#29. Harding, Warren Gamaliel

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas –Warren Gamaliel Harding (1865-1923) was the 29th President of the United States, from 1921 until his death in 1923. He died as one of history’s most popular presidents just two years and 151 days into his term. Alas, like little mushrooms popping up in the sun, facts (and rumors that tend to go before and after facts) have greatly shifted opinion. Some facts are undeniable – like the Teapot Dome Scandal; two of his cabinet appointees were tried and convicted for corruption. And letters and public confrontations with more than a few women, well. Time spent being treated for various health problems is documented; business debts and failures too. So what does all of this mean when it comes to being the leader of a country of 106 million people? Perception is everything. And Warren (note this fact) was a newspaperman. Yep. Warren owned a newspaper, in a time when newspapers were THE form of communication; the first president ever to claim that for a background. He knew how to shape and mold opinion. He knew how to stack up favors. And to top it off, he married a woman who was even more clever than he was. Yep. Florence Kling, five years his senior. He called her The Boss; she called him Sonny.

It’s easy to get judgmental and snub-nosey about what other people do and how they behave; certainly each of us is responsible for our own actions. But, I wondered, DOES the apple fall very far from the tree? What was “growing up” like for Warren, and Florence? You’ll need to don your hipboots for this.

Warren First

Warren was born November 2, 1865 in Blooming Grove, Ohio, the eldest of eight children born to George Tryon and Phoebe Dickerson Harding. Phoebe was a midwife, and Tryon, according to one biographer, was “a shiftless, impractical, lazy, catnapping fellow whose eye was always on the main chance.” Tryon was a farmer, teacher, doctor, salesman; quickly tiring of each attempt; moving frequently, and borrowing money. In 1870, after a move to Caledonia, Ohio, he acquired The Argus, a local weekly newspaper, and that’s where Warren learned the basics of the newspaper business. At 15 Warren enrolled at Ohio Central College; he and a friend put out a small newspaper that served both the college and the town. After graduation in 1882, he settled in Marion, Ohio. And from there, well, watch what happened.

Warren borrowed some money and bought a failing newspaper, The Marion Star, the weakest of three local papers, and the only daily. He went to Chicago for the 1884 Republican Convention, taking notes and hanging out with the press (he was 19). When he got home he found that the sheriff had reclaimed the paper! Eventually he regained ownership of the Star, and, in a county that was Democratic in a state that was Republican, kept the daily edition nonpartisan and the weekly moderately Republican. This attracted advertisers and put the other Republican paper out of business. Biographer Andrew Sinclair describes it this way: “He started with nothing, and through working, stalling, bluffing, withholding payments, borrowing back wages, boasting, and manipulating, he turned a dying rag into a powerful small-town newspaper. Much of his success had to do with his good looks, …but he was also lucky.”

Florence Next

Florence Mabel Kling was born August 15, 1860, the eldest of three children of Amos and Louisa Bouton Kling. Amos was prosperous; during the Civil War his primary business was bulk sales of nails to the Union Army. He made money; he was on the boards of the Marion Telephone Company, the Marion National Bank, the Columbus and Toledo Railroad. And when Florence was born, he was disappointed. He wanted a boy. His next two children were sons, but he raised Florence like a boy too, determined to make her “more masculine than feminine.” He trained her in business skills; banking, real estate. Florence wanted to be a concert pianist, and headed for the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music after high school. Whenever she came home, she and Amos clashed, till finally, at the age of 19, she eloped with Pete DeWolfe and had a baby. Yep. A son, Marshall Eugene DeWolfe, September 22, 1880. Amos was enraged, and Pete turned out to be a no good alcoholic; the couple divorced. History is a bit garbled as to who really raised Marshall; I’ll leave that be.

It is known that Florence Kling and Warren Harding began dating and decided to get married. Now, if you want to see a row, stay tuned. Amos has been described as “ruthlessly harsh in his view of the world” and “driven only by work and money.” How do you think Amos (and the Klings) felt about Warren (and the Hardings)?

Hatfields and McCoys in Ohio

When Amos learned his daughter was dating the young newspaper publisher, he was furious. For one thing, Warren had been critical of Amos’ dealings with the government. But the big issue was the rumor that Warren had partial black ancestry. Amos threatened to disinherit Florence. Warren threatened to beat up Amos. Amos threatened to shoot Warren and ruin his newspaper. But Warren and Florence quietly married July 8, 1891 at their new home in Marion (her mother secretly sneaked in). Florence was 30, Warren was 25.

Florence’s mother died the next year, but Amos continued his rant; he pressured Marion businessmen not to invest in anything that involved Warren. He financed another newspaper to compete with Warren’s Marion Star. In January 1894, when Warren entered Battle Creek Sanitarium for depression, Florence became the informal manager of the Marion Star.

All that business training Amos pushed on Florence paid off. She organized a circulation department and improved distribution. She got good prices for new equipment; she knew the machinery of the newspaper plant, and how to fix it. Florence was instrumental in developing the first wire report. She hired the first woman reporter, Jane Dixon. Under her leadership, the Star prospered; revenue increased. When Warren returned in December, Florence nursed him at home. Florence wrote of her husband, “he does well when he listens to me and poorly when he does not.”

Politics and Bedfellows

Let’s follow the trail to the White House and see if Florence’s statement proved true.

• 1899: Florence encouraged Warren in his first political run for the state senate. She managed the finances and fended off objections from Amos. Warren was elected. Florence observed the legislature from the balcony in Columbus and made trips to newspaper offices to make sure her husband got good coverage. She also began consulting with an astrologer.
• 1901: Encouraged by Florence to “be pragmatic and not to alienate anyone,” Warren was reelected.
• 1903: Warren was elected lieutenant governor of Ohio.
• 1905: Florence needed emergency surgery and was confined to a hospital for weeks. Warren began an affair with her close friend Carrie Phillips.
• 1906: Florence’s father Amos married a widow 38 years his junior (younger than Florence).
• 1910: Warren’s mother died.
• 1911: Warren’s father Tryon married a 43-year-old widow (younger than Warren).
• 1911: Florence intercepted a letter between Warren and Carrie Phillips. She considered divorce but decided she’d invested too much time. She tried to keep Warren in sight and gave him political advice. She continued treatments for various ailments and continued her study of astrology.
• 1912: Warren wanted to run for governor. Florence kept her eye on Washington. Warren supported Taft at the Republican Convention. When Taft lost, Warren sought solace by writing poetry to Carrie Phillips.
• 1913: Amos died, leaving Florence $35,000 and valuable real estate. Florence had a serious kidney attack and went to White Oaks Sanitarium. She encouraged Warren to run for US Senate.
• 1914: Warren was elected US Senator from Ohio.
• 1915: Florence’s son Marshall died of tuberculosis, age 35. Warren (reputedly) began an affair with Nan Britton (possibly a German spy).
• 1916: Warren’s father Tryon divorced his second wife.
• 1918: Florence and Carrie Phillips had an altercation at the train station. Warren wrote to Carrie of his devotion to her, saying he considered a divorce from Florence unwise.
• 1920: Florence actively lobbied for Warren at the Republican Convention. Warren was selected. Florence organized a Front Porch campaign and controlled Warren’s appointments. Florence’s newspaper experience helped control Carrie Phillips threats, allegations of Warren’s black ancestry, and talk of Florence’s divorce. The consulting clairvoyant predicted Warren would become President, but would die in office.

How far from their trees have these apples landed? Next, the 1920 election.

The New United States President

Warren was in, with 60% of the Popular Vote and 76% of the Electoral. And Florence asked: “Well, Warren Harding, I have got you the Presidency. What are you going to do with it?” First thing: he opened the gates. Florence wanted the White House open to the public and by golly, she got that. The public loved her, flocking to the White House for Florence-led tours. She hosted elegant parties with a thousand guests; visitors with every claim to fame from Al Jolson to Albert Einstein came to the White House to be with the Hardings. There hadn’t been a First Lady since Frances Cleveland with such a recognizable face; she was seen everywhere, visiting Veterans in the hospital, unveiling statues, going to baseball games, being filmed with her signature wave, driving her car. Fast. She even sold pictures of Laddie Boy, the White House dog. The public ate it up though “high society” shunned her, favoring Second Lady Grace Coolidge. And Warren, just as the clairvoyant had predicted, died before their four years was up.

It happened on their 15,000-mile promotional tour of the West Coast labeled “The Voyage of Understanding”; re-election was in mind. Both Warren and Florence were ill from the start, but they kept slogging; their doctor was traveling with them. Warren made speeches in Alaska, and Seattle; cutting things short each time to get to his hotel and rest. By the time they reached the presidential suite in San Francisco’s Palace Hotel, 58-year-old Warren was exhausted. He died at 7:20 PM August. 2, 1923 as Florence was reading to him from the Saturday Evening Post. The article “A Calm Review of a Calm Man” was about Warren; his last words were “That’s good, go on.”

Calvin Coolidge was sworn in as President by the light of a kerosene lamp in the family parlor at 2:47 AM on August 3; his father, a Vermont justice of the peace, administered the oath of office. President Coolidge then went back to bed. Florence stayed with Warren through the long train ride to Washington, the state funeral at the Capitol, and the last service and burial in Marion. She died in Marion November 21, 1924, just over a year later, at the age of 64. Tryon Harding outlived them both. He attended his son’s inauguration, and his funeral, dying at the age of 85. Funds eventually were raised for a magnificent memorial in Marion where Florence and Warren rest today, as rumor and fact continue to mix and overlap and delight and sadden, depending on the teller, and the listener.

Would I invite Warren, or Florence, to my party? No, but if I had lived in Washington when Florence was leading those White House tours, I would have been there with the rest of the public.

I’m as gullible as anybody. Yep.

#28. Wilson, Thomas Woodrow

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – Thomas Woodrow Wilson (December 28, 1856 – February 3, 1924) was the 28^th President of the United States, from 1913-1921. There are lots of “firsts” about Woodrow that fill the presidential resume; he was the first president (and so far only) with a PhD, an academician with little political and no military experience. He was the first southerner to head up the Executive branch of US government since before that Brother-V-Brother war. Born in Virginia, he grew up in Augusta, Georgia in a family that staunchly supported the Confederacy. One of his earliest memories was standing at the gate of the Augusta parsonage where the family lived, and hearing a passerby derisively announce Lincoln’s election, stating “War is coming!” Woodrow was the third of four children born to Joseph Ruggles and Jessie Woodrow Wilson. Joseph was a Presbyterian minister who served as a Chaplin to the Confederate Army for a time, as wounded soldiers were cared for at their church. In 1870, the same year Georgia was readmitted to the Union (the last state back in place), the family moved to Columbia, South Carolina (Woodrow was 12 by then) and four years later to Wilmington, North Carolina, with father Joseph each time taking more responsible (and loftier) positions. When Woodrow headed for Princeton in 1874, it was the first time he set foot in a “never-Confederate” state! How did that affect Woodrow’s perceptions about the functions and responsibilities of government?

