Big Mo's Presidents Review

Finis for now

2010-12-10T21:37:00.004-06:00

I've decided to hiberate this site and migrate the content elsewhere. The project has been fun, but since early 2010 I've been refining and updating all the previous essays, and rather than continue here, I'll place them elsewhere. In the meantime, feel free to check out the past posts, with the understanding that the content is no longer up to date (or proofed well).

In addition, I changed the focus of this project to concentrate only on Washington through Cleveland. I may do a second project concerning McKinley through Obama, but that is in the future. My speciality is 19th century America, and I'm happy to help people understand better that each president from Washington through Cleveland are worth remembering in their own right, instead of being "forgotten."

After all, there is nothing new under the sun, as the saying goes, and some of the challenges the previous presidents faced can help inform the presidents of today.

Key takeaways from Numbers 1 through 24 (part 1)

2009-03-24T19:55:00.004-05:00

While I'm finishing my McKinley essay, a decided to put up a list of some of the key takeaways from eac president. Here's part 1.

George Washington
The first president served the country ably and admirably, both as the figurehead leader and the functional president. Although naïve in thinking he could avert the formation of political parties, he performed the greatest act that any leader has ever done in modern history: rather than become king for life, he permanently walked away from power and became a private citizen once more.

John Adams
Adams the president deserves a place almost equal to Adams the founding father. His political theories, which he put into practice as president, helped assure that the United States would be a democratic-republic, and not just the “for the people” democracy that the Jeffersonians thought that they wanted. And Jefferson unwittingly owed the success of his presidency to the very political philosophy that he repeatedly attacked in Adams!

Thomas Jefferson
Despite the fact that Jefferson did not want his presidency remembered—at least as an accomplishment—Jefferson moved the presidency and the nation forward in many positive ways. The idea that the United States government was one for the common man is certainly his most endearing contribution: Lincoln drew upon it in the nation’s darkest hour, FDR used it to contrast liberty with fascism, and many a politician today claims to speak “for the people.” The idea that local government should have more control of affairs than a central government still resonates as well—especially among modern-day conservatives—despite the seeming discredit of states’ rights in 1865.

James Madison
Madison wasn’t that great of a president, but he was a steady one. Choices of incompetent cabinet officers—and retaining them after the war began—and the utter lack of real direction in the early stages of the war hurt him and the country. But Madison rose to the occasion, and corrected his deficiencies. He never panicked. And that itself is key. Bad things often happen when presidents act out of haste instead of deliberation.

James Monroe
The fifth president a hard-working man who was fully aware of his limitations and worked well within those boundaries. Once he set his mind to a task, he accomplished it. He wasn’t afraid to surround himself with brilliant men (Crawford, J. Q. Adams, Calhoun), seek the advice of his mentor friends (Jefferson and Madison) and reject their advice when he made his decisions. He had the courage of his convictions, and never appeared wishy-washy on anything. Monroe also had a strong grasp of the Constitution, his executive powers and limits, and an equally strong grasp of foreign affairs. He was an excellent communicator in that he kept on top of letters, correspondence, orders, bills, etc. Overall, Monroe is a model for steady leadership and the recognition of limitations.

John Quincy Adams
The younger Adams should stand as the model of what not to do when trying to become president. Do not make bargains with political allies that could—or will—backfire on you massively, causing your time in office to be one continual battle against knee-jerk reactionaries. The “corrupt bargain” of 1828 killed Adams’ presidency before it even started, more so than his dismal performance in office. On a brighter note, J.Q. Adams’ career attests to the fact that, post-presidency, men can go on to even greater things.

Andrew Jackson
Jackson was the first truly strong president and had his way throughout his presidency, largely through stubbornness. He should stand as an example of heavy-handed bluntness AND the king of unintended consequences. His personal war with Nicholas Biddle precipitated the Panic of 1837—right after he left office. His strong stance against disunion inspired Lincoln and Fillmore.

Martin Van Buren
Martin Van Buren had the unfortunate luck to become president just when the nation entered severe economic crisis. His presidency never fully recovered from the Panic of 1837. He also stands as proof that brilliant political organizers do not necessarily make strong presidents.

William Henry Harrison
Harrison never had a chance to prove himself as president, but he left an indelible mark: the popular presidential campaign, with rallies, singing, stunts and mass media overload.

John Tyler
The nation owes John Tyler a debt of gratitude for firmly establishing the constitutional right of presidential succession. The vice president became president, not a mere cipher for the cabinet or the Senate.

James K. Polk
James Polk stands as the archetype of the president who accomplished every single one of his goals before leaving office. He’s also proof that you don’t have to be a likable man to obtain high office or govern effectively.

Zachary Taylor
The underrated Zachary Taylor went against his slave-holding class to reach a compromise between increasingly antagonistic sections. Like his successor, he believed in reaching amicable solutions but laying a firm demarcation line between unsavory ambitions and following the rule of law.

Number 44 visits Number 16

2009-02-13T00:13:00.018-06:00

Abraham Lincoln was born on Feb. 12, 1809, and today was the 200th anniversary of his birth.

President Obama participated in three celebrations yesterday and today: at the Lincoln Memorial, at Ford's Theater and the Lincoln Museum in Springfield, Ill.

It's a fitting triibute for two reasons: First (the trivial reason) it's the second president from Illinois visiting the home of the first president from Illinois. MOre importantly, though, he's paying tribute to the greatest of all the presidents. And considering how Frederick Douglass viewed President Lincoln when their budding friednship was cut short in 1865, it's fair to say Lincoln would have celebrated last November.

In the first picture (AP), President Obama greets a Lincoln impersonator at Ford's Theater on Feb. 11. In the second picture (Rueters), President Obama speaks at the Lincoln Museum in Springfield, Ill. on Feb. 12.

I hope someone got a picture similar to this one from a couple of years ago (G.W. visist the first G.W's home) but I have't been able to find any.

Thank you #43, hello #44

2009-01-20T20:00:00.017-06:00

After almost a year's absence, I'm resuming my review of the presidents. I'll be starting with William McKinley, and will post in February. I'll post a new one each month until I finish with Dubya, and then I'll write a preliminary assessment of Obama.

Got too intense for a while with too much politics, and I actually burned myself out. But no more. I have the itch to continue with this project, especially because I've added new books to my library on McKinley, FDR, Kennedy and Reagan.

So...

THANK YOU, #43, President George W. Bush, for your dedication, service and faithfulness!

And a hearty WELCOME to #44, Barack H. Obama!

(Note: I don't have the photo credits for any of the above. The photos are AP or the White House, while the images were passed along on the internet. If anyone knows the proper credit for the last two, please let me know.)

I thought this was a pretty cool event: five presidents (well, one soon-to-be when this was taken) meeting in the Oval Office. From left: George H. W. Bush (#41), Barack Obama (#44), George W. Bush (#43), Bill Clinton (#42) and Jimmy Carter (#39). The last time this many presidents were together was for, I think, Nixon's funeral in the mid-1990s.

On hiatus

2008-09-03T18:31:00.004-05:00

This project has been on hold for a number of months because of family and work committments. Plus, I overextended myself with my self-imposed ambitious schedule.

I'll be continuing this soon, and possibly migrating it to a new site.

In the meantime, I am returning to the published essays and correcting them for grammar, spelling, style, graphics and, in some cases, actual text. What you see in each essay is not the final until the actual words "FINAL" appear at the beginning of each essay.

Number 23: Benjamin Harrison

2008-04-19T22:16:00.003-05:00

Years in office: 1889-1893
Pre-service occupations: lawyer, Indiana supreme court reporter (elective office), general, U.S. Senator
Key events during his administration: Johnstown, Pa., flood (1889); first Pan-American Conference (1889); Sherman Anti-trust Act (1890); Sherman Silver Act (1890), Wounded Knee (1890), McKinley Tariff (1890); overthrow of Hawaiian monarchy and treaty to annex Hawaii (1892); death of first lady Caroline Harrison (1892); states admitted to the Union: North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana and Washington (all 1889), and Idaho and Wyoming (both 1890).

Presidential rating: Mildly successful and mixed on popularity

ESSAY

Here’s a difficult presidential quiz that you can try on your friends and family. The first question should narrow it down a little:

1) Who was the original trust buster?

2) Who struggled to get civil rights legislation passed?

3) Who was the true author of big government?

4) Who believed that the government had a responsibility to act for the public good?

This was a trick question, of course, and if you said Theodore Roosevelt or Abraham Lincoln to any of the answers, you’re wrong. There’s only one right answer: Benjamin Harrison (naturally, because you’re reading a review about him!).

Benjamin Harrison is probably the most “forgotten” of all the forgotten presidents. Sandwiched between Grover Cleveland’s two terms, sometimes confused with his more famous grandfather, and not celebrated in any way by the Republican Party, Benjamin Harrison seems like one of those people you are duty-bound to write or talk about just because he was president.

However, Benjamin Harrison was actually a decent president, one worthy of being remembered. The first half of his term was unusually successful—but that success helped doom him to defeat. He was not a towering figure in American politics, but he was an important player. Harrison was a strong Christian man who believed that a man should pay his dues—he never traded off his famous grandfather’s name, although the temptation was certainly there. He displayed excellent speaking skills, and used his oratory to secure a place in Republican ranks and set himself up as a thorn in the side of Democrats, whom he considered traitors.

Yet Benjamin Harrison had a reputation of something of a cold fish. Never a party favorite and always seemingly at odds with his secretary of state, the popular and ambitious James G. Blaine, Harrison did his presidential duty and then faded from history. What he helped set in motion, however, would reverberate over the next quarter century, making Benjamin Harrison a key, if not great, president.

Young Harrison
Benjamin Harrison was born in the shadow of greatness. His great-grandfather, Benjamin Harrison V, signed the Declaration of Independence and was a leader of Virginia during the rebellion against the Crown. His grandfather, William Henry, was of course the victor of Tippecanoe, hero of the War of 1812 and the 10th president of the United States. Young Benjamin, however, never acted as if he were royalty or anything special because of his lineage. Instead, he became infused with strong Christian beliefs that were to guide him his whole life.

For example, he grew up believing that a man needed to earn his keep and pay his dues. He never played off the name or fame of his grandfather—or even his own. Even after his term as president, he kept up his law practice. He also served as an elder in his church throughout much of his adult life. He believed wholeheartedly in living a godly life; the Lord was not far from his thoughts—or his actions. His public and private life were one and the same.

However, “stiff” would barely begin to describe Benjamin Harrison. One of the many nicknames given to him was “little iceberg,” and as you can imagine, it wasn’t flattering. Socially awkward and reserved, he nevertheless won the hand of Caroline Lavina Scott, whom he married in 1853.

Harrison struggled to begin a law practice in Indianapolis, where he won his first elective office. When war came, he joined the Union army as an officer and went into action in 1862.

The War
His service in the army mellowed him and made him less stiff. He raised the 70th Indiana Volunteers and saw some minor action in Tennessee and Kentucky before leading it and three other regiments in the Atlanta campaign. Harrison missed the March to the Sea, however, as he was called home to help ensure Republican victories in the fall elections. He later participated in the Nashville campaign and finished the war a brigadier of volunteers. But because of his time with Sherman in the campaign for Atlanta, he actually fought far more battles than Old Tippecanoe Harrison, his grandfather.

It’s also interesting to note that in 1864, Rutherford Hayes refused to leave the Army to campaign for the congressional seat he was nominated for (he won) claiming that anyone who did so “ought to be scalped.” Benjamin Harrison had a completely opposite understanding, believing that ensuring Republican electoral success was just as important as battlefield duty.

Rise of a faithful Republican
There is little to wonder at why Benjamin Harrison became a staunch Republican. Indiana was one of the birthplaces of the Republican party, and many of his grandfather’s beliefs seem to have found root with him as well, concerning duty and country.

He considered the Democrats either traitors or half-hearted supporters of the war, and oppressors of the free blacks. He believed that Republicanism was the true friend of blacks and labor. Why? Republicans had resumed specie payment, pushed a homestead act and, of course, freed the slaves and pressed for civil rights. His pre-presidential speeches rarely failed to emphasize the fact that Democrats were on the wrong (losing) side of the war.

His political career included serving as the Indiana supreme court’s reporter (an elective office), for which he proved diligent, and a failed campaign for nomination for governor. Indiana party leader Oliver Morton thought Harrison an arrogant aristocrat, but when the party’s nominee had to drop out, Harrison made a go and came within 1% of winning the governor’s seat. Later, when Senator Morton died, Harrison took his Senate seat. It was there that the Republicans found him when the time came to select a candidate for 1888.

1888: A suspect election
Benjamin Harrison became president at a time when stump speaking was still an art form. He was an excellent orator and certainly one of the best in the nation. He was frequently sought as a stump speaker, and spoke often around Indiana and the country for such Republicans as Hayes and Garfield, and later, himself.

Why was Harrison tapped for president? It wasn’t because of his grandfather, whose name Harrison never traded off of. Biographer Calhoun writes:

“It is impossible to know precisely when Benjamin Harrison began seriously to consider the notion that he could follow in his grandfather’s footsteps to the White House. After he had won the prize, he told a friend that ‘the thought had been with him many times when suggested by others, but he had never been possessed by it or had his life shaped by it.” (p.45)

It may have even been simple ambition. Regardless, by 1888, Republicans believed they could win the White House again from Grover Cleveland. The party had few prominent and nationally known fresh faces at this time, other than John Sherman and James G. Blaine, who still commanded attention and loyalty. Surprisingly, Blaine, a man would could rightfully be labeled the dean of the Republican Party, declined to run in 1888, leaving Sherman as the only heavy-hitter.

The Hoosier native saw his chance when Blaine decided not to run again. Harrison and his allies built upon his superb oratory skills and stance on the tariff—President Cleveland had made his entire 1887 address to Congress about lowering the tariff—voting rights in the South, and so on.

After numerous ballots at the convention, and with Blaine’s full backing, Harrison won the nomination. The tariff issue dominated the campaign, which featured Harrison conducting America’s first “front-porch campaign” wherein the candidate himself made numerous speeches on his own behalf at his Indiana home.

At this time, Calhoun writes, the two parties had achieved parity: both were pretty equal in terms of strength, and each had its strongholds, but it’s incorrect, he writes, to label this a Republican era because all but one presidents were Republicans. Congress changed hands several times, and the presidential votes were quite close, few more so than 1888.

