Duncan Bauman is alive and well, and still trying to have the last word. Period.

Martin Duggan, former editorial-page editor of the Globe, says he doesn't remember Schoemehl's statement. "I recall meeting with Vince," he says. "I don't recall the details." So is it possible it happened? "Well, I'll fall back on the answer that people before a grand jury normally give, and that is, "I don't recall that,'" Duggan responds.

Bauman says he can't recall why the Globe endorsed Schoemehl. "It's an embarrassment to me," Bauman says. "I don't remember how we made that distinction, to tell you the truth. His history as an alderman in the 28th Ward and his youth and his intelligence, I think -- I know -- just persuaded us. I can say this: At the time that we endorsed him, I did not have a conscious recollection of his comments to us that he wasn't going to reopen (the hospital)."

Conway, too, is revealed as a man whose political practicalities outweighed other matters. Bauman writes that he was in the room when Conway went to Anheuser-Busch chairman Gussie Busch seeking support during the 1976 mayoral campaign. Busch had one condition: Shave your beard. Off went the whisk-ers and on went Conway to victory, with financial help from Busch.

Duncan Bauman
Jennifer Silverberg
Duncan Bauman
Duncan Bauman averages two cigars a day instead of the 10 he once smoked while publisher of the Globe.
Jennifer Silverberg
Duncan Bauman averages two cigars a day instead of the 10 he once smoked while publisher of the Globe.

Bauman says he has no doubt that Busch was serious about the facial hair. "Busch achieved anything he wanted," Bauman says. "He was an invincible enemy. If he didn't want Conway, Conway wasn't going to be mayor."

Conway doesn't recall the meeting with Busch, but he does remember shaving his beard for political reasons. "It wasn't just Gussie," he recalls. "Another one of my significant supporters ... was not akin to facial hair at that time, either. I was the only person in the Missouri General Assembly that had facial hair at that time. I finally decided it wasn't worth being an impediment to being elected. I grew it back. I've had it virtually since the day I left the mayor's office."

Bauman reserves his harshest criticism for unions and liberals. He recounts a meeting with U.S. Rep. William Clay (D-St. Louis) while the congressman was on the St. Louis Board of Aldermen. Bauman recalls Clay ordering him out of his office with the words "I'll never do anything while I am in public office to help a white man." Bauman contends that Clay has kept that promise.

"He sure as hell has," Bauman says. "I don't know anything Clay's done for anybody."

Clay says the anecdote is pure hogwash.

"Mr. Bauman has told that lie so many times he probably believes it's true," says the congressman. "First of all, when I was on the Board of Aldermen, no alderman had an office. So he is lying. He's lying all of his life. Why would I order anyone out of an office if I had one? And why would I make a stupid statement like that when I was out fighting for integration? If you want me to make some remarks about Mr. Bauman, I'd be glad to."

As for unions, Bauman blames them for putting the Globe out of business with antiquated work rules that bloated the payroll by millions of dollars. "We had dockhands by the union edict in our Maryland Heights plant," Bauman says. "We didn't have a dock. Those dockhands did not work. Built them a card room to get them out of our hair."

"That's total B.S.," says John Metz, a Teamsters official who recalls working on loading docks for the Post-Dispatch, which printed both papers under the joint-operating agreement. Poor management, not unions, put the paper out of business, says Metz, who has headed the unity council of unions that negotiated contracts with both dailies. "He still resents the strike we had in 1973 when the Post was printing the Globe and the Post. Our issue back then was, they were trying to eliminate our jobs, even though they weren't eliminating all our work. We understand facing automation if they totally eliminate your job. But when they eliminate part of it and say we want to eliminate your whole job by giving your work to someone else, that was B.S.

"Duncan Bauman -- he just didn't like any of us," Metz says.

Bauman's distaste for bad unions sometimes outweighed everything else. The Dowds "were effective, good, honorable, diligent people in political life," he says, but that made no difference when Edward Dowd ran for governor in 1972. Bauman withheld the newspaper's endorsement because Dowd had accepted a large contribution from the Steamfitters, which Bauman calls "the most scurrilous, murderous, improperly run union in St. Louis and maybe in the country." Bauman says he told Dowd he'd get the newspaper's endorsement if he returned the contribution and made a public announcement that he'd given it back. Bauman says he insisted on a public announcement "to repudiate the fitters." Dowd wouldn't give the money back and lost the election.

The same thinking didn't apply when Bauman accepted $25,000 from the union on behalf of a charity. Bauman says that was different because "that's money given to take care of humanity."

"I'll take money anytime to take care of the poor, the ill." Even if it came from, say, Manuel Noriega? "Sure," he says. "Absolutely."

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