The Serious Student and The Georgia Girl

It’s a fact that Houghton-Mifflin published his book “Congressional Government: A Study in American Politics” in 1885 (he was 29); and was called “the best critical writing on the American constitution since the Federalist Papers.” Nice, Woodrow! Woodrow had studied political philosophy and history at Princeton, active in the Whig literary and debating society, graduating in 1879. And then he headed for law school at the University of Virginia, but didn’t stay long; he studied law on his own and after being admitted to the Georgia bar opened his own law firm in Atlanta in 1882. Didn’t like that a bit! Too day-to-day. He much preferred study to practice. So off to Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, and doctoral studies in history, political science, German, and other things leading to a professorship, stating “(It’s)…the only feasible place for me, the only place that would afford leisure for reading and original work, the only strictly literary berth with an income attached.” Well then.

He wrote that well-received book while studying at Johns Hopkins (it was actually his doctoral thesis); after graduating he began teaching at Bryn Mawr College, a newly established women’s college in Pennsylvania, where he taught ancient Greek and Roman history, American history, and political science. He also got married. Ellen Louise Axson (1860-1914) was herself the child of a Presbyterian minister. Born in Savannah, Georgia, she grew up in Rome, Georgia and studied art at Rome Female College. She went on to study at the Art Students League in New York, winning recognition for her work. Woodrow had seen Ellen years earlier when she was very young; when a chance meeting brought them together again as adults, he very quickly proposed and she very slowly said yes. They were married June 24, 1885 in Savannah – his father and her grandfather performed the ceremony.

Seems to me the next years were more cerebral than sparkly. Ellen gave up her pursuit of the arts to be a faculty wife; in April 1886 she headed south to give birth to daughter Margaret in a southern state. “I don’t my child to be born a Yankee,” was her explanation. In August 1887 she did the same when daughter Jessie was born. Woodrow found the 42 students at Bryn Mawr “too passive for his taste,” clashed with the Dean, a staunch feminist, and left Bryn Mawr in 1888 with no fare-the-well.

On to Wesleyan University, an elite undergraduate college for men in Connecticut where he taught political economy and Western history. By October 1889, when daughter Eleanor was born, I’m guessing things were too hectic to get Ellen back down south for the birth. In 1890 Woodrow, Ellen, and their three little girls moved to Princeton and settled in New Jersey for the next 22 years. I guess those girls grew up Yankees, after all.

The New Jersey Years

As Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Economy at Princeton, over the next years Woodrow wrote nine books. Two textbooks he wrote, “The State,” and “Division and Reunion” were used in American college courses for many years. In 1902, at the age of 46, he was named President of Princeton, where he served until clashes with alumni over changes he proposed caused him to consider getting into a different kind of politics. In 1908, before the Democratic Convention, he dropped a few hints, stating “no vice-presidential nomination, please.”

The “hint hint” effort began to pay off, but not until January 1910, and not for a presidential nomination. New Jersey Democrats had lost the last five gubernatorial elections, so, what’s to lose, they said, and besides, Woodrow’s inexperience will make him easy to influence. “I’ll do it,” Woodrow innocently said, “if a nomination is without pledges to anybody about anything.” He wound up in the Governor’s Chair from 1911-1913 and guess what. He broke with the party bosses right away. Whoops! Easy peasy move next: President of the United States.

And maybe he had Theodore Roosevelt to thank for that. All that Republican squabbling, and Progressive Party pushing, and William Taft’s pleasant disposition. What a turkey shoot!

The First Ladies

“I am naturally the most unambitious of women and life in the White House has no attractions for me,” wrote incoming First Lady Ellen Wilson to outgoing President William Taft, who’d sent her some advice on the mansion as he was leaving. The Democrats overall may have been thrilled about getting into the White House, but Inauguration Day 1913 was pretty much a lot of circumstance with very little pomp. Alice Paul knocked the ball out of the park the day before with the Women’s Suffrage Procession – 18,000 women marched! When Woodrow got off the train in Washington that day, he was not greeted by – anyone. The actual Inaugural ceremony went okay – William Taft was definitely happy – but the Inaugural Ball had already been canceled as inappropriate due to “troubling issues.”

Woodrow somberly started to work. Ellen soon had an art studio installed in the White House (skylight included). She painted, organized the weddings of two daughters, and died of Bright’s disease August 6, 1914, 520 days in. Her last words to her physician were “please tell my husband I want him to marry again.”

Woodrow took Ellen’s body to Georgia for burial among her family members. Oldest daughter Margaret and Woodrow’s cousin Helen Woodrow Bones shared White House hostessing duties. It was Helen who invited her widowed friend Edith Galt into the White House for a spot of tea after a walk one day, just as Woodrow returned from a golf outing. Three months later Woodrow proposed to Edith. And after a bit of an uproar she said yes.

Of course there was talk. “Murder” was one word used. But Woodrow’s bigger problem was Mary Peck. Mary was from way back in 1907; Woodrow met her on a take-a-break trip to Bermuda (Ellen didn’t go.) Woodrow and Mary had been writing letters since. Warm letters. Ellen knew about that. Now, how to explain Mary to Edith? And vice versa? (The heck with war in Europe, two women require much more tact.) I’ll let you dig through all the stories on the net if you’re into that – but one fact is clear. Whatever Woodrow said to Edith, she married him December 18, 1915. New First Lady, in.

The Secret President

Edith Bolling Galt (1872-1961) was born in Wytheville, Virginia, the seventh of the eleven children of William and Sarah Bolling. She received little formal education, and married Norman Galt in 1896; he was a prominent jeweler in Washington and twelve years her senior. Norman died unexpectedly in 1908 and Edith inherited his business. The Galt name was famous in Washington, presidents and their wives had shopped there since 1802. Lincoln’s pocket watch came from Galts; it was close to the White House.

Edith’s six years as First Lady were not extravagant times. Women were fighting for the right to vote and Germany was fighting to take over Europe. Woodrow was re-elected in 1916 with 52% of the Electoral vote, nothing like the 1912 landslide; his promise was to keep America out of the war. Edith accompanied Woodrow both to and from the capitol in the parade, but again there was no inaugural ball. On April 2 Woodrow requested a declaration of war against Germany and by April 6 Congress had approved.

During the war years Edith’s White House observed gasless Sundays and meatless Mondays to set a good example for federal rationing (she even had sheep grazing the White House lawn to save manpower). At war’s end, she followed Woodrow to Europe as peace negotiations were hammered out. And she was with Woodrow on October 2, 1919, as he traveled the country to garner support for the League of Nations. That’s the day he suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed and half blind.

For the rest of Woodrow’s term, Edith manned the door. She became a “shadow steward” deciding which matters of state were important enough to bring to Woodrow’s attention. Claiming she “never made a decision regarding the disposition of public affairs,” she does acknowledge that she decided on what was important and what was not. All Cabinet members were required to send memos, correspondence, questions, and requests directly to her. She filled out paperwork for Woodrow, was made privy to classified information, and entrusted with encoding and decoding encrypted messages. Through those secretive times, Woodrow hankered for a third term. He didn’t get it; they wouldn’t even put him on the ticket. The Republicans won the 1920 presidential election in a landslide.

The End of Things

When Warren Harding was inaugurated in March 1921, Woodrow and Edith moved to a townhouse in the Kalorama section of Washington. Woodrow opened a law practice but only showed up for work one day. He tried writing and produced a few short essays, but refused to write his memoirs. He died February 3, 1924 at the age of 67.

Edith wrote her memoirs. And she continued advising presidents. Franklin Roosevelt asked her to sit in Congress the day he asked for a declaration of war in 1941; she rode in John Kennedy’s 1961 inaugural parade. She died in 1961 at the age of 89 and is buried alongside Woodrow in the Washington National Cathedral, the only president and “first lady-shadow president” so interred.

As to Margaret, Woodrow’s oldest daughter who served as temporary First Lady between Ellen and Edith, she became a member of the ashram of Sri Aurobindo in Pondicherry, India in 1938 and was given the new name Nistha, meaning “dedication” in Sanskrit. She died in 1944 at the age of 57 and is buried in India.

Woodrow’s legacy is controversial; he was a fine scholar; he was a segregationist; he had expansive ideas about a better world; he believed he was the only one who did. And his sneaky-pete-closed-mouth-keeping-secrets habit? That covered a lot more than bad teeth.

Would I invite this man to my party? Not a chance.

#27. Taft, William Howard

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – William Howard Taft (September 15, 1857 – March 8, 1930) was the 27th president of the United States, from 1909 to 1913. That’s one term. Only. Landslide in, landslide out. Now, this doesn’t mean he didn’t do a good job. Actually it was what you’d call a “low-blow” by the very person who pushed him in that took him out. Remember Theodore Roosevelt’s decision in 1908 to serve only two terms? He “groomed” a certain William Taft to come in and continue his policies. Landslide in for William! Only William began to stick to his own guns after a while, and Theodore decided he wanted back in. The Republicans didn’t want Theodore back, so he started his own party running against his buddy, and that “party-split” knocked the vote every which way and brought the Democrats back in a wild frenzy! The Democrats laughed, and William laughed too, saying “Well I have one consolation. No ex-president was ever elected by such a large majority!” Then he went ahead with what he really wanted to do all along. He became Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, the only president ever to sit in the Biggest Chair of both the Executive and Judicial branches of government. A later-in-life quote says it all: Presidents come and go, but the Supreme Court goes on forever.

William was not a spiteful fellow. He was quiet, thoughtful, and principled. Born into a family that was not particularly wealthy, William was not considered particularly brilliant. But parents Alphonso and Louise Torrey Taft pushed their five sons hard, and William headed off for Yale in 1874. He graduated second in his class, and was a member of the secret society his father Alphonso had organized when he was at Yale known as Skull and Bones. (Just look up the membership on that.) Big husky William was a member of the intramural wrestling team while there too, the heavyweight champion in fact. Which seems a good skill for any president to have. Grappling and all.

After Yale, law school, working at his father’s law office, and admission to the Ohio bar, in 1881 William did a stint as Assistant Prosecutor for Hamilton County, Ohio before finally opening his own private practice.  And that’s when the Taft story begins to double in interest, because that’s when William married Helen Herron, a feisty, attractive young woman who’d been dreaming about living in the White House since she was seventeen years old. Cupid’s arrow was dipped in politics that would affect the lives of the Tafts for the next 44 years.

Let’s Talk About Helen

Helen was the fourth of eleven children born to John and Harriet Collins Herron, a “politically connected” Cincinnati family. John Herron and Benjamin Harrison were college classmates; Rutherford Hayes was John’s law partner at one time. Harriet was both daughter and sister to US Congressmen. In this large family clamoring with political buzz, Helen did her own thing –smoking and drinking and card playing just like the best of the guys – while getting a super-duper education at the right girls schools and colleges, where she studied languages and other mind-expanding things that wound up being useful for the rest of her days, as you will see. Helen hung out in her father’s office reading his legal books, and later worked there. But she was frustrated in Cincinnati (too small) and frustrated over the lack of opportunities for women (get married or teach).

And then that killer moment! The Herrons were invited to Rutherford Hayes’ 1877 inauguration. In fact, they got to stay IN the White House for several weeks, giving Helen the chance to soak up what it would be like to live there. She set her hat. Helen met William at a sledding party in 1880 when he was 23 and she was 19; their families were acquainted. A few years later when she started up a group for Sunday afternoon get-togethers (strictly intellectual), she invited William and his brother Horace to attend. From there, William began proposing to Helen and she kept refusing. Until she finally agreed. The wedding was June 19, 1886 (they were 29 and 25); the children that came along were son Robert (1889), daughter Helen (1891), and son Charles (1897). As to their career plans – in truth, both of them got much of what they hoped for. Best of all, they made a good fit. Helen and William liked each other, and respected each other’s ideas and values. It makes for a good story.