For the third time in American history—and the second time in about a decade—the victor of the electoral college was not the man with the most popular votes. Harrison won the electoral college 233 to 168 while falling short by 100,000 popular votes to Cleveland. All well and good constitutionally—yet something wasn’t quite right. In fact, something really stank. Harrison attributed his victory to Providence, but a fraudulent voting technique called “block voting” in New York and Indiana, as well as numerous “favor” pledges made on behalf of Harrison—without his knowledge, it seems—sealed an election victory that might not have—or maybe should not have—happened.

Was Harrison elected by fraud? It’s not totally clear. Regardless, Cleveland did not challenge the election and neither did the Democrats. Harrison, unruffled by charges of fraud—after all, he was innocent, right?—went about preparing to do his duty. Four years later, though, the Clevelands would return.

The new president
While reading Charles Calhoun’s meaty biography of Benjamin Harrison, the 23rd president rose in my estimation out of obscurity into the ranks of decent presidents. This is partially because he had such a cussedly hard job to do as president. Once in office, Harrison, like every previous man to hold that position, was flooded with office-seekers—and also “requests” from state bosses and other powerful party men for positions either for themselves or favored sons as payment for services rendered during the campaign. It was a seedy side of politics, one which Grant made a valiant but doomed attempt to reform, and which Hayes, Garfield and then Arthur made some headway in fixing.

But running for president and actually being president are two different things. If you are a man of high character, as Harrison was, you don’t look on being president as (to use the modern term) being a big sugar daddy. Harrison did replace Democrat officials with Republican ones—as was expected, all crying aside—but he balked when it came to his cabinet. James Blaine, the very powerful Maine senator and de facto leader of the Republican Party, wanted the secretary of state’s office. But Harrison, wary of having the polished and refined dandy Blaine as a co-equal in the administration, waited for two months before offering Blaine the position at State. By doing so, Harrison was letting there be no mistake as to who was president and who was merely a cabinet member. Blaine got the message, but their friendship slowly eroded over the next four years.

So did Harrison’s support, because in trying to do the right thing amid the myriad of appointments, he unfortunately angered state bosses, who were not inclined to support him in 1892. They chose politics over the best for the nation, while Harrison, with Christ as his guiding light, chose the best for the nation over politics. And it cost him dearly.

The activist president and Congress
I laugh when modern-day libertarians and conservatives claim that Abraham Lincoln is the author of big government. Most of Lincoln’s measures were either wartime proscriptions that disappeared after the war or were Republican party platform measures that would have been enacted regardless of the war, such as the Homestead Act. Up until the final decades of the century, however, Americans largely looked askance at any intrusiveness of the central government. State control still reigned supreme (the Civil War aside) but more people began to realize that government needed to be larger by default and demanded that government take more action in more areas of people’s everyday lives.

For example, a dam burst caused much devastation and loss of life at Johnstown, Penn., in 1889. President Harrison appropriated federal funds for the town to rebuild (something his predecessor/successor Cleveland opposed) and the president received what could almost be termed a hero’s reception when he visited.

Mainly, though, the activism centered on business and economic concerns, what with labor and farmers demanding more control over their financial well-being, and freedom from the control of Eastern bankers and financiers. The social activism of black rights had faded from the forefront as a national issue after Reconstruction, Indian rights seemed to be fading as the frontier closed in, and women’s rights hovered in the background.

The Republican Party had drifted away from the “waving of the bloody shirt” associated with reforming the South and became tied more to business interests. It’s grossly incorrect to label the Republicans the party of big business during this era, especially because of how presidents from Grant through Harrison acted—and especially the 51st Congress of 1888-1890. The 51st congress, controlled by the Republicans and driven by the idealism of Harrison, was the most activist congress the Republic had ever seen. More than 500 pieces of legislation were passed into law. Biographer Calhoun writes that the activity was a shock on a nation used to a more placid government. And that very activism is what led to the Republicans getting creamed in the elections of 1890, losing control of the House by a huge margin.

That defeat was in the future, and Harrison enjoyed several legislative victories in his first two years, including the Sherman Anti-Trust Act, the Sherman Silver Purchase Act and the McKinley Tariff.

The first was the famous “trust-busting” bill (basically an anti-monopoly bill) that became associated with Teddy Roosevelt instead of Harrison, even though 12 suits were brought during the next two years under Harrison. The second was a sticky situation that was less of a victory and more of a troublesome compromise. It increased the amount of silver that the government bought each month—but the bill was far short of the free coinage of silver that Western silver backers wanted—silver being found in abundance in the West. Essentially what this meant was that government money was backed by both silver and gold, with gold in greater proportion to silver. But people turned their silver notes in for Treasury gold, which depleted government gold and led to the Panic of 1893. (See the previous entry on Grover Cleveland for much more on this debate and the Panic.)

The third was a big victory for Harrison—and for the next Republican president, Congressman McKinley—in that he had campaigned on protectionism. The tariff bill was passed in part because Republicans lent support to the silver act, and also in part a response to a very high Treasury surplus, which the new tariff legislation would eat away. The Republicans pledged to protect American manufacturers from “unfair” foreign competition, and a lower tariff was intended do much to protect business while easing the burden on the Treasury.

However, the silver and tariff bills wound up not helping the Republicans in the fall elections—particularly, I think, because Harrison’s longed-for civil rights bill was postponed—and the GOP lost seats. The civil rights bill, which never came to pass because of GOP seat loss, would have used federal authority to help secure black citizens the right to vote in the south. Harrison strongly believed that blacks had—and were even owed—a place at the political table, and he sought to secure their freedoms from the Southern governments, all controlled by Democrats. But his efforts unfortunately bore no fruit, and the failure to get a civil rights bill was a bitter disappointment.

The 1890 elections
As mentioned, the Republicans lost heavily in the fall elections, and control of the House transferred to the Democrats. The aforementioned activism greatly aided in Republican defeats.

Another, equally important reason why the Republicans lost was the president himself. Harrison’s negative reaction to the demands of appointments sullied his name among party leaders. Despite the reforms battle that had come to a head during Chester Arthur’s term, appointments remained the biggest way you “played to your base,” but Harrison was more interested in doing what was right for the country than what was right for the party. Consequently, both he and the party suffered for it. There was simply less enthusiasm and energy for the party in 1890 than there was in 1888. (Sounds familiar, doesn’t it.)

The 51st Congress’ session didn’t end until March 1891; so, there was more work to be done. But Harrison would not get his long-sought civil rights bill, however, due to a combination of financial crises (which Harrison and his Treasury secretary handled as well as the Federal Reserve would in the 20th century) and further agitation from the silver coin crowd.

When the 52nd congress came in, Harrison’s cherished civil rights bill died forever. Even Harrison’s attempts to try for compromise failed. Racist white supremacist Democrats and uncaring free-silver Western Republicans killed the bill over unfounded fears of a “new Reconstruction.” The aged Frederick Douglass, however, noticed and called Harrison a great president and friend of blacks (similar to comments he gave about Grant).

Blaine troubles
The first two years of the Harrison presidency seemed to be happier than the final two, with good reason (more on that later). But it seems that the Blaines, and another stalwart of Republican politics, Rockefeller, snobbishly looked down on the simple and pious Harrison and his wife, Caroline. Blaine also worked at cross purposes with his boss, even writing public letters against proposed or official policy and then privately writing his boss that he hoped he hadn’t said anything to upset Harrison.

I have developed a dislike of Blaine—the kind of politician I could really do without. He seems like a political snake—or at least a Machiavellian. I didn’t like him much on a personal level when I was reading the biographies on Cleveland, and I certainly don’t like him now. An important figure, certainly, and very competent, but a politician through and through.

International actions
Internationally, Blaine and Harrison worked together with England and Germany in what was America’s first foreign treaty of cooperation. America and the two European powers came to an agreement concerning portage rights in Samoa.

Harrison also presided (nominally) over the first Pan-American congress, which was the loving brainchild of his secretary of state. Blaine had originally conceived the idea of a conference of American nations to come together for peace and stability during his short term as Garfield’s secretary of state in 1881. He kept the idea going during the terms of Arthur and Cleveland—neither was interested—and he finally got the chance to revive the idea almost a decade later. This First International Conference of American States was held Jan. 20-27, 1890, but to his disappointment, it wasn’t what he expected it would be. The conference focused more on commerce and industry and less on avoiding war through mutual commerce and cooperation.

Even though the conference fell short of expectations, it nevertheless proved to be the starting point for the Pan American Union (PAU), which still exists today.

In Hawaii, a cabal of American businessmen, Europeans and Hawaiians who called themselves the Committee of Safety overthrew Queen Liliuokalani and established a new government. A treaty of annexation was sent to President Harrison, who, uneasy at first, sent it to the Senate. President Cleveland killed the treaty during his second term after learning more about what actually happened. (See the Cleveland entry for the full story.)

Massacre at Wounded Knee
In 1890, the last action of the Indian Wars took place, the battle or massacre at Wounded Knee, S.D. Harrison was continuing the policy that Grant first put in place to press for citizenship of Indians but punish those who committed crimes.

The real culprit in this sad episode seems to have been a corrupt Indian agent who made unfulfilled promises and also made great exaggerations regarding the “hostile” nature of the Sioux’s Ghost Dance. Harrison had been ordering caution and was reading Gen. Nelson Miles’ report on the situation when word reached him of the battle/massacre. Mainly, it seems like the it was a situation that just got out of hand, and the Sioux were more victim here than aggressor. The colonel in charge was brought to a court martial but was exonerated. The sad affair did not prompt any change in policy by Harrison. Calhoun writes that the president viewed it more as an unfortunate incident than the watershed event we now look on it as being.

End of the administration and loss to Cleveland
Harrison and his team successfully averted a cholera outbreak by halting immigration, but he received little praise for it. Instead, he lost support among immigrants over labor and immigration issues. Some I agree with, others I do not, like the continued banning of Chinese immigrants, begun by Cleveland. Harrison—unfairly—took hits over labor unrest.

Worse, Harrison’s actions in 1889 and ‘90 were now hurting. There was a movement to make the ailing Blaine the nominee, and state bosses and bigwigs were not too thrilled with Harrison over appointments. Blaine and Harrison fell out—Mrs. Blaine was open with her contempt, even hatred of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison—so that when the “draft Blaine” movement gained strength, Blaine finally resigned from State. Curiously, Harrison did not pull out all of the stops on securing the nomination until two weeks before the convention. When he finally did, he only got 60% support. The remaining 40% of the delegates split their support between Blaine and McKinley.

Cleveland, on the other hand, easily secured the nomination. Democrats were ready this time around, and made alliances with the Populists and even free-silver Republicans. There wasn’t much enthusiasm on the Republican side, and Cleveland won.

But probably the biggest factor (which Calhoun doesn’t go into that much) was that the standard bearer himself was absent. Caroline Harrison had been sick throughout much of 1892 and had finally been diagnosed with tuberculosis. Harrison avoided all campaigning, preferring to remain with his dying wife. She succumbed in late October, two weeks before the election. How in the world could a man campaign under such a circumstance? He couldn’t, and he didn’t. (Cleveland halted his campaigning out of respect.)

Still, Harrison left office believing (correctly, I might add) that he had done the best possible job he could, and that his administration had served the public interests well. He did leave with a black eye, though, over the shameful coup in Hawaii. It is highly unlikely that Harrison had anything to do with it, but he nevertheless approved that it had happened and sent annexation papers to Congress. Nothing happened on it, though.

After leaving the White House, Harrison returned to Indianapolis, where he resumed his law career.

He then married a widow, Mary Scott Lord Dimmick, in 1896. She wasn’t just any widow, but Caroline’s niece and his longtime pen-pal confidant. Many in his family didn’t approve of the marriage.

In 1899, he attended the First Peace Conference at The Hague. He died in 1901.

Final assessment

Benjamin Harrison was a president who served with honor. He’s “forgotten,” but he and the 51st Congress set some things in motion that, in a way, we’re still dealing with. A tremendously activist central government came out of his presidency. It was still a far cry from the almost wholesale reordering of the relationship between government and governed during the FDR years, but nevertheless, American government began to change in a fundamental way during the Harrison years that’s only now beginning to be understood.

I don’t want to oversell Benjamin Harrison or this change, however. To get an idea of the change, imagine if you were expecting an inch of snow and you get four inches instead (as opposed to expecting a dusting and getting a blizzard).

Writes Calhoun:

“Benjamin Harrison had not set out to transform the presidency, but he was hardly a mere caretaker between the two terms of Grover Cleveland. In his own right, Harrison made important contributions to the office. He entered the presidency strongly committed to a set of principles and policies. In defense of those ideas and in pursuit of what he thought to be his duty, he expanded the boundaries of presidential activism. Both publicly and behind the scenes, he effectively intervened in the deliberations of Congress and posted a remarkable record of legislative achievement. He resisted the dictation of party bosses in the matter of appointments, thereby risking his own reelection for the sake of presidential independence. He frequently operated as the nation’s chief diplomat and shaped its aspirations in foreign affairs. Through skillful use of the press and in widespread travels, he took the presidency to the American people.” (p.165-166)

Indeed. Fellow Republican McKinley learned many lessons from the 23rd president, and used them to good effect as the 25th president.

Resources

Charles Calhoun’s study on Benjamin Harrison for Schlesinger’s American Presidents series proved most illuminating. The casual reader could easily get lost in discussions of policy, especially the nebulous realm of tariffs. And it may seem that knowing President Harrison is perfunctory merely because he was a president. However, that attitude does him a disservice.

The Presidency of Benjamin Harrison by Homer E. Socolofsky and Allan Spetter, 1987, from the University of Kansas’ The American Presidency series is also useful for understanding not only Harrison’s term, but also the near 50-50 politics of the Cleveland/Harrison era.

The illustration is taken from the Library of Congress' Prints and Photographs division.

We're Back!

2008-04-14T21:49:00.003-05:00

I took a long holiday from the presidents because, frankly, I burned myself out due to my ambitious schedule.

No matter. Look for my report on Benjamin Harrison to appear this Sunday, April 20.

Thanks for reading (and sticking around).

