970s, families shipped their pregnant teenage daughters to maternity homes.

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At the end of 1911, Theodore Roosevelt had been out of politics for years, but the former president was nearing a crossroads. Friends and close supporters urged him to run for the White House again, though he had made a promise not to seek a third term.

But as 1912 dawned, three forces bore down on him. His growing resentment of President Taft, what he saw as a lack of leadership in the progressive movement, and the rising popularity of socialism, especially its most radical wing, which preached a revolution against capitalism.

The first of these forces came to a head in October 1911, when President Taft ordered the Justice Department to file an antitrust suit against U.S. Steel and its officials, J.P. Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, and John D. Rockefeller. This case focused on a deal made during the Panic of 1907 by then-President Roosevelt, who had turned to J.P. Morgan for help bailing out Wall Street.

Morgan and his friends had pledged millions of dollars of their own money to help save the banking system from collapse. And in exchange, Roosevelt personally approved a deal for Morgan's U.S. Steel to acquire its direct competitor, the Tennessee Coal and Iron Company, a move that normally would have triggered antitrust violations. But now, four years later, the Justice Department under President Taft accused U.S. Steel of acting illegally when it bought Tennessee Coal.

A Philadelphia newspaper noted that the lawsuit was a symbolic indictment of Roosevelt, declaring, Mr. Taft has kicked Roosevelt on the shins and hustled him into the witness box for cross-examination.

Learning of the suit, Roosevelt was furious. He saw Taft's move as a direct rebuke of his leadership, and he rushed to publish an article defending his actions in the U.S. Steele case. He also criticized Taft's antitrust policy, accusing Taft of trying to restore the antiquated business conditions of the 18th century. But in many ways, Taft was far more progressive than Roosevelt was when it came to trusts.

While Roosevelt had been more inclined to regulate big businesses than break them up entirely, Taft went after the trusts much more aggressively. In total, Taft brought 90 lawsuits against trusts, twice as many as Roosevelt in half as much time. But for Roosevelt, Taft's record on antitrust action did not excuse the insult of prosecuting a deal Roosevelt had personally approved. As far as Roosevelt was concerned, Taft was not the only one who was

Taft was tarnishing his legacy, so Roosevelt began to listen more seriously to friends who urged him to run for president again in 1912. But there was another force contributing to Roosevelt's thoughts on running again.

As Americans looked toward the 1912 election, socialism was gaining strength as a political force. The Socialist Party of America had been founded in 1901 on a platform of workers' rights, a minimum wage, and government ownership of industry. Socialists had long influenced the progressive movement, and the two groups worked together to win reforms, especially on local levels.

But the two groups had one key difference. While progressives wanted to rein in capitalism, socialists wanted to eliminate it entirely.

And at the time, socialism attracted a wide variety of Americans. In Milwaukee, socialists were mostly German, working-class immigrants, while in New York City, Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe led the movement. And in the West, socialism gained support among miners and loggers laboring in isolated areas dominated by industry. All of them, though, wanted an alternative to a two-party political system that didn't benefit them.

So as a result, by 1912, the Socialist Party had grown to 118,000 dues-paying members nationwide, more than doubling its membership in just two years. And across 36 states and 300 cities and towns, more than 1,000 socialists held office.

But within the Socialist Party, there was a contingent of radicals who felt that the mainstream socialists did not go far enough. These firebrands gravitated to the revolutionary rhetoric of a growing American labor organization, the Industrial Workers of the World, or IWW. The mainstream Socialist Party believed that change could be accomplished through the ballot, but the IWW rejected electoral politics in favor of direct action.

They called on the working class to rise up in a general strike and overthrow the existing social order. These developments troubled Roosevelt. And soon, another incident involving the IWW would crystallize his fears.