Cincinnati To The World

It took Helen a while to get out of Cincinnati. William relished his law work; he was appointed and then elected as a judge on the Superior Court of Cincinnati; then in 1890 President Harrison appointed him Solicitor General of the United States. In 1896 he became Dean and Professor of Property at Cincinnati Law School. When the move from Cincinnati finally came, it was a biggie! In January 1900, President McKinley asked William to oversee the establishment of a civilian government in the Philippines following its annexation to the United States as a result of the Spanish-American War.

I won’t go into the pros and cons of what the US government was doing worldwide at this time in history. But the fact is, the United States had kicked the Spanish out of the Philippines (well, there was the 1898 Treaty of Paris and agreements and so on) and there was  a 700-island archipelago that needed some organizing (or the Spanish will jump right back in, was the line). It was a mess. When asked if he would take the job of overseeing and untangling the mess, William had a stipulation. ”I’ll go,” he said, “if you make me head of the commission, with responsibility for its success, or failure.” McKinley agreed, and William sailed for the islands in April. Helen and the children, then 11, 9 and 3, soon followed.

Helen was delighted (I’m guessing ecstatic!). She didn’t know what to expect, but she loved the idea of new places and new faces. And maybe, she thought, it might even move them closer to the White House? It was a step, for sure – when William was made Governor-General on July 4, 1901, and the Tafts moved into the Malacañang Palace in Manila, she became “First Lady” of the Philippines.

William quickly determined that “independence” was far off for the Filipinos – they were generally considered inferiors by Americans, and in truth, did not have the means for self-sufficiency as land ownership had not been permitted during the years of Spanish occupation. William, and Helen, set about doing what they could. No racial segregation was allowed at official events. Helen worked to earn the respect of the Filipinos – she learned to speak their language, wore native dress at functions, and traveled the country meeting people. (She learned how to ride a horse in order to get around!) As to the self-sufficiency issue, since much of the arable land was held by Catholic religious orders, William, believing that Filipino farmers should have a stake in the new government through land ownership, testified about the issue before the Senate. With President Roosevelt’s authorization, he headed for Rome in 1902 to negotiate with Pope Leo XIII to purchase these lands and remove the Catholic priests. He was not successful, though an agreement of sorts was made in 1903. Helen, by the way, accompanied William on that trip. And, met the Pope.

All The Way To Snow Day

I’ll make this fast. William’s next title was Secretary of War (1904, a Roosevelt appointment), which brought the Tafts to Washington, and turned Helen into a “cabinet member’s wife,” (which she regarded as a comedown) but nevertheless, had the Tafts in the middle of Washington politics and social life, in and out of the White House. William and Theodore became friends. As Secretary of War William got another title as Governor when Cuba asked the US for help under terms of a 1903 treaty; he traveled to Cuba with a small American force and declared himself “provisional governor” for two weeks until the country stabilized.

William’s third title was President of the United States. Theodore Roosevelt was happy. He had worked hard to line things up for William’s landslide election. And Helen was happy! In a slick trick for an inauguration day, with Theodore leaving for Africa to stay out of the way, Mother Nature sent a blizzard that dropped 10 inches of snow over the city. It took 6,000 city workers shoveling snow into 500 wagons to ready the route, but for the first time ever, a First Lady rode beside her husband in the Inaugural Parade. Mark the date: March 4, 1909.

Four Years In

Bad luck struck early on. In May, just three months after moving in, Helen suffered a stroke which rendered her unable to speak. She was away from the White House for almost a year and never fully recovered. But she did learn to speak again, and came back ready to tackle her White House duties. She had all the Roosevelt trophy heads removed from the White House, completely revamped White House staffing, and, instead of hosting cabinet wives for lunch as her predecessor Edith had done, she sat in on Presidential meetings with the guys, discussing things later with William, who valued her opinion.

During the first few years, with Theodore away in Africa, William was on his own with decision making. And in time, those decisions strayed further away from what Theodore expected. The split happened. Here’s what that 1912 election looked like in numbers: William got 8 electoral votes, Theodore got 88, and Woodrow Wilson got 425. Is that a slam or what? Helen had done all she could – she attended both the Republican and Democratic Conventions that year, and even sat on the FRONT ROW of the Democrats to hopefully deter anyone from making bad comments about her husband. Yikes.

William was right there, up front, on Woodrow’s March 4 inauguration day, as he and Helen left the White House; see him smiling in the photo? And on April 1, 1913, William became Professor of Law and Legal History at Yale, receiving a thunderous reception. During the years they lived in New Haven, Helen wrote and published her memoirs, Recollections of Full Years; interestingly most of what she wrote about was her time in the Philippines.

William kept his eye on the Supreme Court. It was December 1920 when he was asked to come to President-elect Harding’s home to advise him on appointments that William was asked if he would accept appointment to the Supreme Court. William laid out his condition: having appointed two of the present associate justices, he would only accept the Chief Justice position. Harding submitted his name on June 30, 1921 and the Senate confirmed William the same day, 61–4, without any committee hearings. Slam in!

And So It Goes

The Tafts were back in Washington. Helen was happy about that. And William was right where he wanted to be – totally immersed in law. I like this story a lot. I like the part about William’s new regime too. He’d always been too fat, (340 at least, way bigger than Grover) but now he walked to work every day – three miles from home to office, crossing Rock Creek along the way (they’ve named the crossing Taft Bridge, look for it). I’m guessing he whistled on that three-mile walk, he trimmed down to just over 200 pounds.

As to his work, William gets high marks for his accomplishments on the Court. One comment: “He was as aggressive in the pursuit of his agenda in the judicial realm as Theodore Roosevelt was in the presidential.” Well there you go – the score evened and honors enough for everyone.

William’s failing health was the deciding factor in his retirement; the day he administered the inaugural oath to incoming President Hoover in 1929, his memory failed, he jumbled some of the words. His resignation was submitted with regret February 3, 1930; he died March 8. Helen lived another thirteen years; staying on in Washington, continuing to travel when she could; always interested in politics. I picture her visiting her cherry trees in West Potomac Park every spring, did you know she’s the one who transformed the Park into an esplanade? She was inspired by Luneta Park in Manila and arranged with the Mayor of Tokyo for all those cherry trees.

William and Helen are buried in Arlington Cemetery; only one other President, and one other First Lady, John and Jackie Kennedy, are buried at Arlington, as most preferred their home state for their final remains. Helen, and William too no doubt, preferred Washington.

Yes, I’d invite these two to a party, but not at my house. We’d go to West Potomac Park, on a warm spring day, with cherry blossoms falling all over our blankets on the ground. I’d invite my Filipino and Japanese friends to come too. Lots to talk about.

#26. Roosevelt, Theodore

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – Theodore Roosevelt Jr (October 27, 1858 – January 6, 1919) was the 26th president of the United States from 1901 to 1909. It began like this: “Now that damned cowboy is in,” said Mark Hanna, Chairman of the Republican National Committee and William McKinley’s campaign manager, as McKinley lay dead, victim of an assassins bullet, and Theodore Roosevelt Jr became President. The date was September 14, 1901; the place was Ansley Wilcox’s house in Buffalo, New York. This was the fifth non-scheduled inauguration ever to take place, and “that damned cowboy” was just 42 years old, the youngest president ever. Most old-line Republicans echoed Hanna’s sentiments. Theodore, you see, was different. Never still, never quiet; we’d certainly label him ADD today. If he were the bull in the rodeo, nobody would last eight seconds on his back! Theodore didn’t fit the mold that political parties hope to fill. But darn it, he was a good guy; not so much a leader as a “do-er.” When he tackled something he followed through with gritty determination. True grit, you know, like Mr. Wayne. There are probably two things that pop into your mind when you hear his name: Theodore Roosevelt National Park and his Dakota Ranch (yep, he really was a cowboy); and Theodore Roosevelt the hero, atop San Juan Hill. That’s a pretty famous photo. And, he is astride a horse. So how did this city fellow, born in Manhattan to wealth and loving attention, come to be called a cowboy?

I’ve done some digging on this one. I thought I knew a lot about “Teddy” – I’ve visited his National Park and Ranch in North Dakota; I’ve visited  Atlanta’s Bulloch Hall where his mother Mittie Bulloch was born, and stood on the staircase where she stood when she married his father Theodore Roosevelt on December 22, 1853. I’ve been many places he traveled in Africa. But I wound up having to make a spreadsheet to record all the things he did and all the people who were a part of his life! There was so much “stuff” to consider I’ve divided his 60 years into four 15-year segments, because, believe it or not, even those first fifteen years were astounding. Just look.

1858-1873 The First 15 Years

Theodore was born October 27, 1858, the second of the four children – Anna, Theodore, Elliot, and Corrine – of wealthy businessman and philanthropist Theodore Sr and socialite Martha Bulloch Roosevelt. The Roosevelts lived at 28 East 20th Street in New York’s most fashionable district. It was a typical New York brownstone on a quiet tree-lined street. Theodore’s health was poor. He had terrible asthma, but that didn’t slow him down, he was energetic and inquisitive, home schooled and well supported by his parents. He was just seven years old when he spotted a seal’s head at the market and persuaded them to bring it home for him to “study.” He learned the basics of taxidermy and opened “Roosevelt’s Museum of Natural History” in his bedroom. (Right there, I like the kid! His cousins were in on this too.) By the time he was nine he had written a paper noting his observations of insects: “The Natural History of Insects.” Clearly observant of the world around him, imagine how he was impacted by his family’s traveling adventures: by the time he was fifteen they had toured Europe twice and Egypt once! It was while climbing the Alps he realized that physical exertion seemed to minimize his asthma. That was the answer then. The summer he was fifteen he was bullied on a camping trip; no more of that! He found a boxing coach to teach him how to strengthen his body. And to fight!

If you stop there, he’s pretty much ahead of any 15-year-old boy I’ve ever known. I’ll add a little “love-note” here; put this in your back pocket for later. A neighbor by the name of Edith Carow was in Theodore’s life from early on. She was his sister Corrine’s best friend; she went on summer vacations with the Roosevelt family;  she came to the Roosevelts for “home-schooling” with them; she and Corrine and Theodore all had a love for literature. Edith Carow, remember.

1874-1888 Age 16 to 30

Edith Carow, remember? Yes, Edith and Theodore became teenage sweethearts. When he was 18 he headed for Harvard, to study biology of course. But he did a lot of stuff –the physical of course – rowing and boxing; he read non-stop (he had an almost photographic memory). He joined Alpha Delta Phi literary society, Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity. He was editor (of course) of The Harvard Advocate. And he and Edith kept up a correspondence. The year he was twenty, his father died and left him a large inheritance. The story is a bit hazy here – some say he proposed to Edith then and she refused. We know that he did propose to New York socialite Alice Hathaway Lee sometime in there, and, by golly, married her on October 27, 1880. And yes, Edith attended their wedding.