Numbers 22 and 24: Grover Cleveland

2008-02-03T15:36:00.000-06:00

Years in office: 1885-1889, 1893-1897
Pre-service occupations: attorney, sheriff, mayor and governor
Key events during his administrations: 1st term: veto of pension bills, Geronimo campaign (1885-86), Haymarket Riot (1886), Interstate Commerce Act (1887), Dawes Act (1887); 2nd term: Chicago Exposition (1893), Panic of 1893, Pullman strike (1894), rejection of Hawaii annexation and subsequent recognition of the Republic of Hawaii (1893-1894), repeal of Sherman Silver Purchase bill (1893), J.P. Morgan gold purchase syndicate (1895), Olney Interpretation (1895), Utah admitted to the Union (1896)

Presidential rating: First term: Mildly successful and mixed on popularity. Second term: mildly unsuccessful and unpopular

ESSAY

He’s been called unfailingly honest. A dull speaker. The “Buffalo Hangman.” A man above party.

Grover Cleveland was all that and more. The 22nd and 24th president was unique in more ways than one. First, and most obvious, he was the only non-consecutive two-term president. Second, was the only Democrat elected president between 1860 and 1912. Third, he was the only president during the last half of the 19th century to not serve in the Civil War. And fourth, before Franklin Delano Roosevelt, he was the reigning champion for winning the popular vote in presidential elections, in 1884, 1888—when he lost the electoral vote—and 1892.

Of course, there’s far more to the man, and there’s a lot I like about him. Cleveland has undergone something of a reassessment of late, and one thing floats to the top that many historians like: his unfailing honesty. That honesty, which his contemporaries acknowledged and admired, elevates Cleveland to the upper tier of presidents.

Understanding Grover Cleveland is not easy. For decades, writes biographer Richard E. Welch, historians though they had him pegged as the paragon of political honesty amid a sea of Gilded Age corruption and a political wasteland. Later reassessments removed Cleveland closer to the bottom of the heap, as he was labeled a “Bourbon” Democrat who deserved scorn for failing to live up to those historians’ new theories on the social and political movements of the era. For example, Cleveland was no supporter of suffrage (women’s voting rights), but few other people were, either. Cleveland needs assessing by the terms of his own era.

Nowadays, Cleveland is enjoying a reassessment that more or less places him back where he started: an honest, often contradictory and practical man who took things as they came.

President Cleveland foreshadowed the coming progressive movement in words, if not in actual deeds. He was tightly frugal with the public’s money and believed in, to use the modern cliché, a level playing field. Companies and barons that horded most of their profits without elevating those who brought them the profits earned his particular scorn. But likewise, he refused to place people under the government’s charge, believing that the people supported the government, not the other way around.

He was the last president to take a largely hands-off approach to most aspects of national and public life, fully embracing the original concept that the president was the nation’s chief executive, meaning he was the executor of the nation’s laws and policies. His administrations bracketed the first truly activist presidency (Benjamin Harrison’s) and was, in some ways, a fitting coda to the 19th century. A man of deep principle and privacy would soon be forced to give way to nation demanding much more from government, much more from media and much more from the president himself. Yet at the same time, Cleveland continued the expansion of executive power in subtle ways.

Cleveland, it can be said, was the last of the old guard while simultaneously being the first of the new guard.

The rise of a “Bourbon” Democrat
Stephen Grover Cleveland, born in 1837, stopped in Buffalo when he was 17 looking for work. His father had died recently and he needed to help support the family. His uncle, Lewis Allen, was influential in Buffalo and introduced him to a career in law. The young Cleveland took a clerkship, read law and was admitted to the bar in 1859. (The firm Cleveland joined was Rogers, Bowen, and Rogers. Previously it was known as Fillmore, Hall and Haven, and is known today as Hodgson Russ LLP, the only firm in the country that can boast of having had two presidents as partners, the other being Millard Fillmore, of course.)

Meanwhile, Cleveland entered the politics of the Democracy (as some referred to the Democratic Party back then) in his native New York when he was 19. He campaigned for James Buchanan and ran for his for office in 1865—and lost. His uncle was a staunch Whig, but Cleveland believed firmly in the ideals of the Democratic Party, especially his ideological heroes, Jefferson and Jackson. He would eventually become associated with the “Bourbon” Democrats (See: Explaining the Cleveland approach to government), especially after his terms as president.

He remained at his law practice during the war until January 1863, when he accepted the post of assistant district attorney for Erie County. When Cleveland received a draft notice in 1863, he hired a replacement to fight in his stead. In 2008, such a move would have been political suicide, but Cleveland would suffer politically only partially for not wearing the uniform, and then only after he became president the first time. His strength of character and a combination of events—and different times—was more than enough to override such concerns.

Cleveland was a playful young man who liked the outdoors. He frequented pubs and taverns, relishing good food and good beer. The pubs and taverns, though, were not just places to satisfy his thirst and hunger: before the age of mass communication, they served as the meeting places for political meetings. Young Cleveland whet his chops on more than just beer and mutton at these places: he’d stand on a crate or barrel and speak his political mind to would whoever listen. And listen they did. He wasn’t a great stump speaker, but—to use the word most often applied to him—Cleveland was an honest one.

His single-minded devotion to whatever tasks were set before him led Cleveland to be elected to his first office in 1871: sheriff of Erie County, which includes Buffalo.

A fast track from hanging judge to presidential nominee
Many people today look for “experience” on the resume of presidential contenders. On paper, Grover Cleveland had an impressive resume: A lawyer, sheriff, mayor of Buffalo and governor of New York. Sounds good. However, the future president wasn’t in the elective positions for a relatively long period of time—at least by the modern understanding of “experience.”

He served as sheriff, mayor and governor for one term each. But in each of those terms, Cleveland earned—truly: earned—a reputation for honesty and strength of character and devotion to duty that was astounding. During his term as sheriff, Cleveland executed two condemned criminals himself. Later, political enemies tried to sneer at the “Buffalo Hangman,” but Cleveland, nonplussed, explained he wouldn’t have anyone do something he couldn’t do himself.

In 1882, Buffalo elected him mayor. “Public office is a public trust” was his campaign slogan, and he proved true to his word. His reputation for honesty and trustworthiness with the public’s money and public responsibility took root during his mayoral service, through such actions as refusing to award contracts to the highest bidder, instead of the lowest bidder. He took on the local machine politicos and won.

The next year, his fame as Buffalo’s mayor elevated him to the governor’s mansion. He defeated an ally of President Arthur for the office—exposing major weaknesses in the Republican Party’s New York machine—and proceeded to operate the same way as governor as he had as Buffalo mayor.

Governor Cleveland had embraced the reform sweeping the nation, but not wildly so. His approach was practical: reform, but with limits that would not totally destroy the political structure. Biographer Henry F. Graff explains:

“In addition to being morally offended by the excesses of the spoils system, Cleveland understood the change in the requirement of government in the 1880s. The political tradition that “to the victor belongs the spoils” was plainly out of date and had to be abandoned. Still, Cleveland was not unmindful of the need to nourish the political parties, but in his appointments he balanced as honorably as he could the demand for both party loyalty and professional competence. For example, he appointed the assistant in the insurance department to be its director. In filling the ranks of the Railroad Commission, Cleveland chose so carefully that it became a judgment on his stewardship that as well as a feather in his political cap that New York State had less organized hostility to the behavior of the railroads than any other state in the Union.” (p.36)

Balancing the needs of party and competence was but one of many good marks he carried into the presidency.

It is noteworthy that a Cleveland ally in the New York legislature was a young Republican named Theodore Roosevelt, who approved of Cleveland’s conservation efforts at Niagara Falls and words against corporations.

Cleveland’s term as governor was cheered throughout the state—except the anti-reformers of the old Boss Tweed’s Tammany Hall, taken down by one of Cleveland’s predecessors, Samuel Tilden, and, of course, by many of the Republicans. But not all: Some Republicans grudgingly admitted that Cleveland kept his promises and did what he said he would do.

National party leaders took note of this newest New York governor as a strong contender for the 1884 election.

The election of 1884; or, how to handle a scandal
Republicans and Democrats put fourth platforms in 1884 that were remarkably similar: they both favored protective tariffs, they both favored a stronger currency backed by gold, they both favored limits on immigration (especially the Chinese). Both parties even held their conventions in the same hall in Chicago, two weeks apart. The election, therefore, turned on personality—and ugly campaigning.

Republicans were for once without a truly nationally appealing candidate who could unite all factions of the party. President Arthur made only a halfhearted attempt at the nomination. Grant was ailing and would be dead the following year. The promising meteor Garfield was dead. Roscoe Conkling had greatly overreached and was gone, and his Stalwarts were fading. Famed Union general William T. Sherman told the party to take a hike, famously remarking “If nominated I will not run. If elected, I will not serve.” That left James G. Blaine of Maine, last seen as Garfield’s secretary of state. Blaine wanted the nomination, and after beating back Arthur’s half-hearted attempt, won the nomination.

Although a forceful personality and full of vision, Blaine turned off enough Republicans who defected to the Democrats. These “mugwumps” would not vote for the “corrupt” Blaine, who had been accused of shady railroad funding (that had derailed his previous run for the presidency in 1880). Although Blaine was a strong and talented man, his candidacy bore the flavor of so many men who run for the presidency on their party’s ticket because it is “my turn.”

Cleveland won his nomination after his supporters beat back an anti-Cleveland attempt, but the outcome was not seriously in doubt. However, his was a fresh face—literally in one way, because Cleveland did not have a beard. (Of the presidents from 1860 on, Grant, Hayes, Garfield and Arthur and Harrison sported full whiskers; Johnson and McKinley were clean-shaven. Lincoln had only a beard while Cleveland had only a mustache. William Howard Taft would be the last president to have any kind of facial hair.)

The campaigning is where things got interesting—more specifically, when supporters and sympathetic press began making speeches, marches and running editorials. This was still the era when candidates usually didn’t themselves campaign, but Blaine was an exception. He made hundreds of speeches that summer and fall. Cleveland ran his campaign from his home in Albany. Cleveland wasn’t even at the convention.

Shortly after the Democratic convention in early July, a Buffalo scandal sheet ran a story claiming Cleveland had fathered a child out of wedlock, the child had been sent to an orphanage and the mother was in an asylum. When a respectable paper ran with the story, Republican press and supporters immediately pounced on the story as proof that “honest” Cleveland had no morals and was unfit for the presidency. Republican rallies were soon filled with baby carriages and the chant, “Ma, ma, where’s my pa? Gone to the White House, ha, ha, ha!”

Rather than deny the charges, Cleveland said simply, “Tell the truth,” which has become the gold standard for dealing with scandal. The “truth” was very close to what the rag had printed. Cleveland had had an “intimate” relationship with Maria Halpin, but it was not known who the father was. Apparently, his married law partner, Folsom, may have also had relations with the woman. When she turned up with a child, Cleveland assumed financial responsibility both to do the right thing and to prevent any possible embarrassment for his partner. When Halpin developed a serious drinking problem, however, Cleveland had her committed and the child sent to an orphanage—whose expenses he continued to pay.

Cleveland made a smart move, because by owning up to what was going on, he negated a lot of the charges’ impact. He was, however, completely humiliated and angered by the intrusion into private affairs, and also angered at his treatment by certain people in Buffalo. He rarely returned to the city after that.

The campaign remained close until the end, when Blaine failed to counter a New York preacher speaking on his behalf against the Mugwumps as not real Republicans for joining the party of “rum, Romanism and rebellion” (e.g., the Democrats). The perceived slur against Irish and Catholics made it seem as if the Republicans were once more waving the bloody shirt, biographer Graff writes, and it made sure New York went for Cleveland. At that time, if you won New York, you won the presidency, too. Graff says it’s not known how many votes switched because of the fabulous flub, but it was enough.

Cleveland won 219 to 182 electoral votes and by a mere 20,000 popular votes.

Gleeful Democratic editors now had an answer to “Ma, ma, where’s my pa”: “Hurrah for Maria! Hurrah for the kid. I voted for Cleveland, and I’m damned glad I did.”

Explaining the Cleveland approach to government
Cleveland would eventually be known as a “Bourbon” Democrat—in fact, the term is closely identified with him more than anyone else. The oddly named Bourbons supported business interests, opposed the protectionism manifested in the high tariffs, supported railroads, opposed imperialism, supported sound money (gold standard) and opposed bimetallism (free silver). But as we’ll see, the term Bourbon Democrat doesn’t quite fit with Grover Cleveland.

As alluded to earlier, Grover Cleveland believed that the president’s primary duty was to execute the legislative branch’s laws, but he also believed that the chief executive, being the only official elected by all the people, needed to curb the excesses of the Congress. He freely used the veto to slap down—often unsuccessfully—bills that went against what he believed constituted the government’s true functions.

No deep thinker or theorist, Cleveland instead was a pragmatist who approached issues one at a time. He sometimes contradicted himself, a tendency which added to his reputation of being “above party.” Toward the end of his second term, this caused great distress in his party, because he believed he was right and those with different views were at best wrong and at worst party heretics. He talked a great game about fighting corporations and monopolies in favor of the common man, but critics charged that he was a faithful ally of those same business magnates. The appearance was deceiving, because while the president was not an adherent to laissez faire (despite the label of Bourbon Democracy), he was a firm believer that the federal government should not have any favorites. In fact, during a veto message in 1896, biographer Welch explains that Cleveland wrote that the federal government’s purpose was “the enforcement of exact justice and equality” and not to spread favors to one group or another. (p.14) Welch further explains:

“A consistent theme throughout both administrations…was his conviction that governmental paternalism could only encourage a dangerous dependence on the federal government, destroy the American tradition of local charity and self-help, and undermine the independence and therefore the virtue of the citizenry. Governmental paternalism could, indeed, erode the very foundations of popular government if ever the electorate could see the government not as an instrument of their creation demanding their loyalty but as a source of gifts and privileges. Paternalistic government could only change the relation of the citizen to the government: instead of being a sovereign, the citizen would become a dependent.” (p.13-14)

Cleveland’s ideological heroes, Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson, would probably agree. Cleveland, however, often seemed to draw on Jefferson’s polity principles when needed and Jackson’s strong-armed executive when needed. For example, the president certainly changed his mind between his first and second administrations. During the first term, Cleveland adhered to the 1884 Democratic platform, which called for less centralization and more state sovereignty. Yet during the second, he willfully used federal soldiers to break the Pullman strike over the strong objections of the Illinois governor—asserting executive authority to perverse law and order. Welch explains:

“Like his hero Andrew Jackson, Cleveland could simultaneously speak against the centralization of power in the federal government and expand the power of the federal executive. Cleveland’s interpretation of the traditions of the Democratic Party was, at the least, flexible. He quoted Jefferson when denouncing federal interference in local elections, but acted like Jackson when he overrode Governor Altgeld and claimed supremacy for the federal government and its chief executive during the Chicago railroad strike.” (p. 147)

In simpler terms, Cleveland took a little from column A and a little from column B and produced what could be termed Cleveland Democracy.

