t care much what
they're alive with.

When the worker comes to understand that these "leaders" from high
society care nothing for him but only want a prominence for themselves
and have no natural talents with which to earn that prominence, then
the worker will get rid of that tribe forever. Bill Haywood lacked the
qualities that made Sam Gompers a labor leader. Bill decided to be a
leader without qualifying for it, and history tells the rest.

I circulated among the audiences that were listening to other candidates
and waited for the men to express their opinions. I heard one stalwart
old fellow declare he was going to vote for Jazz. "Jazz is the fellow we
want for City Clerk," I heard him tell his comrades. I had never heard
of Jazz in those days: Jazz was decidedly a dark horse. But the man was
strong for him and wanted his friends to vote the same way.

There is a trick that was often used in small-town elections. When the
"reform element" made a fight on the "old gang" it was customary for the
gang to lie down and place the name of the new man on the ticket. The
reformer thought the gang beaten and that his own election was sure, so
he didn't make a hard campaign. But the gang quietly passed around word
to scratch the name of the reformer and to write in the name of a gang
candidate in the secrecy of the polling booth.

Was this trick being played on me? Were they now passing around the word
to scratch me and write in the name of their friend, Jazz, who had not
come out as a candidate before? I edged in closer to the man who was
boosting Mr. Jazz for my job, and after listening for a while I learned
that "Jazz Davis" was the man he was electioneering for. He caught sight
of my face and said: "There he is now."

"My name isn't Jazz," I said. I handed him my card. It read:

JAS. J. DAVIS

"What is it then?" he asked.

I saw that I would lose a vote if I humiliated him. So I laughed and
said: "Yep, I'm him. I was just kidding. I'm mighty glad to have your
support. Have a cigar."

But I went away worried. My personal friends knew me as Jimmy. The
men electioneered and handed cards to thought my name was Jazz. On the
ballot my name would appear JAMES. Between "Jimmy," "Jim," "James" and
"Jazz" my fellows would find lots of room for confusion. Every vote that
I lost on that account would be due to my own carelessness.

It taught me the lesson of exactness. I never again put out any puzzling
language, but tri