By then, Theodore had graduated Harvard (magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa), commenting that Harvard was “too rigid.” He gave up on the study of natural sciences and entered Columbia Law School. But he found law “irrational.” He wrote a book on the War of 1812. He dropped out of law school. He began attending meetings at New York’s 21^st District Republican Association. He was appointed a 2^nd Lt in the New York National Guard. He bought 155 acres at Oyster Bay on Long Island and began building a home for “a large family.” He was elected Republican State Assemblyman for the Jan 1882-Dec 1884 term. And that’s where he was – in Albany – on February 12, 1884, when daughter Alice was born. He rushed back to New York city after receiving a telegram about the baby’s birth only to face a double tragedy: his mother Mittie died at 3 AM on February 14; his wife Alice died at 2 PM, eleven hours later.

In years to come, the only comment Theodore would make concerning that day was “The light went out of my life.” Baby Alice was put into the hands of Theodore’s older sister Anna and Theodore headed for North Dakota. Where, to answer the question – he became a cowboy. He was 26 years old.

He did stop by the Republican National Convention in Chicago that June and took an active part in the buzz; this sparked an interest in national politics. But it was North Dakota where he grieved. He invested in a cattle ranch; he learned to rope, and ride, and herd, and hunt. He wrote about frontier life for national magazines and published three books: Hunting Trips of a Ranchman, Ranch Life and the Hunting-Trail, and The Wilderness Hunter. He served as deputy sheriff in Billings County, North Dakota (there’s a famous story about tracking down a thief). And then, fate intervened. On a visit back to his sister’s house in New York, he bumped into Edith Carow. And strangely, the North Dakota winter was so harsh that year half his cattle died.

No soap could have turned out better. He and Edith became secretly engaged (kept a secret because it was still so close to Alice’s death); he closed down his ranch; and on December 2, 1886 he and Edith were married in London. They lived in Europe for a while, returning to New York to finish up the Long Island house (renamed Sagamore Hill). Son Theodore III was born September 13, 1887. Daughter Alice, now three, joined the family at Sagamore. Did you see that coming? Son Kermit was born October 10, 1889, a few days before Theodore’s 31st birthday. How’s that for the second fifteen years?

1889 – 1903 Age 31-45

Babywise, three more children were born to Theodore and Edith: daughter Ethel (1891), son Archibald (1894), and son Quentin (1897). Jobwise, Theodore was President of the NYC Board of Police Commissioners for a while, then appointed Assistant Secretary of the Navy from 1897-1898 by President McKinley, a job he loved; and (now that famous San Juan Hill picture) left that post to lead the Rough Riders in Cuba for four months during the Spanish-American War. Quite famous by now, he served as Governor of New York through the 1899-1900 term, and that is precisely when Mark Hanna faced the first tinges of “oh no.” McKinley’s reelection was pretty much assured; returning prosperity and that Spanish-American victory and that guy on the horse on San Juan Hill still in everyone’s mind. And as Governor of New York, Theodore was making changes that many New York Republicans didn’t like, so they wanted to get rid of him. Offered a spot on the ticket as McKinley’s VP, Theodore didn’t really want the job; he saw it as trivial and powerless. But you know what happened. And why Mark Hanna said what he said that day in 1901. (Interestingly, Mark Hanna died February 15, 1904, before the next Republican Convention.)

Let’s look at Theodore’s first stint as President of the United States. Certainly the White House didn’t compare to Sagamore Hill’s spacious grounds and natural informality, and Edith set to work right away, saying the White House was “like living over a store.” In February 1902 Theodore moved into a house on Lafayette Square, and Edith and the kids moved back to Sagamore Hill as the problem so many first ladies had complained about (remember Caroline Harrison?) was set to right – the East and West Wings were added, separating Work Space and Family Space once and for all. The State dining room was expanded to seat over 100 guests. Edith knew how to manage what she wanted done – after all, she managed seven children, she sometimes quipped. (Yes, 5 of her own, 1 stepchild, and Theodore.)

Edith isn’t the most famous of First Ladies, but she was steady. Remember that Edith and Theodore literally grew up together, studied together, and loved to read. As First Lady she kept up with the news, taking items she believed were noteworthy to Theodore and discussing them. She stood for high morals in the White House, once castigating a Grand Duke from Russia for “vulgar behavior” by refusing to meet with his family when they visited the White House. (The Press liked that.) Fashion wasn’t important to Edith, she often wore the same gown on many occasions (admonishing the Press to “just describe them differently”).

Meanwhile Theodore fought big companies (like Standard Oil), monopolies, and trusts, earning the nickname “trust buster.” On his 46^th birthday October 27, 1904 as he closed out another fifteen years of life, he was just 12 days from winning a landslide victory in his first bid as an ELECTED United States President.

Chalking it up, Theodore!

1904- till he died Jan 6, 1919 Age 46-60

During the next fifteen years Theodore never slowed down. Some historians claim him the “4^th Greatest President” following Washington, Lincoln, and that other Roosevelt. If you go to South Dakota you’ll see his face staring down at you from Mount Rushmore (along with Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson).

And he was the first American, and first statesman, to win the Nobel Peace Prize. Google that story, and how he managed to secure a treaty that ended the Russo-Japanese War through negotiations, quietly, away from Washington, at Sagamore Hill. He chose not to run for a third term, and the Roosevelts moved out of the White House March 4, 1909. Theodore was 50 now.

March 23, 1909. Theodore left New York as leader of the Smithsonian–Roosevelt African expedition. Funded by Andrew Carnegie and sponsored by the Smithsonian, its purpose was to collect specimens for the Smithsonian’s new natural history museum.

June 1910. The Expedition returned to the United States after traveling from Mombasa in East Africa to Khartoum in modern-day Sudan and collecting 11,400 animal specimens, which took Smithsonian naturalists eight years to catalog. Theodore’s book, African Game Trails, which details all the whys, wheres, and hows, is available on Amazon. Amazing.

January 1911. Back at Sagamore, Theodore was restless and concerned that his handpicked successor, William Howard Taft, was abandoning the political causes he’d groomed him for. June 1912. Theodore decided to run for President again, but failed to gain the nomination at the Republican convention that June in Chicago. He started the Progressive, or “Bull Moose” Party, so named when he boasted that he felt “strong as a bull moose.” October 1912. Theodore was shot while campaigning in Milwaukee. The bullet lodged in his chest after passing through his eyeglass case and 50 pages of the speech he was about to give. He declined hospital care and gave the speech. Later Xrays showed the bullet lodged in his chest, where it remained the rest of his life. “It takes more than a bullet to kill a bull moose,” he said.

November 1912. He didn’t win, Wilson almost took it all. But he came in second, marking the first time a new party beat out an incumbent president. Devastated, he headed back to Sagamore Hill.

October 1913. Another opportunity for adventure, this time a South American expedition that would trace the roots of the Amazon River. It proved ill-fated — several expedition members died, and both Roosevelt and his son Kermit became dangerously ill. When they finally made it home in 1914, Roosevelt retired to Long Island, but was once again making noise as he forcefully called for the United States’ entrance into World War I. On May 18, 1917 Theodore wrote a letter to President Wilson offering to personally raise two divisions for WWI service. On May 19 President Wilson denied Theodore’s request based on “public policy.”

July 14, 1918, Son Quentin was shot down behind enemy lines during WWI. He was buried, with honors, by Germans, a really incredible, and tender, story. Theodore lived less than six months after Quentin’s death, dying in his sleep in his bedroom at Sagamore January 6, 1919. Vice President Marshall commented: “Death had to take him sleeping, for if he’d been awake, there would have been a fight.” Edith lived another 29 years, survived by Ethel, Archibald, and Alice. Theodore and Edith are buried in Young’s Cemetery, overlooking their beloved Oyster Bay.

As to the question “Would I invite this man to a party at my house?” I’ve got a better idea. I’d invite him to lead another expedition on the Amazon River and take me along. That first one didn’t turn out so well for him, and the Amazon is still on my bucket list. Now wouldn’t that be a trip?

#25. McKinley, William

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – William McKinley (January 29, 1843 – September 14, 1901) was the 25th president of the United States from 1897 until his assassination in 1901. William was one of seven presidents who rendered some type of service in the Civil War. I’m going to tell you what he did at Antietam, I mean, he just up and DID IT without being ordered. But first, what nudged William McKinley to volunteer for service? What was he doing, and what was happening around him? William was born in Ohio January 29, 1843, the seventh of William and Nancy Allison McKinley’s nine children. His father owned a small iron factory, and, it is said, instilled a strong work ethic in his children. His mother was devoutly religious, teaching her children the value of prayer, and honesty. There was fun stuff going on in the McKinley household, like fishing and hunting and swimming, but also a strong focus on education. William spent some time in college, but when family finances declined, took a job as a postal clerk. He was 18 on April 15, 1861 when, three days after an attack on Fort Sumter, President Lincoln issued a proclamation calling forth the state militias in order to suppress the rebellion. Thousands of Ohioans began volunteering; he and cousin William Osbourne joined up as privates in their hometown Guard that June. The Guard soon headed for Columbus and was consolidated with other units to form the 23^rd Ohio Infantry.

When William mustered out of the Army in July 1865, his rank was brevet (honorary) Major and his list of stories so long he wound up with a book. That is, a diary; 72 pages of which are now preserved in the Ohio History Collections, note: The diary details his service with Company E of the 23rd Ohio Volunteer Infantry at Camp Jackson in Ohio and throughout Virginia. He mentions daily activities, including drill, visits, prayer meetings, and troop movements, … (he)also writes in detail about the Battle of Carnifex Ferry, his first major battle, including his fears and the actions of Major Rutherford B. Hayes, another future president.

He Wrote Stuff Down!

You know right away I’d invite this man to my party, just to talk about that diary. I’d definitely ask him about Antietam. In case you forgot your American history, the Battle of Antietam was a key turning point in the Civil War. The battle pitted Union General George McClellan against General Robert E. Lee’s Army and lasted 12 hours, resulting in 23,000 soldiers killed, wounded, or missing. It was the bloodiest single-day battle in American history, ending the Confederate Army’s first invasion into the North and leading Abraham Lincoln to issue the preliminary Emancipation Proclamation.

What 19-year-old William did that day isn’t a swashbuckling tale, but it was heroic in its simplicity. Major Rutherford Hayes, leader of the 23rd Ohio Infantry that day, described it this way: “Early in the afternoon, naturally enough, with the exertion required of the men, they were famished and thirsty, and to some extent broken in spirit. The commissary department of that brigade was under Sergeant McKinley’s administration and personal supervision. From his hands every man in the regiment was served with hot coffee and warm meats…. He passed under fire and delivered, with his own hands, these things, so essential for the men for whom he was laboring.” Today a monument in Antietam National Battlefield marks the spot, and honors William McKinley’s actions.

Death Can Be Fickle

William walked through fire at Antietam without injury. He fought to the end of a bloody war without injury (although once his horse was shot out from under him). But on September 6, 1901, at the Temple of Music during the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York, Leon Czolgosz walked up to him, pulled a gun he’d concealed with a handkerchief, and shot President William McKinley twice in the abdomen.