It would certainly be odd to find Grover Cleveland celebrated in today’s modern, liberalized Democratic Party, considering he opposed the very mentality the party now stands for. In fact, Welch relates how in 1979 JFK intimate Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. argued that “conservative” President Jimmy Carter should be dumped in favor of liberal Ted Kennedy, using Cleveland as a Carter archetype!

Modern conservatism, though, should find much to admire in some of Cleveland’s anti-paternalism beliefs.

The first term begins
With the Democrats back in the White House for the first time since 1857 (the Andrew Johnson aberration notwithstanding), the Democrats were naturally eager to take their share of what for so long had been denied: federal appointments. The fitful civil service reforms of the previous administrations had changed only so much, and Democrats wanted—demanded—offices.

Cleveland wanted to put the best men possible in all available posts. The trouble was, Graff explains, the quarter-century Republican run on the presidency conversely produced a dearth of Democratic talent in high government places. Cleveland wound up recruiting cabinet and other officials from business and railroad interests (while inadvertently snubbing some old friends) and from the party. Two were former Confederates, appointed in part to be a symbolic gesture of a healed nation.

The result was a respectable, if not outstanding, cabinet. However, it contained no representatives from laborers, farmers and others on the lower end of the political, social and economic spectrum. While that may seem like a modern-day, squishy multi-cultural lament, it proved to be an oversight, because President Cleveland would prove to have something of a tin ear when it came to matters that concerned the agrarian Midwest, South and West.

President Cleveland soon ran afoul of the self-anointed reformers, who demanded a justification for every dismissed officeholder. The “justification” was simple enough: they were Republicans and Cleveland was a Democrat, and now the Democrats were in office and Cleveland was doing what had been done since the age of Jackson. The President ignored the reformers’ demands, though, and he actually made fewer office changes than his predecessors (who were all Republicans).

Cleveland’s vice president would not last the term: Thomas Hendricks, who had been Samuel L. Tilden’s running mate, died in November 1885.

The vetoes and the railroads
President Cleveland began exercising his right to veto legislation almost at once. It’s possible that a more eloquent president, or a man who had the advantage of modern mass communications, could have better explained himself, because some of his vetoes would cause him unnecessary woe. For example, he vetoed hundreds of pensions for Union veterans, most of which were put fourth by northern and western congressmen as favors for people in their home districts. Many of the bills were frivolous. Cleveland denounced the pensions as raids on the public treasury. He also vetoed Congress’ bill granting a pension to all Union veterans for disabilities not stemming from the Civil War. Southerners didn’t care, naturally, but many Northerners were furious at the Democrat Cleveland, a man who hadn’t served, denying the benefits (and with sometimes sarcastically worded veto messages)—even though he was technically right.

The president, however, did not just veto pension bills and relief bills to farmers whose crops were ruined by drought. He struck down any bill he believed contained measures and funding arrangements not authorized by the Constitution—as he believed was his duty. The “little guy,” so to speak, was not the only one to feel the wrath of Cleveland. The president targeted railroads for investigation of fraud for holding onto government land grants that they never used. This land was ripe for settlement and, Cleveland and his Interior minister argued, was rightfully the government’s.

Angry railroad investors complained, albeit fruitlessly. In all, 81,000,000 acres of land grants returned to government control—equivalent to the size of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania and New York, if put together in one lump.

But Cleveland was not done with the railroads, and neither was Congress. Finally responding to longstanding complaints from westerners, especially farmers (who were organizing into “Granges”), Congress created and Cleveland signed the Interstate Commerce Act in 1887, which also created the Interstate Commerce Commission, the first true regulatory agency in American history. The ICC’s specific mission was to regulate prices on the railroads and eliminate abuses and discrimination in hauling freight and passengers.

Haymarket
Although a welcome addition on the Plains and in the west, the ICC didn’t exactly endear Cleveland to non-Eastern Democrats. Nor did he help himself much with labor relations during his first term, mainly because of his “no favors” philosophy.

For decades, the laboring, wage-earning class had been growing in numbers and growing restless. By the mid-1880s, there truly seemed to be a clear dividing line between the haves and have-nots. The great strikes of the summer of 1877 during President Hayes’ term were just the beginning. In 1885, the American Federation of Labor formed under the leadership of Samuel Grompers.

In May 1886, tensions in Chicago literally exploded when a bomb was thrown into the midst of police marching to break up a peaceful meeting of strikers, which had just ended. A policeman was killed and they fired on the crowd. More people were killed and many more injured in the subsequent Haymarket riot.

Haymarket would, in a way, provide the rallying cry for the 8-hour work day. Cleveland played no role in the chaos in Chicago—this time. The next time Chicago witnessed chaos and bloodshed and strikes, Cleveland sent in the troops.

Geronimo campaign and the Dawes Act
The second-to last great campaign in the west came during Cleveland’s first term. Chiricahua Apache led by Geronimo (or Goyaale) resisted government attempts to enforce reservation life. Apache lived in the New Mexico and Arizona territories. For a while, Geronimo and his followers acquiesced to the entreaties Gen. George Crook and lived on a reservation for a short while. But they broke out again in 1885. Crook was replaced with Gen. Nelson A. Miles—the same general who had fought the Nez Perce.

President Cleveland authorized a major campaign against Geronimo. In 1886, Miles did just that, using up to one-fourth of the army to capture the Apache and his few dozen followers. A Lt. Charles Gatewood negotiated a peace where the Apache would be transferred to a Florida reservation. (Miles, in one of the most dishonorable actions of the 19th century army, shipped Apache Army scouts off with the Geronimo renegades too.)

The Geronimo campaign mattered little as far as Cleveland’s presidency was concerned, for he would miss the final “battle” on the frontier. His successor/predecessor Harrison would bear that ignominy.

On a different note, Congress passed the Dawes Act in 1887 that authorized President Cleveland (and his successors) to survey and allot tribal lands to individual native families. The overall effect of this short-sighted act was negative, as it wound up costing many tribes and families their lands. It was actually a good deed attempt (possible noble, but I wouldn’t go that far) that just wasn’t thought through.

Foreign policy—first term
President Cleveland’s foreign policies during 1885-1889 were benign and isolationist. He had no intention of involving the United States in the European powers’ game of gobbling up colonies. He backed away from the “entangling alliances” of involvement with England and Nicaragua over a canal and a treaty with Berlin over a trade agreement in the Congo.

The president, though, foresaw the need for a better navy. Building upon what Chester A. Arthur started, Cleveland and Navy secretary William Whitney pressed for continued modernization of the navy. Cleveland had no aggressive designs for the navy; however, his modernization program would greatly assist his second successor’s aggressive use of said navy.

He also sought appropriate coaling stations for ocean-going squadrons, especially in places like Hawaii—a place that would figure prominently in his second term. The navy buildup would more or less continue through McKinley’s terms.

The tariff battle
In keeping with his nature of being against a government of favors, President Cleveland urged Congress to reduce the protectionist high tariffs. In a highly unusual step for a president, he devoted his entire third annual message to Congress (in 1887) to the issue. He directly confronted Republicans and protectionist Democrats in blunt language, warning that disaster was pending and the blame would rest with Congress if it didn’t act.

Cleveland charged that “When we consider that the theory of our institutions guarantees to every citizen the full enjoyment of all the fruits of his industry and enterprise... it is plain that the exaction of more than [the minimal amount of taxes] is indefensible extortion and a culpable betrayal of American fairness and justice.” Therefore, the high tariffs had to go. Besides, he argued, the high tariffs prevented foreign competition, and lower tariff would satisfy business and labor alike by making raw materials and finished products cheaper, thereby opening more markets and making labor happier.

Cleveland was correct in his pointed, if caustic, assessment. Like his immediate predecessor, Arthur, he believed the high tariff was bad news for the economy and the country. Cleveland did not persuade Congress, and a reduction bill failed to pass. The Harrison administration and Rep. William McKinley would tackle the tariffs, but not in a way Cleveland approved. When the Panic of 1893 hit, Cleveland’s warnings seemed to have come true.

A White House wedding—and a meddlesome press
Grover Cleveland, as we have seen, was a workaholic who rarely took breaks. Occasionally he and a companion would go fishing, although on one occasion he made the political mistake of doing it on Decoration Day.

The old cliché of “love at first sight” bears real weight for Grover Cleveland. In a tale too strange for fiction, Cleveland loved his future bride from when he first set eyes on her as a baby. Frances Folsom—his partner’s daughter—was more than two decades his junior, a fact he was painfully conscious of.

But the socially awkward Cleveland came to love Frances—Frank, he called her—as she grew to young womanhood. When his partner died and he took his widow and Frances under his care, his love grew stronger until finally, in 1886, they were married in the first and only wedding ceremony held in the White House.

The Clevelands took a holiday in western Maryland where, to his dismay and disgust, the press easily found them the next morning. The president decried the reporters’ “colossal impertinence” for intruding on his honeymoon, but as Graff writes, was helpless to do anything about it (p. 80). The opulent tastes of Chester A. Arthur had given reporters a thirst for the private lives of presidents that wasn’t easily slaked. And the intrusion into the Clevelands’ happy moment was but the first of countless unwelcome media impositions that in a later age would be justified under the catch-all phrase, “the right to know.”

However, Cleveland wasn’t blameless before reporters. He bore a grudge against the media because of the whole Halpin mess, and he maintained an aloof stance from honest reporter inquires. Consequently, his image suffered. Never a brilliant communicator, Cleveland eventually turned off even friendly media in his second term.

1888 and defeat—for the moment
Grover Cleveland felt confident going in to the 1888 election. But in an odd twist, for the third time in American history the man who won the popular vote was not the same man who got the most votes in the electoral college. (The two prior occasions were in 1824 and 1876, both of which were decided in the House under much different circumstances.)

The Democrats quickly renominated Cleveland at the convention in St. Louis. The Republicans nominated Benjamin Harrison, grandson of the former (and short-lived) president.

By now, politics had become the national pastime. Although the duotone had yet to transform media and pictures were still rendered via gorgeous woodcuts or color lithographs, images of the Clevelands and the Harrisons appeared everywhere on trinkets, souvenir items, broadsides, and so on. Pictures of Frances were particularly favored—no great surprise.

Cleveland and the party ran a “disjointed” campaign, full of “lifeless leadership,” according to Graff. He was also prey to a dirty trick by an ally of the Harrison campaign, where a man posing as “Muchison,” a former English citizen, wrote to the British ambassador in America who he would suggest supporting in the coming election. The ambassador said Cleveland was probably the best as far as England was concerned. The phony “Muchison” published the letter, and it apparently had the same effect on New York as the “rum, Romanism and rebellion” crack had on Blaine’s campaign four years earlier.

Cleveland lost New York and Harrison barely eked out an electoral victory over the president, who nevertheless won more than 90,000 more votes than Harrison. There is some evidence that fraud may have helped Harrison win, too. Cleveland was nonplussed, and bowed to the electoral defeat. Francis Folsom told White House staff that they would return in four years.

The Clevelands retired to New York City, where the ex-president finally relented and lent his name to a law firm. In exchange for the prestige of his name, Cleveland indulged in his favorite pastime: work. Although the happy couple were by no means wealthy, they were comfortable. During this interim period, they began having children, including Ruth, who, according to some accounts, was the inspiration for the Baby Ruth candy bar (others claim that baseball hero Babe Ruth was the source).

Cleveland watched the events of the Harrison era with dismay and also the grim satisfaction that he believed he was right. Harrison, while not exactly an anti-Cleveland, approached government differently, and with a willing Congress, promoted an activist federal government. Harrison approved pensions for all Union veterans, approved “pork-barrel” bills and other things Cleveland abhorred—especially the highest tariff in American history. The McKinley Tariff, passed in 1890 with President Harrison’s support, helped the Democrats in the fall elections. That, and Harrison’s dealings with his party and fractured relationship with his secretary of state, James G. Blaine, made Democratic prospects seem rosier in 1892.

Biographer Graff writes (p.100) that it’s not entirely known whether Cleveland decided to throw his hat in the ring in 1892 out of a desire for political vindication, a need to finish his work as president or sheer boredom. Regardless, he began making speeches again in 1891 to various clubs and organizations on economic issues, and emerged as the party favorite to win back the presidency.

1892
Ex-president Cleveland made history in 1892 by becoming the first—and so far, the only—former president to run and win a non-consecutive term to the White House. (Note: only Jimmy Carter and George H. W. Bush could do so as of this publishing. Bill Clinton and G. W. Bush are prevented from serving again by the 22nd amendment.)

Cleveland won his nomination rather handily, while President Harrison, though seeming damaged goods, easily won re-nomination despite a challenge from Blaine. The campaign that year centered on the tariff as well as hard money versus silver. In another close election, Cleveland defeated Harrison 46% to 43% of the popular vote and 227 to 145 electoral votes (a Populist party candidate took 8% and 22 electoral votes).

I’ll say much more about this election in my write-up on President Harrison, because the reasons for the election’s outcome have more to do with Harrison’s defeat than Cleveland’s victory.

Regardless, Fannie’s words to the White House staff four years earlier had come true: The Clevelands were back.

The second term—not the same as the first
President Cleveland’s second term had a much different flavor than the first. He was still the same man—men of his character don’t change—but the country had shifted in his four-year absence. The tariff was still a major issue, what with the McKinley Tariff pushing levels even higher. But dirt farmers and laborers were better organized and wanted much more than the power-brokers of the East were doing. He might argue for sound money and the gold standard, but backers of “free silver” would soon find a ready target in the president. The Progressive movement was starting to take baby steps, but Cleveland would not be joining the movement.

