" Politics, " proclaimed Finley Peter Dunne’s Mr. Dooley, " ain’t patty cake. " That is certainly true today in Massachusetts as we witness the hot race for governor. But we ought not be surprised by the intensity of the current contest. It’s been like this ever since we elected our first governor in 1780.

Having approved a constitution that called for the annual election of a governor and lieutenant governor (chosen separately), the people of Massachusetts went to the polls in the fall of 1780 to make their choices. Everyone knew who would win the governorship — John Hancock. He was the darling of the people and a hero of the Revolution. His name was constantly " dinged in the ears " of the common folk.

From his elegant mansion atop Beacon Hill, Hancock ruled the town. He was Boston’s most important landlord and moneylender. To those who supported him he was generous and forgiving. Those who opposed him risked eviction and foreclosure. On holidays he dispensed rum to crowds on the Common. In the harsh winters he gave firewood to widows and orphans. To impress the voters he rode about town in a stunning yellow carriage drawn by matched horses driven by a liveried coachman.

Yet if everyone knew Hancock was bound to win the election, not everyone was happy about the prospect. Samuel Adams, for example, detested him. A radical Puritan, Adams disdained Hancock and his passion for luxury. " The Great Man " was, in this old revolutionary’s eyes, a shallow popinjay, a fool with feet of clay and a head to match. Adams and his allies held firmly to Puritan notions of virtue, piety, and simplicity. To them Hancock was a crass politician whose values threatened to undermine all for which they had struggled in forming a new Commonwealth.

The " people " felt otherwise, and they elected Hancock with 90 percent of the vote. Adams comforted himself by admitting that even " honest and virtuous people " could make a mistake. He even chortled a bit over the embarrassment in the race for lieutenant governor. James Bowdoin won, but, uneasy about serving with Hancock, he refused to take office. The House and Senate, to whom the choice fell, elected James Warren. Warren and his wife, Mercy Otis, were among Hancock’s most vicious enemies. Warren was horrified by the thought of sitting with Hancock. He refused the post. On the third try, Hancock’s old political pal Thomas Cushing agreed to election.

Almost at the very moment Hancock stood in the House Chamber of the Old State House to take the oath of office, a fierce political storm broke. The Revolutionary War had wreaked havoc in Massachusetts. Trade was suffering, unemployment was rising, and in the western part of the state angry farmers watched as courts foreclosed on their homes. In the midst of all this turmoil, Hancock did little except host fancy parties in his elegant home and issue turgid, meaningless proclamations.

As the election of 1785 approached, affairs came to a head. A writer in the Massachusetts Centinel cried, " If ever there was a period wherein reason was bewildered, and stupefied by dissipation and extravagance it is surely the present.... We are prostituting all our glory as a people for new modes of pleasure ruinous in their expenses, injurious to virtue, and totally detrimental to the well being of society. " With a pen as sharp as her wit, Mercy Otis Warren joined the fray and published a biting satire titled A Farce, in which the chief characters were Mr. Importance (John Hancock), Madame Brilliant (Dorothy Quincy Hancock), and Mr. Bon Ton (Thomas Cushing).

Hancock felt the heat. In January, he stunned the Commonwealth by announcing his resignation. He claimed that poor health prevented him from finishing his term. In fact, however, the ever-astute Hancock had heard murmurings of revolt among the unhappy farmers in Berkshire and Franklin counties. He sensed that the state’s failing economy was leading to crisis, and he had no intention of standing in the middle of the coming whirlwind. He knew that the faithful Cushing would keep the governor’s chair warm for him and return it to him whenever he wished — assuming Cushing could be elected governor on his own.

Hancock was wrong. Cushing lost the election to James Bowdoin. But the former governor was right in his prediction of trouble. In the winter of 1786-’87, the countryside of the Commonwealth erupted in armed rebellion. Under the leadership of former Continental Army captain Daniel Shays, farmers in the western counties took up arms to defend their homes against foreclosure. It fell to poor Bowdoin to raise an army and put down the rebellion.

Hancock’s legacy of style without substance left the Commonwealth in a mess. Voters, however, have short memories. In the next election Bowdoin lost to Hancock by three to one. The old revolutionaries ranted and raved at the foolishness of the people. Few people listened. Virtue is a hard sell in Massachusetts politics. Mr. Dooley knew far more about elections than Samuel Adams.