William was taken to the exposition aid station, urging his helpers to call off the mob that had set upon Czolgosz. Doctors were unable to find the second bullet, and William was moved to the home of John Milburn, president of the Pan-American Exposition Company, where he seemed to improve over the next few days. Members of his cabinet, who had rushed to Buffalo when hearing the news, dispersed; Vice President Roosevelt went ahead with a planned camping trip. Meanwhile, gangrene was growing on the walls of William’s stomach and slowly poisoning his blood. By the evening of the 13^th, after drifting in and out of consciousness all day, he said “It is useless, gentlemen. I think we ought to have prayer.” As friends and relatives gathered around his bed, a sobbing First Lady Ida softly sang his favorite hymn. His final act was to comfort her. He died at 2:15 AM September 14.

Theodore Roosevelt rushed back to Buffalo and took the oath of office as the 26^th president of the United States. Czolgosz, who claimed to be an anarchist, was put on trial for murder nine days later, and executed by electric chair October 29.

About Ida

Ida Saxton McKinley’s story is more ironically sad than William’s; I keep studying it and wondering how bright fortune could switch to such dark tragedy. Better get your hanky out before you read further. Born June 8, 1847 into one of Canton, Ohio’s wealthiest families, Ida and her siblings Mary and George grew up in the grand Saxton House. Parents James and Kate strongly believed in equal education for women; Ida was sent to good schools and excelled in her studies, a gifted scholar. She attended opera performances, classical music concerts, theatrical plays. She was inspired by one of her teachers to take long walks every day to build up physical fitness – a progressive idea at the time. On a grand tour of Europe after graduating, Ida and sister Mary hiked the Alps. Ida’s father hired her to work at his bank – a  typically males-only environment; she was so proficient she often managed the bank in her father’s absence. That’s where she was working when she met William. I’ll come back to that.

Two things in Ida’s early life caught my attention. One was the confidence her father placed in her; surely this bolstered her belief in possibilities. The other relates to a limbless artist who painted with his mouth she met in Amsterdam when she and sister Mary were on that European tour. Was this what inspired her to insist on living a full public life despite disabilities she developed later? Yes, disabilities.

Life With William

In 1870 Ida and William began serious courting; they were married January 25, 1871; (she was 23, he was 27) in a service attended by a thousand people. Ida was, after all, considered the belle of Canton, Ohio. Their first child, Katherine, was born on Christmas day that year. ”Katie” became the center of the household; Ida became pregnant again. About two weeks before the new baby’s birth Ida’s mother died of cancer; at the burial service Ida fell and struck her head while stepping out of a carriage. After a difficult delivery, the baby, a girl who was sickly from the start, died within four months. Obsessed with fear of losing her firstborn child too, Ida spent her days in a darkened room, weeping. And the worst happened. On June 24, 1875, Katie died.

Ida was plunged into a deep depression. Historians believe she became immunocompromised during that second pregnancy, which led to epileptic seizures. As her seizures worsened, she ate very little and prayed for her own death. William did everything he could to help her regain her “interest in existence,” offering to give up his political ambitions for her. But Ida insisted that he continue his increasingly successful career.

Tracking William

After mustering out of the Army in 1865, William decided to pursue a career in law. He studied with an attorney, then attended Albany Law School; in March 1867 he was admitted to the Ohio Bar and moved to Canton where he formed a partnership with George Belden, an experienced lawyer. And remember William’s connection with Rutherford Hayes that began during the war? They stayed friends, and when Rutherford was nominated for governor in 1867, William made speeches on his behalf. That edged him into politics.

In 1869 he ran for the office of prosecuting attorney and was elected. In 1876, the year after Katie’s death, he followed Ida’s urging to stay on his chosen path – he campaigned for a congressional seat while campaigning for Rutherford Hayes for president. Both William and Rutherford won.

• 1877-1883 Congressman US House of Representatives
• 1885-1891 Congressman US House of Representatives
• 1892-1896 Governor of Ohio
• 1897-1901 President of the United States

William’s inauguration as the 25^th president took place March 4, 1897 in front of the Old Senate Chamber at the capitol. And yes, Ida was there. She was present at the inaugural ball that evening too, wearing a lavish gown that made all the news. But, accompanied by William, she left early. This set the stage; Ida’s attendance at functions thereafter was sporadic due to the unpredictability of her seizures. William took great care to accommodate Ida’s condition. At state dinners she sat beside him rather than, as was tradition, at the opposite end of the table. William kept a handkerchief in his pocket so that in case of a seizure he could cover her contorted face. Once it passed, he’d remove the handkerchief and go on, as though nothing had happened.

Stop! Reread that sentence! Does that sound a little bit like Antietam to you? No matter what the surrounding circumstances, recognizing someone’s need, and taking care of it? Well, you might say, why didn’t he just hide the poor woman away and ignore the problem; or why didn’t she just stay the hell in a darkened room?

William and Ida just didn’t do things that way. And William was elected for a second term.

The unemployment rate had dropped from 14.5% in 1896 to 5% in 1900. William was seen as a “victorious commander in chief” due to the Spanish-American war. Was campaign strategy the determining factor in winning a second term? Or was it character? Probably a little bit of all. But think back to Antietam and how he got hot coffee to his men, and those state dinners and how he cared for Ida; well, he just DID it. He didn’t back off, or hide from a situation. During his presidency he invited the press to regular briefings. He traveled widely attending public ceremonies and meeting his constituency. He was not a charismatic leader, but people who knew him generally liked him. What a sad, sad loss that September day.

The memorials.

Ida was 54 when her husband died that day in Buffalo. Somehow she maintained the strength to stay by his side those seven days after he was shot, but could not bring herself to attend his funeral. She visited William’s grave every day until her death May 26, 1907. In Canton today you can visit the McKinley Memorial Mausoleum and the graves of William, Ida, Katie, and baby Ida; as well as the Saxton House, now a First Ladies National Historic Site.

And don’t forget Antietam, there in Maryland.

#24. Cleveland, Stephen Grover

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – Stephen Grover Cleveland (March 18, 1837 – June 24, 1908) was the 24th president of the United States, from 1893 to 1897. He was also the 22nd president of the United States, we talked about him just two days ago. It’s tempting to reference Jack Nicholson’s famous line in The Shining when we think about the Cleveland’s return to the White House – “Honey I’m Home!” But it was a far different White House than they’d left, due to Caroline Harrison’s non-stop renovation and clean-up buzz. Frances Cleveland must have been pleased with more bathrooms, and fewer rats. Grover however, was faced with a political disaster. And lots more rats. The Panic of 1893 struck the stock market, and the economic downturn was laid squarely and unfairly at Grover’s feet. Twelve days before he was inaugurated the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad went bankrupt, that was one clear sign the nation’s economy was already in serious trouble. The 1892 cotton crop had been poor, the cash flow from foreign investors was down due to financial crises in Europe and South America. There was no central banking system in the US, so the government had little control over the money supply. It’s a wonder Grover didn’t turn around before he even unpacked.

But They Like Me

He did have some things to smile about though. Three times in a row he’d won the popular vote in a nationwide presidential election! He knew for sure he had supporters out there, somewhere. And two of those times he’d won the most ELECTORAL votes, the last by huge margins – 277 to 145. He had a nice family by his side this time around; daughter Ruth was 17 months old, and Frances, pregnant for the second time, was as pretty as ever, but with a softer, more maternal glow. Now she was aware of the responsibilities of being the wife of a president, though one role was reversed. This time she was the protector in their relationship. Frances recognized how much more difficult things were for Grover. As panic spread across the country, she witnessed a steady decline in his health. He tired more easily, and shockingly, was diagnosed with oral cancer just three months after being back on the job. Frances took responsibility for keeping his condition secret; his doctors agreed and performed the complex operation on a yacht moored off Cape Cod. The tumor on the roof of his mouth, his left jawbone, and five teeth were removed; his speech was affected. Frances wrote letters on his behalf, blaming “rheumatism” for his absences.

The science of the day was able to make a prothesis that corrected the most obvious problems – the shape of his face was brought back into alignment, his famous mustache was untouched, and he was able to speak clearly. Amazingly, that surgery remained a secret until sometime after Grover’s death in 1908.

Escaping

Privacy is hard to come by when you are famous. Back in Term 1, when the press clung to Frances like white on rice, Grover bought an “Escape House” for occasional relief. Woodley Mansion, situated on a hill with a sweeping view of its 29-acre grounds, was built back in 1802 and wasn’t too far from the White House. If you’ve ever been in DC in the summertime, you know how humid and miserable the lower parts of the city can be, so imagine those days before centralized air conditioning. A house on a hill is more apt to catch a breeze, and if you’re one of those folks who can’t leave town in the summer (or if you’re pregnant), you need a breeze. Martin Van Buren escaped to Woodley during his presidency; Grover and Frances took advantage of its cool spaciousness twice; the first time was to protect Frances, the second was more about protecting Grover, and the children. Frances was not in favor of exposing the Cleveland children to public view! And since she wound up being not only the first (and youngest) person to marry in the White House, and then the first to have a baby in the White House (Esther was born September 9, 1893), and then a third pregnancy (Marion was born July 7, 1895 at Gray Gables) the pressure simply never let up. For her, or for Grover.

Spiraling

Let’s cut straight to the chase. Grover couldn’t fix the country. He didn’t mind hard work. He hated wastefulness and corruption. And he wasn’t afraid to say, and do, what he believed to be right. So why didn’t that work? American historian Henry Graff  (1921-2020) wrote this about Grover’s actions during his presidency:

“…his reluctance to provide the country with a clear, ideological direction or to bend Congress to his will indicated his conception of his duties. In his mind, it was enough for him to be hard working, honest, and independent.”

I call to your attention a poem I studied in high school (we all did) written in 1895 while Grover was in office: “If” by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936). Remember it?

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies.…”

Rudyard could have been speaking directly to Grover, it seems. But Kipling, a British poet born in India, was writing to his son, inspired by an event during the Boer wars in South Africa. As what we now dub the Victorian Age was coming to an end, the entire world was undergoing drastic changes. And in the United States, as hundreds of banks and businesses failed and unemployment rates rose to 20%, Grover distanced himself from party machines, made decisions he believed were good, and was endlessly pelted. When offered the opportunity for a third term, he refused.

Or being lied about…

Two stories niggled at Grover’s craw to the last – you can believe the worst versions, or dismiss them as mud-slinging meanness. The “Illegitimate Child” story was cartooned during his first run for President in 1884 as the juicy tidbit “Ma Ma, Where’s My Pa?” It referred to an event ten years earlier when Grover was practicing law in Buffalo. A 38-year-old widow named Maria Halpin claimed he was the father of her child. Admitting the child “could have been” his, he made provisions for the boy’s care. From that point the stories go in vastly different directions. Grover took advantage of her. Took the child away from her. Had her committed to an insane asylum. OR: Lots of fellows visited Maria including Grover’s law partner Oscar Folsom, but all the other guys were married. Grover was a 37-year old bachelor with no wife to upset, so he shouldered the blame. Whatever is true, and to what degree, the boy’s name was recorded as Oscar Folsom Cleveland.