In January 1912, the IWW was at the center of a major labor conflict in the textile manufacturing town of Lawrence, Massachusetts. Most of the workers in Lawrence were newly arrived immigrants from countries like Italy, Poland, and Lithuania, lured to America's textile industry by deceptive advertisements promising prosperity. Instead, they found themselves working grueling 56-hour work weeks for meager wages.

Their families lived in overcrowded slums where tuberculosis was rampant. Lawrence was also home to one of the nation's highest infant mortality rates. Accidents in the factories were common, and over a third of the workers died before reaching the age of 26. They were all also forced to pay for drinking water, lost pay for arriving only minutes late, and female employees were often coerced into sleeping with foremen to keep their jobs.

But in January 1912, a newly enacted state law reduced the work week of Massachusetts women and children from 56 to 54 hours. And while this was a modest but welcome reform, it had unforeseen consequences.

Imagine it's the morning of Friday, January 12, 1912, at the Everett Mill in Lawrence, Massachusetts. The usual cacophony of hundreds of power looms surrounds you as you begin work. Your calloused fingers thread a bobbin with practiced ease, but your mind is focused on your children. You're making mental calculations to stretch your grocery budget for tonight's dinner. The paymaster approaches with a stack of envelopes. He hands you yours and moves on. You tear it open, and you're in the middle of a meal.

Scan the paycheck, and then your heart sinks. Your pay has been cut by 32 cents. You call out after the paymaster. "Hey, what's this? My pay is short!"

The paymaster turns around, his eyebrows raised. No, it's not. It's the new law. Hours have been cut, so pay's been cut too. That's not fair. This isn't the wage I was promised. Hey, I don't make the rules, lady. I just cut the checks. But how am I supposed to feed my children? This won't last a week. Again, it's not my problem. Maybe you ought to just go back to Poland, huh? I bet there are plenty of people willing to take your job in this country.

You look around and notice other workers are watching. You can see in their faces that they share your disappointment and anger at the wage cut. But no one is doing anything. They're all just looking at you, looking at the paymaster. That's when something inside you snaps. Your fingers grip the rough wooden handle of a knife tucked into your apron. You pull the knife free and slash through the rubber belt of the loom beside you. Shreds of rubber and canvas fall to the floor as the machine sputters to a stop.

The paymaster is frozen, his face red with anger. What the hell do you think you're doing? I am done being cheated. It only takes a moment, but then suddenly, all around you, other workers begin tearing bobbins from their frames. Knives flash in the air as they cut the belts off of their looms. Hey, stop it! This is madness! Management is not going to like this. You're all going to lose your jobs. Oh no, we're not. Because first, we're going on strike. Then, we're going to get what we're owed.

The paymaster hurries away as you grip your payslip in one hand and a knife in the other. You look around at your fellow workers, standing beside now-silent looms, and you know you all feel a new sense of purpose and power.

On January 12, 1912, workers at a textile mill in Lawrence, Massachusetts, opened their paychecks to discover a 32-cent cut in their weekly pay. It was a devastating blow when they were already barely making ends meet. In response, the workers ran through the mill, stopping work. Within only half an hour, the power looms had fallen completely silent.

Word of the strike quickly spread to other mills, where knife-wielding workers slashed machine belts, threads, and cloth. Others shattered windows with bricks and chunks of ice, prompting police to respond with billy clubs. By the end of the day, more than 10,000 men, women, and children were out on strike.

trying to reduce further damage to the factories. State militiamen were sent to guard the mills with bayonets. Meanwhile, a largely female crowd of singing protesters marched through town with banners demanding Bread and Roses, a call for a living wage and a life of dignity. This chant gave the episode its name, the Bread and Roses Strike, which shattered the commonly held belief that women could not successfully organize, especially women of different ethnicities.

It was in fact the case that the striking workers demonstrated remarkable solidarity, maintaining soup kitchens and nurseries to ensure fellow strikers and their families were fed and cared for despite their lost wages. And all the while, they overcame cultural and linguistic barriers. Meetings were translated into 30 different languages, and representatives of every nationality joined a strike leadership committee.