The president appointed a cabinet that had no members from the first. This time, he found a post for an old friend from New York, Wilson Bissel, naming him postmaster general (Cleveland had inadvertently snubbed him the first time.

Early in his second term, the newspaper-loathing Cleveland had an operation on board a boat in the middle of the Potomac, done in secret to avoid turmoil in the markets. The president had contracted cancer in his mouth. The operation was a success, although part of his jaw had to be removed. A second operation was done to attach a prosthesis, and no one was the wiser until the secret was revealed after his death.

Panic
The second Cleveland administration was in trouble almost from the start, thanks to the severest depression to ever hit the nation (yet). The agricultural sections of the nation had not really recovered from the last depression in the 1870s—giving rise to the Granger movement and feeding into the Populist and fee-silver movements. The nation’s banking system was woefully inadequate. The McKinley Tariffs also appeared to be having the opposite affects, with some imports—and import revenue—declining. And Harrison administration largess didn’t help matters, either. Plus, American gold was flowing into Europe, which was experiencing its own market crisis.

The declining supply of government gold triggered the collapse. The Sherman Silver Purchase Act, passed during the Harrison administration, required the government to buy more silver for backing currency—using gold that was now dwindling. The Panic began in early May when the National Cordage Company went bankrupt followed by the fall of several stock prices the following day. Welch writes that:

“Banks began to call in their loans, credit dried up, and business failures increased week by week. Depositors withdrew their money from state and national banks, six hundred of which closed their doors, a majority of them in the West and the South. Railroads proved particularly susceptible to the financial panic. Before the year was over, The Philadelphia and Reading, the Erie, the Northern Pacific, the Union Pacific, and the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroads had been forced into receivership. They were joined in bankruptcy by fifteen thousand other businesses.” (p.116)

Unemployment totals rose to 20 percent that winter, the worst in the nation’s history up to that point. The worst hit were the agrarian regions, giving fuel to their rallying cry of free silver: the more silver-backed dollars, the more dollars would be printed. The more money in circulation, then the more dollars would be in their pocket because economic activity would increase. The president completely disagreed.

It’s interesting to note the different responses to severe depression enacted by President Cleveland and one of his successors, President Franklin Roosevelt. The latter’s response was to radically alter government and forever change the relationship between the citizens and the federal government. It is safe to say that Grover Cleveland would have been horrified at and condemned Roosevelt’s solutions to economic depression. Cleveland’s solutions were not to give fireside chats (he couldn’t have done that even if it were possible), put the nation back to work, create new government agencies and regulations and taxes, like FDR. Instead, his response was more like Grant’s: secure the nation’s credit and money supply.

Cleveland believed that the Panic was caused by unsound silver practices and the high tariffs, as well as a lack of business confidence in the government’s ability to meet its obligations. To fix the problem, he asked Congress to repeal the Sherman Silver Purchase Act, which it did by year’s end. But he couldn’t make gold magically appear in the Treasury. For that, he did one of the most unorthodox moves any president had ever done up to that time: he asked the private sector for a loan.

In 1895, the president approached his friend and one-time dining companion J.P. Morgan to create a syndicate that would supply the government $65 million in gold, including some from Europe, through the sale of $100 million in bonds to the public. Morgan and his partners made a killing, but the end result was a hefty gold surplus in the Treasury.

Cleveland was raked over the coals by many in the Democratic Party, the media and the budding Progressives for being in the back pocket of the “money trust,” which was pure baloney. Although he restored the nation’s money, he damaged himself in the eyes of the west.

Meanwhile, the president pushed Congress for a lower tariff. He wanted the McKinley Tariff gone, believing it to be one of the major causes of the Panic. Congress responded, but not entirely to the president’s liking. The resulting replacement tariff had hundreds of amendments attached to it, including a two percent income tax. Cleveland hated the bill and called it an abomination. He let it become law anyway, without his signature.

The nation began to climb out of the Panic in 1896. Politically, though, Cleveland took the blame.

The Pullman strike
The Panic sparked problems nationwide. None was more spectacular than the Pullman strike in Chicago in 1894. George Pullman, creator of the railroad passenger cars bearing his name, was a generous and paternalistic industrialist who built a splendid company town in what is now southern Chicago. He ruled it like a benevolent feudal master, though, and treated his well-paid employees almost like serfs. A large number of Pullman employees lived in this model town.

When the Panic hit and railroads started coming unglued, rail shipments dropped, causing the demand for Pullman cars to fall. Pullman cut wages by 28%, but workers complained that rents and costs in the company town weren’t cut as well, leaving them with little money. Pullman didn’t budge. Neither did employees: about 80% walked off their jobs in protest. Pullman then shut down all the factories.

The trouble would have remained in the Pullman family except many employees were also members of Eugene Debs’ American Railway Union. Word spread across the nation, and soon railroad workers refuse to handle any train containing a Pullman car. About 125,000 railroad workers in 27 states and territories struck. Railroads responded with strikebreakers. Although the strikes never reached the intensity of the 1877 strikes, they did lead to violence in some places. By July, only 10% of pre-strike rail traffic was getting into and out of Chicago. Railroad owners and the union blamed each other.

The impasse was broken when nationwide demands for action led to Cleveland’s attorney general, Richard Olney, obtaining a court injunction that forbade interference with federal mail. It was a strange injunction, though, because Olney, Welch explains, worked with the railroad managers’ group to not only break the strike, but also break the union. While a legally questionable collusion, the injunction went forward. If the mail was interfered with and private property was destroyed, federal soldiers would be used to restore order.

President Cleveland, who believed in law and order—recall that he was once the “Buffalo Hangman”—was not in not the Onley arrangement and was actually reluctant to use troops. But he would do it if necessary. And according to the injunction, it became necessary following a one-day riot south of Chicago; the federal attorney in Chicago wired that marshals could not enforce the injunction; only soldiers could. So, Cleveland sent in the troops—over the strong objections of the state’s governor, as previously noted.

Unlike the 1877 strikes, when President Harrison only sent in soldiers to keep the peace at the request of governors, President Cleveland sent troops to Chicago and other strike areas to break the strikes in collusion with business and regardless of the state and local governments’ wishes. Cleveland reportedly said that “If it takes the entire army and navy of the United States to deliver a postcard in Chicago, that card will be delivered," but the statement is probably apocryphal. Most governors sided with Cleveland—except Altgeld—and accepted his explanation that he did what he did for “the public safety.”

Labor, of course, thought that was hogwash, and probably never gave the president another look, even though Cleveland established a commission to study the Pullman strike in an effort to make recommendations on the federal government’s role in future management-labor issues. The commission made one interesting recommendation: a federal arbitrary panel, which Cleveland had recommended to Congress in his first term.

Hawaii
Hawaii, or the Sandwich Islands, as they were once called, had long figured into the designs of American presidents. During President Harrison’s last months in office, a cabal of Americans, Europeans and Hawaiians calling themselves the “Committee of Safety” overthrew Queen Liliuokalani and established a new government. (It’s a long story: see here for a neutral account). President Cleveland sent a former congressman named Blount to investigate what happened.

Blount concluded that the overthow of Liliuokalani was quite illegal, and that the U.S. minister and even American soldiers had acted wrongly. In response, President Cleveland withdrew from the Senate the treaty annexing Hawaii (placed there in the waning days of the Harrison administration). He offered to return Liliuokalani’s throne in exchange for amnesty for the members of the coup, but the queen refused, and reportedly demanded their execution (although that is dispuited). Cleveland sent the matter to Congress, which conducted its own investigation—and came to the opposite conclusions, finding everyone non guilty, except for the queen! Figure that out.

Somewhere in between the truth lay, but Cleveland never found out. He dropped support for the queen following a Congressional resolution of “non-interference” in internal Hawaiian affairs. Hawaii’s provisional government declared a republic, the president and Congress recognized it as such and declared it a U.S. protectorate in 1894. The ex-queen was later arrested, sentenced to hard labor, had her sentence commuted, and was eventually given a pension on which to live out her days.

Venezuela
Meanwhile, President Cleveland engaged in a strange bit of foreign policy that involved a border dispute between Venezuela and Great Britain in 1895. The Harrison Administration had led the establishment of the Pan-American Union, and member state Venezuela was under pressure from England on its border. Congress—and Venezuela—wanted Cleveland to do something about it.

During his first term, the president had been unable to invite “John Bull” to arbitration over anything. But now Cleveland had as his secretary of state Richard Olney (who replaced the late Walter Gresham). Olney had become secretary only a few months before. He had already taken the step of elevating all U.S. ministers to ambassadors, giving notice to the world that the United States was no longer a mere junior on the world stage.

Throughout the 19th century, England had been America’s great boogeyman. If you wanted to insult someone, chances are, calling them pro-British would have been fighting words in most decades. By the 1890s, hostility towards England had faded, but it was still present, mainly because England was still the greatest economic threat. S, when the border dispute arose, Olney sent a strongly worded—impertinent, even—letter to Lord Salisbury that if England took by force disputed territory in Venezuela, the U.S. would respond per the Monroe Doctrine.

The “Olney Interpretation” claimed that the Monroe Doctrine gives the United States the right to mediate border disputes in the Western Hemisphere. The original doctrine, however, was established to tell Europe that the Western hemisphere was closed to their colonization. This was a major expansion in foreign policy and, in my opinion, incredibly arrogant.

A mild war fever spread across the depression-ridden country. President Cleveland, though wary of going to war, nevertheless asked Congress to make ready in case England did not back down.

But the British did. Enmeshed in their own troubles in South Africa and not really wanted to spar with an upstart America, they agreed to arbitration. The war fever subsided—was quickly forgotten, in fact. But a new dimension was added to American foreign politics. For the first time, America was acting abroad in a serious manner. Three years later, one year after Cleveland left office, America would flex her muscles in a much more deadly way.

Losing control: the party splits
The Democratic Party had won full control of Congress between 1890 and 92, but when the Panic hit in 1893, they bore the brunt of the blame. As usual, the party and person in power bear the blame for bad times, justly or unjustly. Just like Martin Van Buren took the hit for the Panic caused in part by Andrew Jackson’s polices, or George W. Bush took the hit for the recession caused by conditions at the end of Bill Clinton’s term, the Democrats bore the brunt of the public’s fury over the panic. Their majority would be short-lived—and Cleveland’s inability to be the party’s leader during a time when the party needed it would help fracture the party.

President Cleveland and the Democratic Party were in trouble in 1894-96. The depression deepened the despair against the president and increased his detractors, including among Democrats, who believed his policies and lack of bold action was doing nothing to alleviate the problems. He seemed more aloof than ever. His actions, especially using federal soldiers to smash the Pullman strike and a seemingly half-hearted drive against the trusts, gave him the appearance of the robber barons’ best friend to people in the agrarian west and south.

A series of Supreme Court decisions helped to reinforce this view, including one decision that all but crippled the government’s ability to prosecute monopolies and trusts under the Sherman Anti-Trust Act. Why did this hurt Cleveland? He had appointed the pro-business Melville Fuller as chief justice during his first term, and the Fuller court’s rulings were quite unpopular in the west and south.

Worse, the party finally split—more or less for a generation—over the backing of currency. Sound money versus free silver sounds like a dull topic that only economists would savor. Yet this issue and its foundations wrecked the second Cleveland administration, caused the Democrats to lose control of Congress again and divided the party between the Cleveland Democrats and the Bryan Democrats.

William Jennings Bryan is remembered today in popular history only as the hapless defender of creationism in Inherit the Wind, the play and movie about the 1920s Scopes trial. Yet Bryan was a powerful orator and strong leader of the Progressive movement (Cleveland would scoff at that label) who would challenge Cleveland’s leadership of the Democracy. He gained national prominence in 1896 with his “cross of gold” speech prior to the convention, in which he pilloried western and eastern money interests for adhering to the gold standard at the expense of western and southern farmers and laborers. Bryan and his supporters wanted free silver, meaning far more money backed by the readily available silver than the government already allowed.

Cleveland and sound money supporters—meaning, all non-silver Republicans—opposed free silver, because they viewed it as an inflationary tactic that would not only harm their own interests, but also worsen economic conditions and devalue the dollar and labor. Silverites disagreed, and the issue was a central part of the combined Democratic, Progressive, radical and Silver Republican platform in 1896, 1900 and 1904. Silver ceased to be a Democratic issue with the candidacy of Woodrow Wilson.

Regardless, the youthful Bryan wrested the Democratic party away from Cleveland in 1896. Cleveland didn’t intend to seek a third term; it was beneath his dignity to announce as much, so his name was submitted at the convention. His “candidacy” sank quickly, which suited Cleveland just fine.

He detested Bryan and what he saw as phony populism and his ruinous platform—a repudiation of his second term. But when the Republican nominee, William McKinley, trounced Bryan in the election, Cleveland was grimly pleased, for McKinley was a protectionist and sound money man just like Cleveland.

Post-presidency: the elder statesman
One final item occupied Cleveland’s attention before leaving the White House for good. A bloody insurrection had begun in Cuba. Secretary of State Olney had sent a note to Spain suggesting concessions, which was rejected. When the president and president-elect met shortly before McKinley’s inauguration, they both expressed the desire to avoid involvement in Cuba. Both men expressed mutual admiration, but Cleveland’s admiration would vanish in two years when America went to war over Cuba.

Cleveland served for a time as a trustee at Princeton University, where he clashed with Princeton’s president, future U.S. president, Woodrow Wilson. He got along much better with President Theodore Roosevelt, whom he had known from and worked well with during his term as New York’s governor. A few times, Cleveland consulted with the young Republican.

Cleveland performed one final public service: he served on the board of the Equitable Life Assurance Society to reorganize it and restore the confidence of those it insured. For this he was paid handsomely. He died in 1908.

Final Assessment

For almost 20 years, Grover Cleveland was a major force in American politics, and his understanding of the Democratic Party traditions and the proper role of the president had a significant impact.

His reputation for honesty survives to this day, and he certainly deserves much better than to be remembered merely as the man who served two non-consecutive terms.

He wasn’t a brilliant thinker or bold president, nor a great party leader by any stretch of the imagination. He didn’t chart new directions or reorganize government in radical ways. Instead, Grover Cleveland served with a constant eye on the public’s money, making sure that no one was favored. Taking away the people’s “sovereignty” and making them wards of the state—which is where he believed “favors” would lead—was abhorrent to him. His approach to tackling the problems of a crushing depression are starkly different than those of FDR, the only other Democrat to win the popular election three times in a row.

