Since the subject of stolen elections is bizarrely and alarmingly in the news, it seems apt for a brief synopsis of the 1968 musical “How to Steal An Election,” a historic curiosity that got a perky revival at the York Theater three years ago. Subtitled “A Dirty Politics Musical,” the show presents President Calvin Coolidge back from the dead to school two disillusioned young people about the political wheeling-dealing throughout American history — how in 1840 William Henry Harrison won against Martin Van Buren because the older man’s handlers came up with a catchy slogan (“Tippecanoe and Tyler too”); how in 1876 “the Rutherford B. Hayes machine stole that election from Sam Tilden”
Coolidge and the ensemble who re-enact the history lessons also show the two youth that even those presidents remembered as great (Lincoln) or at least good (Kennedy) got into the White House through some dubious maneuvers by political operatives, acting on the candidates’ behalf whether or not with their knowledge. Presidential campaigns have always been vitriolic and candidates always attacked in the vilest terms: We hear Thomas Jefferson described as “a peddler of doom and fear, a coward and a drunkard, and king of the atheists.” But there is often some truth in the attacks. The show heavily implies that even the most-admired of past presidents are not to be trusted: We hear two comments by Lincoln – one criticizing the Know‐Nothing Party for their racial and religious bigotry; the other arguing for white supremacy.
This makes for some confusion, since the supposed purpose of Coolidge’s lessons is to convince the young people to work within the system in order to effect change: “I’m teaching you both about power. Both of you could be part of the whole power structure.” Adding to the confusion is the contrast between the downbeat messages and the upbeat tone of the performances and the music by Oscar Brand — ballads, Sousa-type marches, waltzes, jazzy tunes
Perhaps the show’s confusion reflects the confusing and convulsive year in which it was created and presented. Maybe it even reflects some tension between its two creators: Brand was “a staunch member of the non-communist left,” while the librettist — William F. Brown, a humorist, cartoonist playwright who would become best-known as the Tony-nominated librettist for the hit musical The Wiz – is identified as “conservative.”
It all seems quaint now.