But the success of the strike only made the mill owners more determined to put protesting workers in their place, so they enlisted the help of local officials. A few days after the strike broke out, police turned fire hoses on the thinly clad workers, including large numbers of women knocking them off their feet. Then mill owners and city leaders attempted to discredit the strikers by inciting violence which they blamed on the protesters.

They also planted sticks of dynamite around town in an attempt to frame the strike organizers and damage their reputations. It all came to a head on January 29, 1912, when clashes between strikers and counter-strikers resulted in two deaths.

But the workers were not alone in their struggle. They had the support of IWW officials, who raised funds and sent organizers to Lawrence to assist. The IWW also arranged to put many of the children of striking families on trains to New York City, where they would be cared for by supporters and shielded from the violence.

But when families tried to send another 46 children to Philadelphia, police in Lawrence vowed to stop them. They dragged mothers by their hair, beat them with clubs, and shoved them into military convoy trucks. One pregnant woman was beaten so severely she miscarried. The horrible violence received widespread press coverage, and soon congressional hearings would further expose the brutal conditions in the Lawrence mills.

Child workers brought to testify described low pay, deadly diseases, and horrific injuries, including one 14-year-old whose scalp was torn off by machinery. In the wake of these revelations, public sympathy shifted toward the strikers, eventually forcing mill owners to concede to a 15% wage increase, better overtime pay, and job security. Ultimately, some 275,000 New England textile workers received similar wage hikes.

Socialists were thrilled by the victory in Massachusetts and the surge of popular support for socialist political candidates that followed. One socialist periodical declared, Lawrence is only the beginning. Winning tactics have been discovered. Industrial unionism is no longer an untried theory. Henceforth, progress will be swift and sure. Some socialists even predicted they would capture one million votes in the upcoming presidential election. This only further rattled Roosevelt.

Throughout January, Roosevelt watched the events in Lawrence, and though he approved of the strikers' efforts to achieve labor reform and fair pay for workers, socialism's growing influence worried him. Back in 1910, he had declared, "...unless there is some progressive leadership, the great mass of progressives, for lack of this legitimate leadership, will follow every variety of demagogue and wild-eyed visionary."

And as the 1912 election drew near, Roosevelt feared that unless he entered the arena, progressives would turn to socialist candidates. And he had grown too restless to sit back any longer. He wrote to seven progressive Republican governors, announcing that if offered, he would accept the presidential nomination. And in late February, when a reporter asked him if he planned to run, he replied, "'My hat is in the ring, the fight is on, and I am stripped to the buff.'"

With this return to presidential politics, Roosevelt's break with Taft was complete. He was ready to re-enter the fray, raise the progressive banner, and seize the reins of power from his former protégé, even if it meant tearing his party apart. Hey, Wowser fans! It's Guy Raz and Mindy here, and Mindy, can you believe we have our very own Wow in the World STEM toys? And look, they even have our fizzes on!

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In 1912, Theodore Roosevelt's decision to pursue a third term as president set up a bruising fight for the Republican nomination. President William Howard Taft was saddened to see his old friend enter the ring, but he had no plans to step aside. He fully expected to win his party's endorsement.

And he had reason to be confident. Many moderate and conservative Republican leaders had come to see Roosevelt as nothing but a power-hungry radical. As a result, Roosevelt knew that his only chance to secure the Republican nomination was to appeal to voters themselves. So he planned to campaign in all 12 states that had adopted the direct primary, a progressive reform that put nomination in the hands of voters as opposed to party bosses.

And by April, Roosevelt had won primaries in Illinois, Pennsylvania, and Oregon, while Taft carried states that chose their nominees through party conventions, including Michigan and Indiana. So as the campaign heated up, the candidates sharpened their attack. Roosevelt branded Taft as a disloyal friend who was the candidate of party bosses. Taft declared Roosevelt a member of the political emotionalists and neurotics and accused him of inciting class hatred.