He’ll never be in the ranks of the greats, but he is significant and unavoidable. His approach to government is definitely worth studying—and, in many ways, replicating.

Final assessment: First term: Mildly successful and mixed on popularity. Second term: mildly unsuccessful and unpopular

Resources

For this study, I primarily used The American Presidents series’ biography written by Henry F. Graff, as well as The Presidencies of Grover Cleveland (part of the University of Kansas’ American Presidency Series) by Richard E. Welch, Jr. (1988).

I did not, however, use Alyn Brodsky’s Grover Cleveland: A Study in Character (2000), which I threw down in absolute disgust before getting very far. Brodsky goes to great pains to elevate Cleveland by attacking most every other president’s character, as if the others are unworthy to stand in Cleveland’s shadow. That’s not biography; that’s hagiography, and pretty slimy stuff at that.

Illustrations (all pictures will be added 2/4/08)

All illustrations are in the public domain and taken from the Library of Congress Photographs and Prints Division unless otherwise noted.

1. Anders Zorn painted President Grover Cleveland in 1899, three years after he left office for good.

Cleveland and Harrison delayed

2008-01-08T10:43:00.000-06:00

My computer problems are much worse than originally thought: the hard drive is toast, and I cannot locate the backup discs where I had saved research on Grover Cleveland and Benjamin Harrison. I will need to recreate my notes ; so, these next two posts will be delayed.

Number 21: Chester A. Arthur

2007-12-09T04:42:00.000-06:00

Years in office: 1881-1885
Pre-service occupations: lawyer, principal, chief engineer and quartermaster general for the state of New York, collector of the New York Customhouse, vice president
Key events during his administration: Standard Oil founded (1882), Chinese Exclusion Act (1882), Pendleton Civil Service Act (1883). Brooklyn Bridge opens (1883), International Meridian Conference (1884)

Presidential rating: Mildly successful and very popular

ESSAY

Who thinks of Chester A. Arthur?

The name of the man who became president after James A. Garfield’s 80-day ordeal does not come readily to mind when thinking of the title “president of the United States.” In fact, when I hear Arthur’s name, I usually think of a silly episode of The Simpsons: The children of Springfield Elementary put on a play depicting the presidents. Millhouse, as Lincoln, is giving the Gettysburg address. Suddenly he cries “John Wilkes Booth!” and runs away from Bart—dressed as The Terminator—who runs after him firing a pop gun and saying “You’re next, Chester A. Arthur!”

Outside of that silly pop culture reference—and the fact that his status as the 21st president is a crucial plot element in the third Die Hard movie—Arthur remains quietly ensconced in the 19th century.

He was a curious man who was fastidious, polite to a fault and absolutely loved the good life. He was struck with personal tragedy (it often seems like the presidents have more than their share, doesn’t it?) and thrust unexpectedly into the White House—and attacked viciously by enemies who believed he had something to do with it.

Having known next to nothing about “Chet” Arthur, I learned that John Kennedy was not the only president who hid a debilitating illness. Also, Arthur was a man who was born of machine politics but became its unexpected foe when he became president. Arthur the political lackey and Arthur the accidental president appeared to be two different men—almost the difference between a reckless teenager and a sober, responsible adult.

He wasn’t the most energetic president. “Workaholic” and “Chester A. Arthur” were mutually exclusive. It’s not that he was lazy; rather, he savored his leisure time and the good life. Business had its proper place. Biographers note that no pressing cause fueled his passions; no vision for America filled his mind with ideas. It’s probably safe to say that Arthur really didn’t want to be president--but as long as he was there, he was going to do a good, fair and honorable job.

Chester A. Arthur was no mere caretaker, but a competent man who rose to the occasion, thrilled society wags with his extravagance, conducted himself honorably and left the stage—ushered out quickly by the party that no longer had a use for him. Yet he presided over a vital shift in American government that forever changed the relationship between the governors and the governed: a shift that we hotly debate to this day.

Rise of a Stalwart
His birth is a minor mystery: exactly where and when Chester A. Arthur was born to his Irish immigrant parents is something of a question mark. Some speculation abounds that he came from Canada, but Arthur never said yea or nay; so, as far as history is concerned, the gentleman president hailed from Vermont in either 1829 or 1830.

Arthur joined the Psi Upsilon fraternity, studied law and became an educator in Vermont. When he moved to New York City to practice law, he vocally opposed slavery and supported equal rights for blacks in transportation. Arthur joined the new Republican Party in the 1850s.

He married Ellen Lewis Herndon in 1859. His beloved “Nell” never quite got used to her husband’s long absences as a political operative, but she loved him dearly. Rumors of affairs sometimes dogged the Arthurs, but whether they were true or not never mattered. Their love for each other remained strong. Nell died of a pneumonia a year before Arthur became vice president. He never remarried.

During the Civil War, New York’s Governor Morgan appointed Chet Arthur as the state’s chief engineer and then quartermaster general (with the rank of brigadier general). He served from 1861-1863 and was widely praised for his service in organizing and supplying New York’s volunteer soldiers for the Union war effort. When the state’s government shifted in the 1862 elections, Arthur lost his position and returned to civilian life, where he practiced law for the remainder of the war.

Arthur soon came under the political patronage of the powerful New York Senator Roscoe Conkling. As a Radical Republican who took a harsh attitude toward the defeated South, Conkling was one of the most powerful men in the country. He also became an ally of Ulysses S. Grant, helping the wildly popular general secure the White House in 1868. Arthur, meanwhile, became quite active in state politics and stayed close to Conkling.

What made Arthur rise to prominence? Biographer Karabell postulates that nothing about Arthur made him presidential material; rather, his acceptable nature made him palatable as vice president. But president? Describing a situation that is equally apropos today, Karabell writes:

“Often, It isn’t the ones who are best suited who rise to prominence but the ones who make the fewest enemies. Arthur never attracted the passionate allegiance that Blaine or Conkling did, but he avoided the passionate animosity they engendered. Much like Garfield, Arthur rose in 1880 because he was still standing. He was never the tallest reed, so he was rarely knocked down. Though he was a skilled organizer a more-than-competent politico, he lacked the x factor usually associated with leadership and greatness. As it turned out, the qualities he did possess allowed him to rise farther than many others who were more intelligent, dynamic and driven. When he ascended to the highest office in the country, he was able to use those qualities to govern more successfully than many had expected.” (p.68)

In 1871, Grant, acting on Conkling’s advice, appointed Chet Arthur to the most lucrative post in the nation: collector of the New York Customhouse.

An uncorrupted man in a corrupted system
As the collector, Arthur drew a salary of $12,000, which itself was a princely sum compared to the pittance most of the rest of men in the nation earned. But the above-the-board “spoils” from the collector raised his income to $50,000. (Think of it this way: the difference between Arthur’s wealth and the average man’s income is roughly akin to that between a typical Hollywood star and an average middle class American today.) The income level didn’t survive for too long, because an act of Congress reduced personal rewards for customs officials.

However, Arthur did not indulge in the underhanded nature of his position. There is no evidence whatsoever that he engaged in kickbacks, skimming, bribes, etc., that ports collectors were openly known for. In fact, Arthur was praised for his honesty, and when the Hayes administration went after the political patronage system, the office of the New York collector, and not Arthur himself was the target. Arthur was clean. Biographer Doenecke suggests that Arthur sometimes encouraged illegal activity, which may or may not be true, but he certainly tolerated it.

Arthur became (to use the modern phrase) a political football when Hayes suspended him in 1878. Senator Conkling, the Stalwart machine and friendly newspapers defended Arthur, for his term had brought efficiency to the customhouse and he himself was not corrupt. But Arthur became the sacrificial lamb to President Hayes’ lukewarm reform efforts (which in the end please no one and wound up hurting the party). Arthur’s suspension became permanent and Hayes-friendly people took over the customhouse in 1879.

Arthur returned to practicing law. He also led the New York Republican Party at Conkling’s behest, which continued to involve him heavily in assessments. Practically the entire federal bureaucracy up until Arthur’s term was made up of political appointees. Party members, bosses, leaders, congressmen, senators, governors and presidents accepted the “spoils system” (so-named by an ally of Andrew Jackson) as legitimate, necessary and both privately and publicly lucrative. None believed it corrupt—none except a small but vocal minority both in and out of government, that is.

The key component of the system were the “assessments,” which were contributions that political appointees were expected to give to the party of the lawmaker or administration official that secured the position.

Reformers chafed the most at this system; baby steps were taken in Grant’s term toward creating a real civil service, but it wouldn’t happen until the public demanded that it happen. Chet Arthur, who had benefited so handsomely from the spoils system, would find himself a strange, half-hearted cheerleader of reform.

Arthur and Conkling, Arthur and Garfield: Unhappy pairings
Chet Arthur’s surprise pairing with James Garfield at the 1880 convention did not please the Stalwarts, especially Roscoe Conkling. When they realized that Grant would not get the nomination for a third term—and took solace in the fact that James G. Blaine wouldn’t get the nod either—they nevertheless didn’t like the fact that Garfield was the party’s man.

Garfield, in what seemed to be a good bit of political peacemaking, offered the VP slot to Arthur. After all, the Republicans would have a difficult time winning without New York. Biographer relates the only known record of the confrontation between party boss and lieutenant—which may be apocryphal, he notes—when the latter informed his patron that the offer had been made:

Conkling: “Well, sir, you should drop it as you would a red hot shoe from the forge.”

Arthur: “The office of the vice president is a greater honor than I have ever dreamed of obtaining. A barren nomination would be a great honor. In a calmer moment you will look at this differently.”

Conkling: “If you wish for my favor and my respect you will contemptuously decline it.”

Arthur: “Senator Conkling, I shall accept the nomination and I shall carry with me a majority of the delegates.” (Karabell, 41-42)

Things were never the same between the two: the student had surpassed the teacher, and the teacher didn’t like it one bit.

Of course, Garfield and Arthur won the 1880 election (but just barely). Their relationship was hardly cordial, though, and was even more strained than Arthur’s was with the senator. On election night Arthur made a huge loose-tongue blunder that, in the internet/YouTube age, would have destroyed the administration before it even started. At a victory celebration at Delmonico’s in New York City, where Arthur loved to do political business, Arthur and several political operatives talked about how they had won Indiana—but Arthur, probably drunk, hinted strongly that “secret” things happened in Indiana that weren’t exactly on the level. A reporter recorded the words at the private party, and the resulting story brought more shame on the men from Indiana, than Arthur, who was very well liked. Nevertheless, the incident was remembered when Arthur became president.

After the inauguration, Arthur and Garfield realized that they opposed each other on several issues. Most notably, when the president took on Conkling’s Stalwart machine over federal appointments, the president knocked the boss hard. Dismayed, Arthur stood with “Lord” Conkling and went so far as to call Garfield a liar. (See last entry for full details.) The president banished his vice president from the White House, and the two never worked together. “Hate” is actually not too strong of a word to describe their mutual feelings.

Arthur was not even permitted to be close to Garfield during the president’s months-long ordeal, as the doctors thought the sight of him would upset Garfield.

“Chet Arthur is now the president?”
The attempted assassination of Garfield in July 1881 created a multi-faceted crisis, in addition to the obvious. Ugly rumors had surfaced the same day Guiteau’s bullets struck Garfield that Arthur, Conkling and other Stalwarts had plotted to murder the president—given fuel by no less than Guiteau himself, who shouted that “Arthur is now president” after shooting Garfield” and leaving a disturbed letter claiming that only the Stalwarts could save the party and the nation.

When Garfield died thanks to doctor incompetence, Arthur took over an office he really never wanted. During his first weeks in office, public confidence was quite low:

“Arthur’s lack of national experience did little to establish public confidence; the circumstances of his vice presidential nomination, the Delmonico’s speech, the deliberate undercutting of President Garfield, and the continual closeness of the New York Stalwarts offered even less. In addition, he had inherited a divided and factionalized party, with Blaine, [John] Sherman and other leading Republicans all hoping to receive the presidential nomination in 1884.” (Doenecke, p.75)

However, while some people may have moaned to God that “Chet Arthur is now president?!” the nation actually had someone in the White House who did his best to cast off partisan ties and govern as an above-the-fray president—no matter what he felt about actually holding down the job. He didn’t want to be there, but while he was there, he would do that job well.

The new president gets started
While setting out to get a new cabinet, Arthur also sent his first message to Congress. Naturally, the message spent some time on the late president.

Arthur also discussed civil service reform in some of the strongest terms yet uttered in Washington, though Arthur’s words would become the zenith of his efforts. He also made several proposals, none of which came to fruition at that time because Congress was occupied with other matters; yet they merit a brief mention. His suggestions included the line-item veto, building a home for the Library of Congress, a smoother process for presidential succession, the regulation of interstate commerce (Arthur charged railroads of conspiring on prices and discriminating on rates), and reforming the counting of electoral votes to prevent another Hayes-Tilden mess.

Even though Congress largely ignored his ideas, the hordes off office-seekers didn’t ignore him. Old friends and strangers descended upon the White House looking for jobs. They called him “Chet” and assumed a familiarity that the easy going Arthur found offensive.

He soon dismissed the cabinet and got a new one. No realistically expected a Stalwart to keep James G. Blaine on as secretary of state. Blaine had served well, making movements toward furthering U.S. ambitions in the longed-for dream of a passage from the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific. He would serve at that post again during the next Republican administration.

Of course, Arthur’s New York friends were figuratively licking their chops at having one of their own as president. Since they couldn’t have Grant in the White House again, Arthur would have to do. But Arthur the president was not the same man as Arthur the cog in the political machine:

“For someone so identified with partisan politics, Arthur himself was remarkably equitable and nonpartisan. He had a strong sense of fair play, and he did not have an exaggerated sense of self. He respected that other people of other parties and factions held strong beliefs and desires, and in the interests of order and national unity he intended to construct an inclusive administration. He seems to have come to come to that conclusion automatically, and it dictated his response to Conkling and the Stalwarts when they turned to him in October and expected an open door and a warm embrace.