The “Unpaid Veteran” story involves a man named George Brinski. Born in Poland, George arrived in America in 1851. He worked shipping lines in the Atlantic until 1860, then switched to the Great Lakes route between Chicago and Buffalo. In 1863 Grover’s name was pulled for the Union draft. A provision of the Enrollment Act of 1863 allowed the hiring of a substitute, and about 10% of the 290,000 whose name was drawn did just that. Grover was Assistant District Attorney in Erie County at the time, at age 26 single and supporting his mother and younger sisters. On August 5 he hired George Brinski to take his place and George was sworn in to Company F of the 76^th New York Infantry. Before he saw action he was injured while working on a supply train, and reassigned as a hospital handyman. On August 11, 1865 he was mustered out of the army and returned to working on the lakes. It was 1885 when George came to the newly inaugurated president and asked for help, which Grover reportedly refused. George died in 1887. Which is true – in 1863 did Grover honor duty to his mother or shirk duty to his country? In 1885 did Grover ignore a sick old man or was George just asking for a handout? It is true that on February 11, 1887 Grover vetoed House bill 10457 “An act for the relief of …honorably discharged soldiers and sailors who are now disabled…” which would have provided pensions to veterans who became disabled in the years after their military service and not because of it. A hot issue.

If you can keep your head…

It’s much easier to measure the size of a lake when you’re not sitting in the middle of the puddle. Analyzing Grover’s character (would I invite this man to my party?) is easier now than back when all the squabbling was going on. When Grover and Frances left the White House on March 4, 1897, they moved to Princeton; son Richard was born that October. For a time Grover was a trustee at Princeton University. When Theodore Roosevelt took office in 1901, Grover often consulted with him. Another son, Francis, was born in 1903. In 1906 a group of New Jersey Democrats considered Grover a possible candidate for the Senate. But his health had worsened, and on June 24, 1908 he died after suffering a heart attack. He was 71. Out of all that has been said about Grover, I think his deathbed words explain him best – “I have tried so hard to do right.”

When Grover died, Frances was 44 years old and the four children were ages 5 to 15 – the oldest, Ruth, had died of diphtheria 4 years earlier. Frances and the oldest two children attended the memorial service for Grover at Carnegie Hall in March 1909; President William Howard Taft, Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court Melville Fuller, New York Governor Charles Evans Hughes, and New York City Mayor George McClellan were among the speakers at this tribute. The New York Times headlines read: CARNEGIE HALL FILLED AS NATIONAL LEADERS EULOGIZE CLEVELAND: CALLED IDEAL AMERICAN.

Frances. And Then.

Refusing the widow’s pension she was legally entitled to, in September Frances headed for Europe with her children, where they stayed till the following May. Three years later she married Thomas Preston, a professor of archaeology and acting president at Wells College where she still served as a trustee. The Prestons moved to London in 1914, but when World War I began, they returned to the United States. Frances was appointed head of the speakers bureau of the National Security League where she was responsible for organizing rallies and other events to support the war effort.

Frances became more outspoken in her political beliefs as she grew older. She was an opponent of women’s suffrage; however she did begin voting after the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment. She supported Franklin Roosevelt as president in 1932, and then Harry Truman. During the Truman presidency she was invited to a luncheon at the White House where she met General Dwight Eisenhower. As the story goes, Eisenhower didn’t recognize her and asked where in the city she used to live. Her answer (and don’t you know she was hiding a mischievous smile): “The White House.”

Frances died in her sleep October 29, 1947 at son Richard’s home in Baltimore, where she’d come to help him celebrate his 50^th birthday. She was 83. Three graves rowed side by side in Princeton’s Nassau Cemetery bear the Cleveland name today: Ruth Cleveland 1904, Grover Cleveland 1908, and Frances Cleveland 1947.

My favorite “Frances Story” is how she wowed the White House staff because she’d get down on the floor to play with her children, something they’d never seen a First Lady do. I think I’d want those kids to come to my party too. Stories to tell?

#23. Harrison, Benjamin

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – Benjamin Harrison VIII (August 20, 1833 – March 13, 1901) was the 23rd president of the United States from 1889 to 1893. The history books tell you he was “a member of the Harrison family of Virginia,” but I’m telling you he’s your ace ticket for scoring big trivia points with the Harrison name. It pops up everywhere! His great-grandfather Benjamin Harrison V (1726-1791) was a Founding Father who signed the Declaration of Independence. I looked it up, his signature is right under that other famous Virginian, Th Jefferson, in the section below John Hancock. And his grandfather was the ninth President of the United States. For one whole month. Yes, William Henry Harrison (1773-1841) was the first president to die in office and served the shortest term of any president in history. His inaugural speech was the longest ever delivered; and at 68 he was the oldest man (at that time) to ever take office. One of William Henry’s ten children was John Scott Harrison (1804-1878), who represented the state of Ohio for a couple of terms in Congress, dabbling in politics and farming and fathering thirteen children. And one of his children was – yep – Benjamin Harrison VIII. Just think – John’s father was President of the United States and John’s son was President of the United States. That gives him bragging rights not one other person can claim. The Harrison name meant one thing for sure – anyone born with it had a lot to live up to.

What kind of man did Benjamin VIII turn out to be? Actually a pretty nice, well rounded, family oriented fellow. Not only his children lived in the White House with him and First Lady Caroline, but his grandchildren too. One of the most bandied-about stories of his White House residency reports Benjamin holding on to his top hat while chasing a runaway goat down Pennsylvania Avenue. “Old Whiskers” was his grandchildren’s pet, and every afternoon was playtime on the White House lawn. Until that day the goat took off with the grandkids!

The Long and Winding

“Old Whiskers” was just one of many “runaway goats” Benjamin faced during those four White House years, which was a place he never really sought to be. How did he wind up there? A long and winding road, it seems, with an overriding theme. Benjamin followed the good course, dutifully fitting in as he perceived what was expected of him. He was the second-born of ten children, a big-brother role; and, as his parents wanted him to have a good education, he studied. First in a log-cabin schoolhouse, then at age fourteen he and big brother Irwin enrolled at Farmer’s College in Cincinnati where he met Caroline Lavinia Scott; her father was a professor there, and a Presbyterian minister. In two years he transferred to Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, joined Phi Delta Theta and Delta Chi (a law fraternity), and joined the Presbyterian church.

In 1852 he graduated and began to study law with Judge Bellamy Storer in Cincinnati; in 1853 he married Caroline (her father performed the ceremony) and in 1854 he was admitted to the Ohio Bar, sold some property he’d inherited and moved to Indianapolis, began practicing law, and had a son! (Russell Harrison). At that point – do the math – he was just 21 years old.

The years ticked on – he and Caroline were active in the church; in 1856 he joined the newly formed Republican party; in 1857 he was elected city attorney for Indianapolis; in 1858 daughter Mary was born. It was a sensible life, on track. In 1860 he established a new law partnership with William Fishback; but note the year. 1860, and the beginning of war.

If I Can Be Of Service

When Lincoln called for more recruits for the Union Army in 1862, Benjamin struggled with the idea – should he answer the call, or take care of his young family? But he told Ohio’s governor Oliver Morton “If I can be of service, I will go.” He was asked to recruit a regiment, which he did. He was commissioned as a captain and company commander in July of 1862. By August Morton commissioned him colonel, the 70^th Indiana was mustered into service, and the regiment left to join the Union Army at Louisville, Kentucky.

Benjamin fought in the Battles of Resaca, New Hope Church, Kennesaw Mountain, Marietta, Peachtree Creek, Atlanta, and as Sherman continued his march, the Battle of Nashville. Lincoln nominated him to the grade of brevet (honorary) Brigadier General of volunteers in January 1865. On April 9 a Union victory was declared and Benjamin mustered out with the 70^th Indiana on June 8, 1865. He returned home after serving with honor, and without injury.

Back To Lawyering. Plus.

Over the next 20 years Benjamin built up a reputation as one of Indiana’s leading lawyers. He ran for Governor (didn’t win); he ran for Senator (and won, once). He made speeches on behalf of Republican candidates. He made money. And, next thing you know, it’s 1888 and there he is on the Republican ticket. He won. He didn’t get the most POPULAR votes, remember. But it’s those ELECTORAL votes that claim the winner. His inauguration was big fun, he kept his speech much shorter than his granddad did; and John Philip Sousa’s Marine Band played at the Inaugural Ball that evening. The Harrison family was In Again. But Benjamin didn’t much like “in.” He was hounded by job seekers, particularly those who expected rewards for their campaign support. Benjamin had made no political bargains, but his supporters had made many pledges on his behalf. Benjamin hated the constant nab and grab atmosphere, in fact, he even complained about his office space: “There is only a door—one that is never locked—between the president’s office and what are not very accurately called his private apartments.”

Well then. Enter Caroline.

First Lady Caroline didn’t care much for the White House either. She refused the “meet and greet” hostessing duties, leaving those to daughter Mary and daughter-in-law Mary while she continued her extensive charity work, artistic pursuits, and general domestic surveillance. The White House was in terrible condition when the Harrisons moved in – floors were rotted out, rats scurried everywhere, and there was only one bathroom for the family to use! The Harrison crew was huge – in addition to Benjamin and Caroline, their two children Russell (35) and Mary (31) lived there with their families; it was also home to Caroline’s father, sister, and widowed niece Mary Scott Dimmick (31), who served as Caroline’s assistant.

Caroline w her father, daughter, and grandchildren.

Caroline took particular issue with the fact that room arrangements allowed visitors access to family quarters. She wanted to reconstruct the White House, drawing new plans with architect Frederick Owen. But Congress would not fund it, allocating $35,000 for updating instead. She consulted with Thomas Edison to bring electricity into the White House, but he concluded the building wasn’t safe enough in its present state to incorporate the wiring.

With the allocated funds Caroline moved ahead; she had all rooms repainted and carpets and upholstery replaced. She purchased new furniture. She had a heating system and more bathrooms installed and the kitchen modernized. Some electrical wiring was installed to supplement the gas lighting. As to the rat problem – ferrets were released to take care of that. Caroline was on a roll: the musty old basement was redone with concrete floors and tiled walls; the Green Room was redone in rococo style. By the time she finished, she had redone everything. And with a clever marketing eye, she arranged publicity photos including her very popular grandchildren against the backdrop of all this prettiness. Overall, Caroline genuinely cared about the White House. She had all White House furniture accounted for, and documented the history of every item. She ended the practice of selling off furnishings at the end of an administration – like the Resolute Desk, which still serves presidents to this day.

And Just Like That

Caroline’s list of accomplishments is astonishing. She supported women’s rights. She supported education. She raised funds for the Johns Hopkins University Medical School on the condition that it admit women, which it did – the first in the US to do so. She co-founded the Daughters of the American Revolution. She was the first First Lady to make a public speech. And in the midst of it all, on October 25, 1892, just two weeks before Benjamin was defeated for reelection, Caroline died. She’d spent the summer in the Adirondacks after her diagnosis of tuberculosis; her weakening condition affected the presidential campaign. Was it tuberculosis that ultimately killed her, or suspicion? Hold that thought.

Historians today credit Benjamin with doing more to move the nation along the path to world empire than any other, setting the agenda for the next thirty years of foreign policy. He began to build up the Navy – the USS Texas in 1892 was the country’s first battleship; a total of seven ships were started during this period. The country grew – six far west states were admitted to the Union during his presidency – Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, North and South Dakota.