In one speech, he called Roosevelt a threat to the nation's liberty. But afterwards, he confided to his aides that he considered the speech one of the most painful duties of his life, then put his head in his hands and broke down sobbing. Then the delegates gathered in Chicago for the Republican National Convention in June of 1912. The nomination was still in doubt.

Roosevelt had won nine of the 12 states that held primaries, including Taft's home state of Ohio. But Taft carried other states that held conventions controlled by party leaders. And their campaign strategy wasn't the only difference between the two men.

The day before the National Convention opened, Roosevelt labeled Taft and his supporters the powers that pray. Making an emotional call to arms, Roosevelt declared, "...we fight in honorable fashion for the good of mankind, fearless of the future, unheeding of our individual fates, with unflinching ears and undimmed eyes, we stand at Armageddon and we battle for the Lord." It was a rousing speech, showing Roosevelt's rhetorical power.

But while Taft lacked that charisma, he had a major advantage of his own in Chicago, his control over the party machinery. His allies managed to exclude most of Roosevelt's delegates from the convention floor by refusing to recognize their credentials. And as it became clear that most of the disputed delegates would be awarded to Taft, Roosevelt began contemplating a revolt.

Imagine it's after 2 o'clock in the morning on June 21, 1912, at the Congress Hotel in Chicago. You're a Republican senator from Idaho, and you're standing in former President Roosevelt's suite. The scent of cigar smoke fills the air as prominent Republicans crowd around Roosevelt, advising him on whether to give up the race and pledge loyalty to Taft or embark on a third-party run, which you believe would be disastrous for Republicans.

So you grab Roosevelt by the elbow and drag him into the suite's bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. I've had enough. What's the matter with you? I'm sorry, Theodore, but you've made your point. You've gone as far as you can go. It's time for you to see reason and give this all up once and for all. Throw your support behind Taft and give us a chance to hold on to the presidency. Roosevelt glares at you. Why?

Why not let the voters decide if I've gone far as I can go? Oh, a third-party run is a terrible mistake and you know it. Oh, what would you have me do? We've started a movement that cannot be stopped. If I don't lead it, I doubt my supporters will turn to Taft. Your supporters are here for you. If you tell them it's over, they'll listen to you. But if you run as a third-party candidate, you will surely lose and the Republican votes will have been divided. For what?

Oh, some of the men out there don't think I'll lose. Perkins has pledged his fortune to the campaign. Munsey promised to put his magazines and newspapers behind me. It won't be enough. Those men cannot pay for an entire national campaign, and you have no time to organize a separate party, no time to get your name on a ballot in all the states. Huh? So what do you suggest? That I go back to Taft, with my tail between my legs, pledge loyalty to that traitor?

Roosevelt rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, and then suddenly he wrenches open the door and storms out of the bathroom. You stand there alone, staring at your reflection in the mirror, just hoping that you've said enough to make him reconsider this foolish plan. You've never known Roosevelt to back down, but the future of your party depends on him being wise enough to know when to give up the fight.

At the Republican convention, Roosevelt was not entirely convinced to form a third party when two wealthy businessmen assured him that they were behind him. Then a boisterous group of supporters throwing a rally downstairs burst into his hotel suite, prompting Roosevelt to turn to Idaho Senator William Borah and declare, You see, I can't desert my friends now.

Roosevelt then left his suite to join the rally, where he announced his hopes that his supporters would back him in forming a third party. So while Taft left the convention as the Republican nominee, he knew that with the party divided, he had little hope of re-election.

This news of the war in the Republican ranks galvanized Democrats who had been shut out of the White House for 15 years. When they met in Baltimore for their own nominating convention, they rallied behind Woodrow Wilson, a former president of Princeton University turned New Jersey governor.