“It had not yet dawned on Conkling that his day had passed.” (Karabell, p.68-69)

The fashionable gentleman president
The nation already knew a little bit about Chester A. Arthur before he became president: they knew he was wealthy and lived extravagantly. When he assumed the presidency, the era’s version of the celebrity media couldn’t get enough of the widower president’s lifestyle. Arthur loved to live well. His wealth let him do so, both materially and gastronomically. Biographer Karabell describes Arthur as “fashion forward”—always trendy but within acceptable exquisite tastes. Observers saw Arthur as always fastidiously dressed, but never outlandishly so. His carriage was the most handsomely appointed one in the capitol. And the White House witnessed a refurbishing it had never before seen. Arthur stripped the executive mansion of old furniture, heavy curtains, old gifts and more.

Historians regret the house cleaning, because many precious items were lost—save for such things as presidential portraits—but the White House had never looked better. Arthur hired Louis Comfort Tiffany to redecorate the executive mansion, and this he did with style. Tiffany, of course, would earn great fame designing lamps.

The newspapers loved Arthur’s style, and the bachelor president was watched closely whenever he traveled in his carriage. Karabell claims that Arthur, with all of his exquisite tastes, “was the closest thing to Jacqueline Kennedy that Washington would see until Jacqueline Kennedy.” (p. 79)

Chet Arthur also loved food. While dining had long been part of his political life, he simply liked to eat fine food, and his wealth let him do so. He wasn’t exactly fat—but he wasn’t slender, either. His love of food, though, led to his ill health. The impeccably mannered president kept a closely guarded secret throughout his term: he was quite ill—another Kennedy connection, if you will—and his health faded rapidly during his term. The president had contracted Bright’s disease, a term no longer used to describe a form of kidney disease. Arthur would die from complications of this disease in 1886. (The poet Emily Dickenson died that same year from the same disease; Bright’s disease also claimed the first wives of fellow presidents Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson, and the wife of Warren G. Harding.)

Arthur successfully kept the debilitating illness from journalists and even from many of his staff, showing no signs of being sick at public events such as the opening of the Brooklyn Bridge in New York in 1883.

A Stalwart no more, and the final step to civil service reform
As mentioned, President Arthur made early moves that made him appear favorable to the reformists: he urged civil service reform and he refused to dole out patronage positions like candy to the New York machine.

However, Arthur was not a great champion of reform. Despite the strong stance in his 1881 message to Congress, he took no initial strong actions other than keeping his former Stalwart allies at bay with appointments. He did use his patronage powers to cement political alliances—such as with Virginia’s William Mahone—but “kept aloof,” to use Karabell’s phrase, from Conkling, Grant and other Stalwarts who peppered him with suggestions and expectations of appointments. Arthur used his head and set his own course on appointing positions rather than following the expected course of “to the victor go the spoils,” the time-honored tradition since Andrew Jackson. Conkling became so dismayed at his onetime protégé that he remarked that the dearth of offices being given to Stalwarts made the Hayes administration “respectable, if not heroic,” in comparison.” (Doeneke, p.76)

It may not have been smart politics, but it was presidential leadership.

To the disappointment of reformers, nothing really got done on civil service reform during 1882. Arthur took tepid steps, but nothing truly groundbreaking. Elites such as Henry Adams believed that Arthur represented more of the same, and in truth, he did. Arthur urged reform, be he wasn’t going to lead the charge. Congress would need to do that itself. Two earthshaking events—one of them purely political—finally pushed the government into reform.

The first had, of course, already happened: Garfield’s death. He was shot by a lunatic who history mislabels a “disgruntled office-seeker.” The second event was the devastating Republican political losses in the 1882 elections. To understand the magnitude of Republican losses, think of the Democratic losses in 1994. Although the Republicans held on to a slim majority in the Senate, their numbers had all but reversed in the House. State elections were bad all over, especially New York, where Democrat candidate Grover Cleveland overwhelmed an Arthur ally, wresting the governor’s office away from the Republicans in a humiliating defeat for boss politics.

Why was there a “Democrat cyclone,” as one newspaper termed it? Biographer Doeneke explains that boss politics was falling apart, the Democrats were unusually organized, corruption taints hurt them (they always hurt the party in power far more than the party out of power) and the public wanted the reform done in the wake of the shocking shooting of Garfield (p.99). Republicans had definitely underestimated public desire for reforming civil service, and even though both parties used the spoils system to great effect, the Republicans took a hit for lack of action.

The lame-duck Congress realized that it could secure real civil service reform in 1883 before the new Congress took over. This would led Republicans take credit for the reform—and also give some tenure protection to Republican officeholders. Politically, it was definitely cynical. But nevertheless, Congress dusted off the bill that Democrat George Pendleton had previously proposed, and went to work.

Arthur’s role was more of a sideliner than a headliner: He approved the act in January 1883, but he wasn’t its driving force. In fact, had he unwisely vetoed the bill—if he had suddenly decided to cling to bossism, for example—his veto would have easily been overturned, and Arthur would have lost a lot of ground. But he signed it, if not cheerfully, then at least prudently.

The 1883 Pendleton Act was quite limited in scope: it only covered 11 percent of federal employees (14,000 out of 131,600 in 1883). And it didn’t even touch the postal service (an area where Arthur suffered some embarrassment, when the investigations into the Star Route frauds produced not convictions, but acquittals). However, the act did establish a bipartisan Civil Service Commission, eliminated assessments against office holders and made certain offices competitive—not political giveaways.

Yet even this limited scope marked a tremendous change in the basic function of government. No longer would the federal government be subject to mere political whims—“to the victor go the spoils,” as an ally of Andrew Jackson stated shortly after Old Hickory’s victory in 1828. Starting in 1883, the federal government would take a new direction:

“For those who bemoan the growth of government in our day, the Pendleton Act might be seen as a step down the road to perdition. After all, it facilitated the vast expansion of the federal bureaucracy. Even those who don’t like government, however, can probably appreciate that insofar as some government is a necessary evil, it’s better for society that it be administered in a professional manner.” (Karabell, p.110)

Protectionism in the Gilded Age I
Another political battle of Arthur’s term came over the tariff (tax on goods at the time of importation). Tariffs were fought over during the 1800s like tax rates are fought over today. Grossly simplifying, businesses and manufacturers often favored a high (protection) tariff while agrarian and other rural communities generally favored a lower tariff, allowing the importation of goods at a cheaper price. Doenecke explains that supporters of high tariffs believed that their way kept American wages high and in turn benefited farmers, who could find customers among higher-wage earners. Supporters of the low tariff believed that their way opened the doors to lower prices while granting Americans access to more markets worldwide.

The reform-minded public demanded action on the tariff, and President Arthur agreed. Arthur, though urging caution, believed having a repeated annual federal budget surplus from revenue tariffs was an embarrassment and needed to be fixed. (Wildly different from today’s politics, wouldn’t you agree?) Arthur established a commission—dominated by protectionists—who returned a surprising endorsement for a substantial reduction of tariffs.

After the 1882 elections, the lame-duck Republican-led Congress rammed a bill through Congress to address tariff reform, hoping to do the same thing with tariff reform that they did with civil service. Arthur signed the bill without comment at the last hour of the lame-duck Congress’ session. Unfortunately, it was nowhere near what Arthur had wanted and a far cry from what his commission had recommended. High tariffs were reduced by a mere 1.47 percent average. Biographer Doenecke writes that:

“The legislative monstrosity was so illogical that the bill soon became known as the Mongrel Tariff. …(T)he measure throughout possessed
more dangling modifiers and convoluted jargon than an undergraduate term paper. The bill backfired, winning few supporters the GOP.” (p.170)

Arthur wasn’t blamed, because he took the issue seriously and so did his commission. The power-hungry and politically minded Congress, however, blew it. The GOP would pay for it in the next presidential election, as farmers and westerners turned toward the Democrats for relief.

Protectionism in the Gilded Age II
Money and foreign goods weren’t the only protectionist inclinations that concerned Congress during Arthur’s term. Congress passed—and Arthur approved—laws excluding “paupers” (extremely poor people), criminals and the mentally insane from immigrating to America.

During President Hayes’ term, Congress attempted to pass a law restricting Chinese immigration. Hayes vetoed the bill for practical reasons: the bill violated a prior treaty with the Chinese. Now Arthur faced a similar situation. Anti-Chinese sentiment continued to grow in the west, especially as Chinese laborers turned from constructing railroads to other pursuits. Now, there was nothing unusual per-say in the anti-Chinese sentiment in that they were the latest immigrant wave to feel the wrath of the “old-timers,” much the way the Irish and Dutch had been laid into as lazy, drunk Catholics in the 1840s. Competition for low-paying jobs—becoming a familiar battle between old and new immigrant waves—coupled with unfamiliarity with Chinese ways, and the fact that most of the Chinese were men—there were very few women and children—fueled suspicions and tainted the mess with racism.

West coast legislators again crafted a bill against Chinese immigration, this time much tougher than the previous attempted bill. The Chinese Exclusion Act was intended to forbid any immigration from China for 20 years and placed many restrictions on those already in the states. President Arthur, to his great credit, vetoed the bill, using the same reasons as Hayes: it was a bad faith gesture to the Chinese government.

Congress, however, overcame Arthur’s veto by passing a softer version of the bill (10 years, not 20), but not much less punitive than its predecessor. Here, though, Arthur faltered—and to his great detriment signed the bill into law in May 1882. Karabell explains that he knew he didn’t have the votes to sustain a veto and public sentiment was running against the Chinese.

“Another president might have vetoed the bill again and forced Congress to overturn him. Clearly, Arthur’s sympathies lay in that direction. He had been raised by a father with strong religious convictions against slavery, and he himself ad been squarely in the antislavery camp as a young adult in the 1850s. In that sense, he was a true Republican in the mold of Lincoln and the founders of the party. At the same time, his political career was not built on the passion of his ideals; it had been based on his loyalty, diligence and effectiveness as an operator. He was never a demagogue, and one reason why he had made so few enemies was that he was rarely petty venal or hateful. The Chinese exclusion bill was all three, but Arthur would not fight a fight he knew he would lose. Rather than be a martyr to principle, he submitted to the will of the political majority and pragmatically signed the ten-year exclusion act.” (Karabell, p.85-86)

In other words, Chester A. Arthur was not one to find hills to die on.

The pork barrel veto
While President Arthur tepidly let the Chinese exclusion act go through, he exercised his veto authority prominently on a piece of legislation properly derided then as “pork barrel.” The Rivers and Harbors Act of 1882 was a $19 million boondoggle specifically designed as a sop for congressmen and senators whose districts would be affected by river and port improvements—with money taken from the federal surplus.

Although some of the improvements could be justified, President Arthur vetoed the bill. Doeneke explains:

“Arthur was not opposed to internal improvements in general or to southern improvements in particular. In April, he had endorsed a report of the Mississippi River Commission that called for improvements on the whole length of the river. But in his veto message to Congress, he claimed that the rivers and harbors grants would only benefit ‘particular localities.’ Such parochial appropriations did not advance the common defense, interstate commerce or the general welfare and hence went ‘beyond the powers given by the Constitution to Congress and the President.’ In addition, they set a bad precedent: further demands could only lead to ‘extravagant expenditure of public money,’ thereby demoralizing the nation.” (p.81)

Congress quickly overturned his veto, but Arthur enjoyed increased public approval for his actions.

The “Father of the Steel Navy,” Gulf movements and the issue of time
The president moved to modernize the navy, most of which was filled with hulks left over from the war. The navy that McKinley used to win the Spanish-American War had its beginnings in Arthur’s term. He ordered the construction on new steel-clad steamers, although only three cruisers were built. But the secretary of the Navy, William Chandler, established the Naval War College in Rhode Island and the office of Naval Intelligence. It was a start.

Meanwhile, President Arthur’s choice to replace James G. Blaine at State, Frederick Theodore Frelinghuysen, seemed like a decent enough choice. A longtime Republican with a strong interest in foreign affairs—he had chaired the Senate’s committee on foreign relations and had even been appointed to the ministry to Great Britain by U.S. Grant (declined)—Frelinghuysen would serve Arthur ably if not outstandingly.

He wasn’t as aggressive as Blaine, but through him Arthur pursued familiar movements in Nicaragua to secure land for the future construction of a canal. The Senate refused to ratify a treaty with Nicaragua because it went against a prior treaty with England. Frelinghuysen also sought reciprocal trade agreements with Spain, Mexico and the Dominican Republic, but protectionists prevented those agreements from becoming law.

For the most part, Arthur’s foreign policy was a bust, except for one major event. In 1884, President Arthur organized the International Meridian Conference in Washington to determine the world’s prime meridian—in other words, decide what time was the standard time on which all clocks would be set, rather than continue to have a bunch of competing meridians wafting about. The conference established that the time in Greenwich, England, would be the meridian from then on. (It did not establish time zones, however.)

1884
The 1884 election marked the first time since 1857 that the Democrats regained the White House, and the man who did it—Grover Cleveland—would be the only Democrat to hold the office until Woodrow Wilson more than a decade after Cleveland’s second term ended. By 1884, the Republican Party had recovered from the shellacking of 1882. The party got some credit for the Pendleton Act but was stung by the public over the party’s protectionism.

At that moment, grassroots public sentiment favored the Democrats, and for once, the Democrats coalesced around an excellent, if not exciting candidate. Cleveland appealed to enough people in enough sections of the country that he was an acceptable candidate.

The Republicans were in trouble not because of Arthur, but because the party no longer had a “big name” to gather around. Grant was out of the picture. (Grant would be dead the following year, and in his final gesture to bossism, Arthur reversed his prior stance and approved a measure restoring the ailing Grant to rank and giving him a handsome pension for which the hero of the Union lived on during his final months.) Conkling was also persona non gratis, so that left Arthur himself, James G. Blaine, John Sherman and few other wannabes as possible contenders.

But President Arthur had no real intention of standing for election in his own right, although he did figuratively throw his hat in the ring. Though still a closely guarded secret, his health was increasingly fragile. The president did not aggressively seek the nomination, though he was popular enough to go into the convention with enough support right behind James G. Blaine. Other men considered for the nomination included John Sherman’s brother, William T., who famously remarked “If nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve.” President Arthur could almost say as much, considering his health.

However, Blaine quickly won the nomination, much to the dismay of many in the party. He was too polarizing and, more liberal members were afraid, unappealing to larger swaths of the country. They were right. Blaine lost the close election to Cleveland.

