Philadelphia’s politics were reshaped by the effort to win the 1936 Democratic Convention

In late April, Ken Martin, chair of the Democratic National Committee (DNC), visited Philadelphia to assess the possibility of the city hosting the 2028 Democratic National Convention. He toured Xfinity Mobile Arena and met with Mayor Cherelle L. Parker and business leaders, who rolled out a “blue carpet” aimed at charming him.

It seemed natural to see business leaders working with local politicians to try to convince the DNC to choose Philadelphia, as well as helping to raise the funds required for the city to be eligible to host the convention. Democrats dominate the city’s politics, and its elected officials tend to share local business executives’ visions for economic development.

But these groups weren’t always aligned. In 1936, when Philadelphia made a similar push to host the Democratic Convention, the effort aroused skepticism in a city that had been a Republican stronghold for decades. Much of the skepticism was centered in the business community — where many vehemently opposed the policies of President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

It took a push by coalition builders like Albert Greenfield, a powerful business leader, to win over skeptics. Greenfield sold his fellow businessmen by framing the pursuit not as something partisan or political, but as a venture in civic boosterism. This argument proved compelling, and business support helped land the convention for Philadelphia. Today, Greenfield’s efforts provide a model for how to bring diverse interests together to boost a city, even in times of polarization.

Before the 1930s, Philadelphia was firmly a Republican city. In this era, the national party’s platform was dominated by pro-business politics, aligned around policies aimed at enhancing economic growth and competition.

A thoroughly corrupt political machine led by William Vare dictated the city’s politics. Each ward had Republican committee people who purchased individual votes at a going rate of one dollar. Loyal to the Vare machine, they also ensured voters headed to the polls on Election Day. In exchange, many of these committee people were rewarded with spots on the city payroll.

The flow of money linked voters and committee people alike to Vare and the GOP. The machine’s dominance meant that the Republicans won most local elections, and the city gave its votes to their party in federal and state contests, including in every presidential election dating back to 1856. That even included in 1932 when Roosevelt was first elected by a large margin nationally.

The Democratic Party — which, in other cities, drew power from local machines — remained weak and made little headway because Democrats, too, relied upon patronage favors from the dominant Republicans. That made them hesitant to rock the boat or wage an assault on the Vare machine and the status quo.

At the beginning of Roosevelt’s first term, however, the city’s politics began to shift thanks to the new president and his New Deal. Struggling Philadelphians started to feel the tangible effects of New Deal policies at precisely the same moment that changes began to occur in both parties’ leadership locally. The result was a restoration of genuine two-party competition.

The same Depression-era pressures loosening working-class loyalty to the Republican machine also began to pull Greenfield — who had once been a staunch Republican, but had soured on Herbert Hoover — toward the Democratic Party. The businessman benefited from several million dollars in funding from the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, the governmental lender of last resort, to prop up his business enterprises. Experiencing the benefits from New Deal policies firsthand, Greenfield started to express cautious support of Roosevelt.

From his position as chairman of the Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce Convention and Tourist Committee, Greenfield also launched an effort to recruit the Democratic Convention to Philadelphia.

His colleagues in the Chamber of Commerce shared Greenfield’s vision of landing a party convention in 1936 — but they didn’t care which party. Greenfield himself, however, remained focused on the Democrats in part because of his friendship with the liberal newspaper publisher J. David Stern.

In December 1935, he began soliciting donations from the city’s business leaders with the goal of raising $150,000 (more than $3.6 million in 2026 dollars) to help lure the Democrats. He framed the convention not only as an opportunity to increase business activity, but also as a means of enhancing the city’s national reputation.

Greenfield appealed to a wide range of constituencies, at times striking an unrelenting tone in his correspondence with business leaders. In one letter, Greenfield wrote that members of the Chamber, “feel that each individual enterprise has a moral obligation and responsibility with respect to the financial requisites for securing the convention.”

Greenfield’s efforts quickly bore fruit. Ledgers show contributions from both businesses and individual donors in sectors ranging from dentistry to distilling and hospitality. He also sold his fellow businessmen on their contributions being a non-partisan investment that would be “returned manyfold” to those who donated. This framing made it easier for many of his still staunchly Republican peers to support the bid.

In January 1936, after the Chamber formally invited the Democratic National Committee to hold its convention in Philadelphia, news headlines reflected the importance of the incentive package organized by Greenfield. When Philadelphia won the bid — with a financial package that ended up totaling $200,000 — The New York Times characterized the proceedings as an “auction and now a poker game.” The money Greenfield raised ultimately compelled national Democrats to shift their preference from Chicago to Philadelphia as their host city.

Greenfield soon became the chair of the city’s convention planning committee. In that role, he assembled a cohort of other prominent business and financial figures to orchestrate the programming surrounding the convention. He promised them pomp and circumstance — which he delivered.

When the convention finally arrived in Philadelphia in June, flags bearing the names of U.S. states and festive decorations lined Broad Street; ceremonial stamps depicted a triumphant, sun-illuminated city; press photographers documented a ceremony in which city officials registered a donkey that was part of the New York delegation to vote. The city even suspended its blue laws to allow Sunday drinking.

In bringing the convention to Philadelphia, Greenfield constructed his own alliance that worked to replace the system long sustained by Vare and the Republican machine. While he did not offer jobs and cash to individuals in exchange for loyalty like Vare did, he created a mechanism by which the success of the convention became materially valuable to the city’s business establishment.

If members of the city’s business community sought to access the economic benefits of this national political event, they had to do so through Greenfield, further aligning Philadelphia’s commercial interests with an individual who wanted the convention to succeed not only financially but politically as well.

What may have begun as tentative, pragmatic support for hosting the convention evolved into a more explicit embrace of the Democratic Party, with many businesses ultimately associating themselves with Democratic messaging. One newspaper advertisement praised the efforts of Roosevelt as a force behind Philadelphia’s economic revitalization. That message received endorsements from more than a dozen small businesses, whose names were featured alongside the message of support for the president.

At the close of the convention, Greenfield told delegates that their enthusiasm might one day lead historians to view the city as a Democratic stronghold — a prediction that ultimately proved correct. By constructing a new network of support within Philadelphia’s business community, Greenfield helped rally backing for a convention that proved to be far more than an economic boost or mere “convention fireworks.” Instead, the gathering would serve as an engine for a realignment that would hold the city for the Democratic Party through the next two decades.

The day after the 1936 election, the city of Philadelphia awoke to stunning results. Roosevelt had carried 43 of the city’s 50 wards and the city that the Philadelphia Bulletin had confidently described as unlikely to depart from “its long tradition” as a Republican stronghold had broken sharply with it. In 1940, when the city again explored hosting either the Republican or Democratic convention, the same committee which had led fundraising in 1936 initiated both efforts. Reflecting the changes in Philadelphia politics, however, the fundraising effort to attract the Democratic convention was far more successful than efforts to court its GOP counterpart. The business community in a city that had voted reliably Republican just four years earlier now raised three and half times as much money for potentially hosting the Democratic convention as the Republican one.

As business leaders in Philadelphia work to bring the convention back to the city, they are drawing from Greenfield’s playbook 90 years ago that brought together a new alliance of business leaders in support of a convention that proved to be a political inflection point.

Ethan Young is a rising senior at the University of Pennsylvania studying history and political science.

Made by History takes readers beyond the headlines with articles written and edited by professional historians. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of The Inquirer.