With his trim figure, pince-nez glasses, and neatly barbered hair, Wilson was the picture of an intellectual. He came from a long line of Presbyterian ministers and scholars and grew up in a household that emphasized religious piety and academic achievement. Born in Virginia before the Civil War and raised in Georgia and the Carolinas, he had sympathized with the Confederacy and, like many Southern Democrats, supported segregation.

Nevertheless, during Wilson's two years as governor of New Jersey, he had defied Democratic Party bosses to appeal directly to the people, much like Roosevelt. Showing even more similarity, he demonstrated strong leadership, moving rhetoric, and a burning passion for reform, pushing through multiple progressive measures. His success in New Jersey elevated him to national prominence and made him a leading contender for the presidency.

So after Wilson was nominated, Roosevelt knew he had little chance of winning over progressive Democrats. Nevertheless, in the summer of 1912, he still forged ahead and called for a convention in Chicago to form the New Progressive Party. That August, a diverse mix of reformers, social workers, and Roosevelt admirers rallied behind him as he ran on a platform advocating women's suffrage, child labor laws, a minimum wage for women, and social insurance.

Settlement House pioneer Jane Addams personally placed Roosevelt's name for nomination. And as he stood in the packed Chicago Coliseum, speaking to 2,000 supporters from 40 states, Roosevelt framed the election as a war to save the country from big business and special interests. But conservatives dismissed Roosevelt and his supporters as fanatics, and the New York Times called him a radical, standing on a platform that contained whole pages of socialist doctrine.

But despite these criticisms, Roosevelt boasted that as he entered the election, he felt as strong as a bull moose, giving a name to his nascent movement, the Bull Moose Party. But no matter how strong he felt, Roosevelt was facing stiff odds. His third-party bid had not only split the Republicans, but also the progressive movement.

Because Democratic nominee Woodrow Wilson was working with progressive lawyer Louis Brandeis to craft a platform which Wilson called the New Freedom. And there were important differences between Wilson's progressivism and that of Roosevelt's New Nationalism.

Roosevelt wanted to expand the government's power with regulatory agencies and social welfare policies like a minimum wage and social insurance. But Wilson wanted to create a more just society while keeping the government small. So instead of regulation, he believed in promoting competition to help small businesses and workers thrive. He rejected social welfare policies but called for vigorous antitrust enforcement.

And this platform even managed to attract some prominent figures in the socialist movement, including W.E.B. Du Bois, who switched from supporting Roosevelt to backing Wilson, calling him a cultured scholar who has brains. But ultimately, the election of 1912 was not a contest between two dueling progressive visions. It was, as many of Roosevelt's peers feared, a rising Democratic Party against the fractured Republicans.

Woodrow Wilson came away with a whopping 435 electoral votes. Roosevelt finished second with 88 electoral votes, while Taft won just eight. And though they gained no electoral votes, the socialists drew their highest vote total ever, with more than 900,000 ballots cast for them, making up 6% of the electorate. After decades of being shut out, the Democrats had finally returned to power.

Woodrow Wilson would become the first Southern president since the Civil War. But having won just 41% of the popular vote, he now faced the challenge of governing the nation as a minority president. And soon, the outbreak of war would throw the future of the progressive movement into doubt.

From Wondery, this is episode four of our five-part series on the progressive era from American History Tellers. On the next episode, President Woodrow Wilson appears before Congress to launch an all-out assault on tariffs, banks, and trusts. And when World War I breaks out in Europe, progressive Senator Robert La Follette takes a stand against American intervention with a dramatic filibuster on the Senate floor.

If you like American history tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Supervising sound designer Matthew Filler. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Editing by me, Lindsey Graham.

edited by Dorian Marina, produced by Alita Rosansky, managing producer Desi Blaylock, senior managing producer Callum Plews, senior producer Annie Herman, and executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.

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On May 18th, hikers, loggers, reporters, and researchers are caught in the blast zone as the volcano erupts. They find themselves pummeled by a deadly combination of scorching heat, smothering ash, and massive mudslides. The survivors have to find their way to safety before they succumb to their injuries.

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