But he also chased a lot of “runaway goats” (while holding onto his hat?) as he and what became known as his Billion Dollar Congress failed to recognize the massive industrial changes and economic hardships that existed, causing railroads and banks and businesses to topple within days of his retirement.

It was a mess. And Grover Cleveland, the Veto Guy, was back in.

Regrets?

Remember my comment about Caroline’s death? That word “suspicion”? Well, Benjamin went on to marry Mary Scott Dimmick. Remember her, Caroline’s widowed niece? The one Caroline brought to the White House as her personal assistant? Some say Mary Dimmick’s romance with Benjamin began while he was in the White House. Did it? We know that Benjamin went back to Indianapolis when he left the White House in 1893, then lived in San Francisco for a while, giving lectures on law at Stanford University. He served on the Board of Trustees at Purdue University, wrote articles about the Federal government, published a book. He didn’t marry Mary until 1896.

Whatever the truth, Benjamin’s children were horrified. They refused to attend the wedding and were never close again. Did Benjamin give a hoot? Maybe not. Maybe he was enjoying his new life free from the expectations he’d dealt with for so many years. He and Mary had a baby right away, daughter Elizabeth. And Benjamin stayed busy doing lawyering things. Worldwide. My gosh, he attended the First Peace Conference at the Hague in 1899; he served on a special committee for creed revision in the national Presbyterian General Assembly. He kept going, clear up to his death in Indianapolis March 13, 1901 from pneumonia.

Side by Side

Benjamin was buried in Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis beside Caroline. Mary lived another 47 years in Indianapolis, in the house from which Caroline hosted the “front porch speeches” that helped Benjamin get elected president. When Mary died in 1948, she was buried in Crown Hill Cemetery, alongside Benjamin. And Caroline.

Would I invite Benjamin to my party? Probably not. He was a hardworking man but seemed to focus on doing what he thought people expected him to do. And that very quality might cause a problem. I mean – which wife would he bring?

#22. Cleveland, Stephen Grover

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – Stephen Grover Cleveland (March 18, 1837 – June 24, 1908) was the 22nd president of the United States, from 1885-1889. He was also the 24th president of the United States, from 1893-1897, the only president in American history (as of this writing) to serve two non-consecutive terms in office. Grover Cleveland graces the history books as a man of firsts. He was the first Democrat elected after the Civil War. He was the first president to get married in the White House, and, if you want a really unusual “first” tidbit about this man – he was no doubt the first to marry a woman whose baby carriage he bought some twenty years earlier! Yes, Grover was much older than pretty Miss Frances Folsom; she was 21 to his 49 when their wedding took place in the Blue Room of the White House June 2, 1886.

Uncle Cleve’s Gift

How in the world did such a romance come about? Did he really buy her baby carriage? Apparently so. You see, back in 1864 when she was born, Grover and Oscar Folsom were law partners in Buffalo, New York, so Grover was a natural part of the Folsom household. It makes sense that he presented the family with a nice gift to celebrate their baby’s birth. And later, when Oscar died in a carriage accident, it also follows logically that “Uncle Cleve” would help manage the Folsom estate and guide little Frances through her educational choices and opportunities. Frances was 11 when her father was killed; she had already been to French kindergarten and Miss Bissell’s School for Young Ladies and was on her way to an education most girls of her time did not have. Why was Grover determined this would continue for her? His own childhood, perhaps? His father died when he was 16.

Richard Falley Cleveland was Yale-educated, and as a Presbyterian minister, served churches in small towns in central New York and moved the family often. Grover was the fifth of nine children born to Richard and Ann – girls Ann, Margaret, Mary, Susan and Rose; boys Richard, Lewis, William and Grover. Stephen Grover Cleveland knew about the rigors and complexity of living in a big family with a small income. He was a fun-loving kid, but always worked to help keep things afloat. After his father’s death he had to forego more formal education to help support his mother and sisters. He worked with an older brother, then as a clerk and part-time law student in Buffalo. He never attended college, but was admitted to the bar in 1858 when he was 22.

Moving On Up

His career stair-stepped from being a hardworking lawyer to running for District Attorney, which he lost, to running for Sheriff of Erie County, New York; which, with the help of friend and partner Oscar Folsom, he won. From Sheriff to Mayor of Buffalo next, then Governor of New York, and THEN, President of the United States just three years after his mayoring duties ended, receiving 4,879,507 votes from the American voting public.

What was unique (and catching) about this man’s personality? Would I invite him to my party? I think I probably would. And, I think he’d come, at least if I promised a summer evening’s barbecue out in the back yard where deer occasionally wander. My favorite quote in all the chutzpah of political posturing is what he reputedly wrote to a friend after he moved into the White House: “I must go to dinner but I wish it was to eat a pickled herring a Swiss cheese and a chop at Louis’ instead of the French stuff I shall find.”

An Ordinary Guy

There was nothing fancy-schmancy about Grover. Even though his early hard work and reputation as a good lawyer brought in a good income, he chose to live simply. He lived in a boarding house. He took care of his mother and sisters. He led an active social life, though not the least interested in “high society.” Grover preferred an easy-going sociability – drinking with his buddies, poker parties, hunting, fishing, and Democratic organizational work. Building alliances, establishing connections, figuring out how things worked. And how they didn’t. Now, another thing to note about this pragmatic fellow: he wasn’t afraid to VETO anything he considered wasteful and corrupt. He did it as Mayor, he did it as Governor, and he did it as President. But before we talk about why he didn’t get re-elected in 1888, let’s go back to his romance with pretty young Frances.

Grover was a confirmed bachelor and FAT when he moved into the White House (not to be blunt, but hey, 280 pounds?). Frances was a beautiful young woman, with a well-educated head on her shoulders (all that guidance, remember). At Wells College in Aurora, New York she was a prominent student – she was interested in political science and was a member of the campus debate club. She was popular; in fact, she once received two marriage proposals on the same day! Didn’t marry though. Grover was Governor of New York at that time, and as always, stayed in touch with Frances. He wrote to her and sent her flowers from time to time.

Frances missed his Presidential inauguration because of final exams that day (and the school’s intolerance for not showing up), but she and her mother visited the White House a few weeks later. She liked Washington, and she liked the White House. Can you imagine the thrill of walking the grounds every evening with this new President, or hanging out in the East Room? She even got to go up in the Washington Monument before it opened!

And Just Like Magic

Frances graduated and spent the summer at her grandfather’s home. Grover took care of his new presidential duties with his sister Rose serving as White House hostess. But things had clicked between Grover and Frances. He proposed. By letter. And Frances accepted. Frances wanted to get married right away, but her mother, AND Grover, insisted she travel and think about her future before marriage. She began a year-long tour of Europe with her mother. Rumors of an engagement were considered gossip; after all, Grover’s attachments had often made the news. So you can guess what happened when reporters caught the Folsoms shopping for a wedding gown in Paris!

By the time they returned from Europe reporters were tracking them. The minute the White House made an official announcement, Frances became a celebrity. And gosh, was that gal popular! Much of the media coverage focused on her appearance. Her style was imitated by women everywhere – the clothing she wore, even her hair. The “a la Cleveland” was a low knot over a shaved nape; her daring décolletage was all the news – she even exposed her arms!

But First Lady Frances took over her White House duties like a pro from the start. She maintained an openness with the public – for instance, in order to accommodate all who wanted to visit the White House, she hosted additional social events on Saturdays so working women could come. She read all the mail that came to her, including countless requests asking her to influence her husband in granting patronage jobs. She maintained close relationships with White House staff. She stayed involved with Wells College too, taking a seat on its board of trustees. Frances was so popular with the public that it served her husband’s administration well – Grover’s political opponents recognized the difficulty of attacking the administration when the First Lady was so well loved.

And gruff old Grover set aside time every day to spend with her – they went to the theater together (can you believe?). They took carriage rides! And they had babies, though not during that first term. They eventually had five children, but let’s go back to politics for a moment and look at what was rumbling around the country during Grover’s first term and how in heck a man with such a beloved spouse would get kicked out after only four years.

When I Say No I Mean No

Remember what I said about his penchant for the VETO? In his first term as president, Grover vetoed 414 congressional proposals! His predecessor’s record? 12 vetoes, in fact, no other president had come anywhere close. But Grover believed in honest politicking and small government in a time of notorious “Gilded Age” corruption. Some people will love you when you have the courage to stand up and block congressional proposals. And some people will not. Don’t forget how media coverage can slant, and campaign funding can pressure.

Grover’s comment about all of this? “What’s the point of getting re-elected,” he said, “if you don’t stand for anything?”

Tariff policy was the principal issue in the 1888 election. Grover believed that high tariffs were unfair to consumers, and proposed a dramatic reduction. His opponent’s well-funded campaign sided with industrialists and factory workers who wanted to keep tariffs high. Grover stuck with the presidential tradition of the time for an incumbent – making no speeches. The bulk of the campaigning was left to Thurman.

And yet Grover Cleveland won 48.6% of the POPULAR vote to his opponents 47.8%! Nevertheless, Benjamin Harrison received 233 ELECTORAL votes to Grover Cleveland’s 168.

Frances Cleveland’s instructions to the staff as she left the White House? “Take good care of the furniture and the house. We’ll be back in four years.” They headed for New York City where Grover took a position with a law firm, though most of their time they spent at Gray Gables, their vacation home on Cape Cod. Grover took up fishing, and Frances had a baby. They named her Ruth.

Currier & Ives Portrait

#21. Arthur, Chester Alan

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – Chester Alan Arthur (October 5, 1829 – November 18, 1886) was the 21st president of the United States, from 1881 to 1885, coming into office upon the death of President James Garfield. There is something sadly endearing about this man, if you look carefully. I’d always pictured Chester, known as “Elegant Arthur” and “Gentlemen Boss,” as a rather portly man who came up through political appointment. But once he assumed the office of President, he followed an honorable path, to the surprise of reformers. He advocated and enforced the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act, something Hayes had worked towards and Garfield pioneered – the awarding of federal jobs based on merit, and not the spoils system. He overcame a negative reputation and left the presidency “more generally respected, alike by political friend and foe.” Mark Twain said of Chester “No duty was neglected in his administration.”

Endearing? Consider his feelings about his wife Nell, who died before he became president. Chester deeply mourned the loss of Nell, and ordered fresh flowers placed daily before her portrait in the White House. He could see St John’s Episcopal Church from the Oval Office, so commissioned a Tiffany stained glass window dedicated to his wife installed in the church, specifying that it be lighted so he could view it at night. Chester never remarried, and was quite protective of his children – son Alan was at Princeton during the White House years, and daughter Ellen, who was 9 at the beginning, was sheltered from the public eye. Chester is credited with saying “I may be president of the United States, but my private life is nobody’s damned business.” Just days before he died, he burned all his personal and official papers. Would I invite this man to my party? Well, yes, I think I would, though I doubt such a private person would come.

How It All Began

Chester’s father William was born in Ireland, graduated from college in Belfast, and emigrated to Canada where he began teaching school near the Vermont border. He married schoolteacher Malvina Stone in 1821 and together they had nine children – Chester was the fifth-born. William studied law for a bit, but eventually became a Freewill Baptist minister. He was also a staunch abolitionist, frequently at odds with his congregation, so the family moved a lot, living in a number of towns in Vermont before eventually settling in Schenectady, New York. Despite the frequent school changes, Chester did well, and in 1845 enrolled at Schenectady’s Union College, following the traditional classical curriculum. In his senior year he was president of the debate society, and was elected to Phi Beta Kappa; during breaks, he taught school. From the time of his graduation in 1848 he taught school and studied law, eventually moving to New York city. He was admitted to the New York bar in 1854 and joined the firm of Erastus Culver, an abolitionist lawyer and family friend. Can you see where this is going?

In one of his first cases as lead attorney, Chester represented Elizabeth Jennings Graham after she was denied a seat on a streetcar because she was black. He won the case and the verdict led to the desegregation of New York city’s streetcar lines. An auspicious beginning! In 1856 Chester started a new law partnership with friend Henry Gardiner; the two traveled to Kansas to set up a practice there. At the time, Kansas was undergoing a brutal struggle between pro and anti-slavery forces. The two New Yorkers didn’t like “frontier life” however and after four months came back to New York. In 1859 Chester really “settled down” – he married Ellen (Nell) Herndon; he was 30, she was 22. Chester had grown up in rural Vermont, remember. But Nell’s family was socially prominent – she was friends with the Vanderbilts, Astors, and Roosevelts. Her social network widened Chester’s political contacts and her mother’s wealth allowed Chester and Nell luxuries such as a Tiffany-furnished three-story brownstone townhouse on Lexington Avenue. Chester devoted himself to the New York Republican party, rising through political patronage to the position of Adjutant General of New York, with a US Army rank of brigadier general. Nell was a talented soprano who sang with the Mendelssohn Glee Club and performed at benefits around New York. They had three children together, and what appeared to be a strong marriage.

The Unexpected Deaths

Chester and Nell lost their firstborn son in 1863; he died of convulsions at age two and a half, a devastating event. On January 10, 1880, Nell Arthur came down with a cold. She quickly developed pneumonia and died two days later at age 42; another unexpected and devastating event. Chester was 50 by then; son Alan was 16 and daughter Ellen 9. Chester was elected Vice President of the United States that November, on the ticket with James Garfield as President; they were sworn in on March 4, 1881. And then, yet another unexpected death; James Garfield was shot on July 2, 1881 and lingered until September 19.

Chester was in New York when he learned that James Garfield had been shot. No one was sure who, if anyone, could exercise presidential authority. Chester was reluctant to be seen acting as president while the president still lived; there were conspiracy theories due to the fact that Garfield’s assassin loudly proclaimed “Arthur is president now!” Chester refused to travel to Washington and was at his home on Lexington Avenue in New York on September 19 when he learned that Garfield had died. Just after midnight Chester dispatched messengers to locate a judge who could administer the presidential oath. At 2:15 am on September 20 John Brady, a Justice of the New York Supreme Court, administered the oath of office in Chester’s home.

Next Actions

Chester prepared and mailed to the White House a proclamation calling for a special Senate session, ensuring that the Senate had legal authority to convene even if he died before reaching Washington. He then joined the funeral train as Garfield’s body was moved from New Jersey to Washington. On September 22 he re-took the oath of office before Chief Justice Morrison Waite to ensure procedural compliance; former presidents Ulysses Grant and Rutherford Hayes were present for the ceremony in the capitol. Chester took up residence at the home of Senator John Jones shortly afterwards and ordered remodeling of the White House, to include a 50-foot glass Tiffany screen.

Chester’s youngest sister Mary served as White House hostess during his time in office, and helped to care for the children. But sadly, Chester was diagnosed with Bright’s disease, an acute inflammation of the kidneys, shortly after becoming president. As Mark Twain noted, no duty was neglected on Chester’s watch, but due to his poor health he retired at the end of his term. He left the White House in March 1885 and returned to his home in New York City where he died November 18, 1886. His New York private funeral was attended by President Cleveland and former President Hayes; he is buried beside his wife in Albany Rural Cemetery in Menands, New York.

What Remains

Son Chester Alan Arthur II graduated Princeton and Columbia Law School but warned by Chester on his deathbed to “avoid politics,” Alan spent his life playing polo and traveling. He died in 1937. Daughter Ellen Arthur, who was only 15 when her father died, stayed out of politics as well; she died in 1915 at the age of 44.

The elegant Tiffany-filled Lexington Avenue brownstone that was the Arthur home for so many years today houses Kalustyan’s, a Mediterranean grocery store, on the first two floors, and apartments on the top three. It is the only surviving building in New York City where a president was sworn into office. The Tiffany screen Chester put into the White House entrance hall was removed in 1902 by President Teddy Roosevelt, who didn’t care for Victorian style; it was auctioned off and eventually installed in the Belvedere Hotel in Maryland, which burned to the ground in 1923.

The Presidential Succession Act of 1886 provided that in case of the removal, death, resignation or inability of both the President and Vice President, a cabinet officer “appointed by and with consent of the Senate and eligible to the office of president and not under impeachment” would act as President until the disability of the President or Vice-President is removed or a President shall be elected. This last provision replaced the 1792 provision for a double-vacancy special election, a loophole left for Congress to call such an election if that course seemed appropriate.

#20. Garfield, James Abram

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas – James Abram Garfield (November 19, 1831 – September 19, 1881) was the 20th president of the United States, from March 4, 1881, until his death by assassination six and a half months later. Two words come to mind when I read the story of James’ life: What If? What if his presidency had lasted more than six months? He had high ideals – what impact might he have made on our country? What if x-ray had already been invented when he was shot? His wound wouldn’t even be considered serious today, and he wouldn’t have suffered the infection caused by endless probing with unsterilized fingers, and instruments. James Garfield overcame the poverty he was born into. He studied so hard and learned so much he graduated Phi Beta Kappa. He built a strong enough marriage with Lucretia Rudolph that they had seven children together, and she was there at his bedside during those last awful months.

Would I invite this man to my party? Probably not. A pallor of sadness hung over James Garfield. Things just didn’t seem to work out for him – and this was a guy who spoke Latin and Greek and had the mathematical talent to develop a trapezoid proof of the Pythagorean theorem! He once wrote “I lament that I was born to poverty, and in this chaos of childhood, seventeen years passed before I caught any inspiration … a precious 17 years when a boy with a father and some wealth might have become fixed in manly ways.”

Well It Was Lousy

Yes, James was born in a log cabin. He was the youngest of five children, and yes, his father Abram died shortly after he was born. Leaving his mother Eliza in a bad spot – so she remarried quickly, only to leave her second husband just as quickly (one could suspect he was not a kindly person). Divorce was scandalous in those days, and times were tough for the family. Eliza loved to tell James stories of their ancestors – especially the Welch side of the family, and the “knight of Caerffili Castle.” Outside of the house, James was bullied by the other kids; he escaped by reading every book he could find. At the age of 16 he left home.

He first found work on a canal boat, managing the mules. That was short-lived; he became ill and returned home where Eliza finally persuaded him to go to school. In 1848 his life began to shift – he enrolled at Geauga Seminary, where he became especially interested in languages and elocution, and wrote “I love agitation and investigation and glory in defending unpopular truth over popular error.” Of course he worked during his school years – he was a carpenter’s assistant, a janitor, and most frequently, a teacher. Lucretia Rudolph was a fellow student at Hiram College – James wooed her while teaching her Greek. And he had a religious awakening, got baptized in the Chagrin River, and attended many camp meetings. He also developed a regular preaching circuit. As he completed all a school had to offer, he moved on to the next until finally enrolling at Williams College in Massachusetts, where, as I mentioned, he graduated Phi Beta Kappa. A pretty darned good student.

He returned to Ohio as a “man of distinction” teaching at Hiram; in 1857 was made its president, and began to get involved in politics. He married Lucretia in 1858 (he was 27, she was 26), began to read law, and was admitted to the bar in 1861 at the age of 30.

Government Positions

• Member of Ohio State Senate, 1859-61
• Member of U.S. House of Representatives, 1863-80
• Elected to United States Senate, 1880
• President of the United States, 1881

Now here’s a quirky thing:

On election day, November 2, 1880, he was at the same time a member of the House, Senator-elect and President-elect. Lucky guy, you’d think! He hadn’t even sought out the presidency, and received only a few thousand more popular votes than Democrat Hancock. But that was enough – he was inaugurated as President of the United States March 4, 1881, along with his vice-president Chester Arthur. His predecessor Rutherford Hayes was there; James’ mother Eliza was there too – the first time a president’s mother had attended an inauguration. The Inaugural Ball at the beautiful new Smithsonian Arts and Industries Building that evening featured a large “Statue of America” in the museum’s rotunda; John Phillip Sousa directed the evening’s music. It should have been the start of something good. But something was awry from the first. James was an extremely competent public speaker, but his inaugural speech fell flat. And in only a few months, the unthinkable happened.

The End Was Too Close To The Beginning

On July 2, 1881, Charles J Guiteau shot and fatally wounded President James A Garfield in the lobby of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Depot in Washington, DC as he yelled, “I am a stalwart and Arthur is now President of the United States!” Guiteau blamed the president for not selecting him for a job at the US Consulate in Paris.

James’ presidency was cut so short there isn’t enough of a legacy to rank him among the worst and best. He was the last president to be born in a log cabin and one of the most well-read of our presidents. Maybe that childhood bullying toughened him up; as soon as he took office he pioneered the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act, making it a law that all government jobs be granted on the basis of merit and merit alone. And then was killed by a man wanting a job. At least, that’s part of the story.

President Garfield did not die immediately, but lingered for eleven weeks, during which time surgeons repeatedly attempted to find the bullet that had lodged in his back. In spite of Joseph Lister’s discoveries regarding the use of antiseptics in surgery, the practice of sterilization had not caught on, and Garfield’s wound was probed by many unwashed fingers. The resulting infection, not the bullet, caused Garfield’s eventual death on September 19, 1881. Vice president Chester A Arthur became president of the United States on September 20.

Addressing A Problem

Garfield’s incapacitation sparked a constitutional crisis, as the Cabinet was divided over whether the vice president should assume the office of the incapacitated president or merely act in his stead. It was not until 1967, with the passage of the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the Constitution, that the question of the succession of power was fully addressed. Today, the vice president assumes the office of president in the event that a sitting president is “unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office.”

In spite of Guiteau’s manifest insanity at his trial, his attorneys were unable to gain an acquittal on that basis—it was, however, one of the first uses of the modern insanity defense in a criminal court. After a six-month trial that sparked great public interest, Guiteau was found guilty and hanged on June 30, 1882.

Closure

James Abram Garfield was 50 years old when assassinated. Lucretia was 49 and the children were still young; Harry was 18, James 16, Mary 14, Irvin 11, and Abram 9 when they, and James’ mother Eliza, left the White House after their brief stay. A $350,000 trust fund was raised for Lucretia and the children by financier Cyrus Field. Eliza lived another seven years; Lucretia another 37; she was active in preserving the records of James’ career and creating a wing to the home that became a presidential library of his papers. Eliza is buried beside her husband in Roselawn Cemetery, Solon, Ohio. Lucretia is buried beside James in the James A Garfield Memorial, Lake View Cemetery, Cleveland, Ohio. Five terra cotta panels surround the balcony depicting James’ life; the last shows him lying in state in the Capitol rotunda. Lake Erie’s shore is visible, on a clear day.