The popular Arthur left the White House in good spirits in March 1885 for New York City. He died the following year and was buried next to his wife.

Final Assessment

Chester A. Arthur proved to be one of the better presidents we’ve ever had. A man who never wanted the job, he turned his back on the mechanisms—and the people—that brought him prominence and attempted to govern ably, honestly, skillfully and thoughtfully.

Arthur wasn’t always a leader. Many of the major issues of the day were handled with his support and sometimes reluctant approval, but he wasn’t the one out in front and leading the charge. Civil service reform occurred as much from Republican electoral disaster as it did from Garfield’s death. Sometimes, though, Arthur did stand athwart Congress, such as when he vetoed the Rivers and Harbors Act. A wealthy man who loved the good life, he nevertheless understood the tugs and pulls of the American economy, and his commission’s proposed reform’s of the tariff system were much better than what Congress ultimately enacted.

He had a number of ideas he proposed to Congress, but when Congress ignored them, he didn’t follow through. His foreign policy went nowhere, but his term came at a time of peace with the world.

Biographer Karabell writes that Arthur was a different president than Tyler and Johnson, who practically wrecked their parties after assuming the presidency. Arthur, however, was a pleasant surprise:

“Arthur had become president with perilously low expectations, which he then exceeded. In essence, most people concluded that the Arthur administration hadn’t been half bad. Considering that they had thought it would be all bad, Arthur was widely acclaimed for having done a respectable job.” (p.137)

In the end, Chester A. Arthur was a man thrust unexpectedly into the presidency who, in the modern vernacular, rose to the occasion and functioned well. His decisions weren’t always the best, and he often went along more than he led, such as when he ultimately signed the wretched Chinese Exclusion Act. But overall, he succeeded in serving the nation well.

Final assessment: Mildly successful and very popular

Resources

Both of my primary resources for this report were quite useful: The Presidencies of James A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur (University of Kansas American Presidency Series) by Justus D. Doenecke (1981), and Chester A. Arthur by Zachary Karabell (2004, The American Presidents series). Both draw upon the definitive volume of Arthur’s entire life, Gentleman Boss: The Life of Chester Alan Arthur by Thomas C. Reeves (1975).

Illustrations

All illustrations are in the public domain and taken from the Library of Congress Photographs and Prints Division unless otherwise noted.

1 President Chester A. Arthur was photographed by C.M. Bell in 1882.

2 Ellen Herndon Arthur was photographed sometime between 1857 and 1870.

3 An Oct. 19, 1881, Puck cartoon by Frederick Burr Opper shows President Hayes kicking Chester A. Arthur out of the New York Customs House.

4 “Our nation’s choice—Gen. James Abram Garfield, Republican candidate for President, Gen. Chester A. Arthur, Republican Candidate for Vice-President” was an 1880 campaign poster complete with patriotic images and an American eagle.

5 Justice John R. Brady, Justice of New York State Supreme Court, administers the oath of office to Vice President Arthur in a private ceremony in Arthur's residence at 123 Lexington Ave. in New York City, as depicted in the Oct. 8, 1881, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated.

6 “On the threshold of office—what have we to expect of him?” Joseph Keppler created this cartoon for the Sept. 28, 1881, issue of Puck. Seven men (presumably party leaders) behold Chester Arthur; on the wall are portraits of the previous men to succeed a dead president, Andrew Johnson, Millard Fillmore and John Tyler.

7 “A presidential conjuror—What Mr. Arthur must be to satisfy all the politicians” is the caption of this Joseph Keppler cartoon for the Oct. 12, 1881, issue of Puck. The new President Arthur takes on the role of a stage musician and throws out titles of political offices, “soft soap,” “promises,” etc., to a crowd of men.

8 President Chester Arthur rides in his handsome in horse-drawn carriage in 1884, as depicted in the Sept. 6, 1884, Harper’s Weekly.

9 Senator Roscoe Conkling, leader of the Stalwarts group of the Republican Party, playing “The great presidential puzzle” game in this lithograph published in 1880 by Mayer, Merkel & Ottmann of New York City. Conkling overplayed his hand with both Garfield and Arthur. As president, Arthur would turn his back on the Conkling machine, and Conkling would never again play the kingmaker.

10 A Puck cartoon from June 28, 1882, showing Chester Arthur, dressed as a Roman standing next to “Republican scales” and holding the “patronage” sword with Mitchell “independent reps.” on one end of the scales and James Donald Cameron “bossism” on the other end of scales. The cartoon is more hopeful than accurate, because although Arthur was deft over patronage issues, his stance against “bossism,” and hence for civil service reform, only went so far.

11 Arthur is depicted as a vice presidential candidate.

12 President Arthur and party cross the newly opened Brooklyn Bridge in 1883.

13 President Chester A. Arthur is depicted in a full-length photo.

Number 20: James Garfield

2007-11-11T21:54:00.001-06:00

Year in office: 1881
Pre-service occupations: general, lawyer, educator, state senator, U.S. representative, U.S. senator
Key events during his administration: Appointments showdown, beginning of Star Route fraud investigation, his assassination

Presidential rating: no rating but popular

ESSAY

He’s a great “what if.”

Like the other president who died so shortly into his term, James Garfield forever leaves us pondering the course of the nation had he lived. Would Garfield be remembered as another Lincoln or would the name still be associated with a fat, orange cat?

As with William Henry Harrison, though, James Garfield’s meteoric rise to power and shocking death merits examination. He was a popular man, a brilliant orator, a skillful politician, a friend to many and an enemy to few.

Of course, he’s remembered primarily—or only—because of his assassination, as his time in office was short. But during the run up to his abbreviated presidency, Garfield eared his reputation as one of the brightest political stars of the era. General, congressman and would-be reformer, Garfield raced through the post-war political scene like a meteor—and burned out almost as quickly when his life ended in 1881. The “young man in a hurry” is, like all the presidents, worth examining in full.

An educated and loquacious man
James Garfield came of age in an extremely poor area of Ohio known as the Western Reserve. After a brief seafaring adventure—on the canals of the east, not the Great Lakes or the oceans—the intensely curious and highly intelligent Garfield enrolled in the Western Reserve Eclectic Institute. A simple and poor college, the Institute fired Garfield’s mind. He developed disciplined study habits, worked on speaking skills and started a daily diary that remained with him until his death.

Garfield went east for a degree, entering Williams College in northwest Massachusetts in 1854. There he came under the tutelage of one of the 19th century’s most noted educator’s Mark Hopkins. At Williams, Garfield’s speaking skills became legendary, and his salutatorian on commencement day in 1856 awed the assembled audience, including Hopkins, who was as proud of Garfield as if James were his own son.

His two years at Williams also awoke Garfield’s political interests; he joined the abolitionist movement and the Republican Party. He had also built up excellent skills in working with people whose views he didn’t necessarily support—a highly valuable skill for a politician. He returned to the Institute as a teacher, but soon entered Ohio politics and a Republican Party supporter. He finally won an office in his own right in 1859, to the Ohio senate. There, both his speaking and organizational skills made him an asset to the state.

Meanwhile, Garfield courted and wed Lucretia Rudolf, an old classmate from the Institute, in 1858. Their marriage wasn’t always an easy one, but they raised five children together. He called her “Crete.” He also read law and was admitted to the Ohio bar.

War
At first, Garfield sought compromise. In the Ohio senate, he arranged a banquet in honor of the Kentucky and Tennessee legislatures to demonstrate their common bonds. The effort was well received and highly praised. But after Fort Sumter, Garfield tossed aside compromise and fought for victory.

As a state senator, Garfield urged the raising of regiments for the Union cause. Friends insisted that his stature—his political stature—merited him a generalship, so Garfield sought a commission. He became the colonel of the 42nd Ohio Volunteers—a natural occurrence, in keeping with the spirit of the times that the man who raised the regiment usually led it.

His actions in western Kentucky during early 1862 were exaggerated by Union media eager for positive news and by Garfield himself. True, he had chased the Rebels from the area, but the case was, to put it kindly, overstated with exuberance. Still, Garfield lobbied for and gained promotion to brigadier.

He was later assigned to General Don Carlos Buell’s army during the Shiloh and Corinth campaigns, but ill health sent him home in the autumn.

During the fall of 1863, Garfield, now a U.S. representative in the 38th Congress, returned to the field with a general’s rank to serve as the chief of staff for Major General William S. Rosecrans, commander of the Army of the Cumberland. On September 19 and 20, Confederate Gen. Bragg, reinforced by James Longstreet’s veterans from Virginia, badly defeated Rosecrans at Chickamauga in northeast Georgia by driving half his army from the field—including Rosecrans and Garfield.

At a crossroads, Rosecrans and Garfield paused. One way lead to Chattanooga and safety. The other way lead back to the battlefield where the Union’s George Thomas was still fighting on Snodgrass Hill. Rosecrans went with the remainder of the army back to Chattanooga and eventual obscurity. Garfield, on the other hand, returned to the battlefield.

It may seem like an insignificant event—after all, most of the army was in retreat—but it illustrates that Garfield’s instincts were sharp—as were his political calculations. Many senior officers were later cashiered, especially Rosecrans. Who would re-elect a congressman who ran? But a congressman who ran BUT went back to fight? Different story. Garfield was promoted to major general. (Glenn Tucker gives details of this event on p. 311-313 of his Chickamauga, 1961.)

He would later leave the army for good when his term began that December and remained in Congress until he was elected to the U.S. Senate just before his nomination as a dark horse candidate in 1880.

Congressman Garfield
Once firmly ensconced in the House, Garfield joined the Radicals and embraced their hard-line course against the South. He chafed against Lincoln’s seeming moderation and would join his fellow Republicans and break with Johnson over Reconstruction. He grew disappointed in his fellow Ohioan, Salmon P. Chase, who as chief justice presided over Johnson’s impeachment. Garfield had considered Chase a political mentor but left Chase behind when he seemed to favor the defense during the trial (which wasn’t really true).

Garfield became known as a fiscal hardliner; he embraced the hard-money policies that favored the return to the gold standard. Rutkow explains that Garfield, knowing his district was politically safe (i.e., he never faced a serious challenge, and only once was his margin of victory below 60%) could make a serious, fiscally sound case for hard money without having to cater to political whims.

During his decade-and-a-half career in Congress, he also formed a rivalry/friendship with James G. Blaine of Maine, one of the key power figures of late 19th century Republican politics. Blaine had power in the House, and while he was Speaker, kept Garfield from leading the Ways & Means Committee. When the Democrats gained control of Congress, however, Garfield became the ranking opposition member—and a respected one at that.

Garfield’s career was nearly derailed through three separate scandals. “His involvement in these affairs seemed strange at the time,” writes Rutkow, “ since Garfield was decidedly puritanical in his views concerning public officials, industrialists and illicit business dealings.” (p.32) However, Garfield’s name came up in connection to the Credit Mobilier scandal. The federal government had subsidized a large portion of the Union Pacific’s construction from Nebraska to Utah. To cover up some money laundering, stock for the dummy corporation, the Credit Mobilier, was spread around Congress.

Garfield was among the congressmen who accepted stock, though by his word, he had no honest recollection about the matter. His less-than-forthcoming answers to investigators, however, hurt him politically. Soon, he had to justify his participation in the “Salary grab” of 1873, where Congress voted itself a 50% pay increase the same year the Panic hit (see entry on Grant).

Garfield was the chairman of the Appropriations Committee; so, of course public wrath came his way. He sent a letter to his constituents explaining what happened—and wasn’t entirely truthful in his explanation. Nevertheless, the safeness of his district and the distance of the next election prevented the twp scandals from hurting him too much. The final scandal was as much a scandal as a conflict of interest, where Garfield, as a lawyer, represented clients on one end and worked on legislation related to those same clients on the other. Rutkow relegates the matter to poor judgment rather than corruption.

Garfield was to play a role in the 1876 election crisis when he was appointed to the 15-member commission that was to decide the fate of the disputed electoral votes. What’s most notable about this is Garfield’s attitude: Rutkow relates that Garfield was “tired of the namby-pamby way in which many of our Republicans treat public questions.” (p.38) This speaks to Garfield’s desire to get things done boldly, not timidly, and he would carry that frustration throughout Hayes’ administration.

Hayes’ partial attempts at civil service reform, which Garfield didn’t fully support (because he didn’t like the rule that federal civil servants couldn’t participate in party politics) left the congressman despondent. Even those mild efforts met with strong opposition, and in Garfield’s opinion, that made the Hayes administration an “almost fatal blow” to the Republican Party.

Near the end of the 1870s, Garfield realized that he needed to move to the Senate and easily won the open seat in 1879.

The election of 1880
It’s true that James Garfield was a dark horse candidate. When President Hayes finally convinced his fellow Republicans that he really did mean he wasn’t going to seek a second term, party power brokers aimed to succeed Hayes with their own brand of Republicanism.

There were three main factions. The first were the Stalwarts: New York boss and Senator Roscoe Conkling lead them and backed ex-President Grant for a third term. Conkling ruled New York politics and had crossed Hayes over control of the New York Customhouse, the most lucrative port in the nation. The senator, according to some historians, wanted a third Grant term because Grant was supposedly controllable, though that seems dubious. More likely it was because Grant’s attempts at civil service reform came to naught.

The second powerful faction was the Half-Breeds, so called because they had pledged only partial support to the Grant administration and when they broke with Grant, they maintained some “see I told you so” style of credibility. They were led by Maine’s charismatic and slick James G. Blaine.

The third faction was basically the rest of the party, which bowed to neither the East Coast money interests nor the corridors of power. They were made up of the Midwestern and Western states (the South being a solid Democratic bloc). Their candidate was outgoing Treasury Secretary John Sherman.

Grant and Blaine held the strongest leads throughout much of the balloting, with Sherman barely registering. But on the 36th ballot, Blaine and Sherman supporters switched to Garfield, who won the nomination. It’s fascinating in that Garfield, already noted for his speaking skills, supposedly wasn’t actively seeking the nomination—though the did he or didn’t he question is still disputed—was by far the most popular man at the convention, even more so than Grant. When introducing Sherman’s candidacy, cries of “Garfield!” nearly drowned him out.

Conkling’s Stalwarts weren’t exactly mollified when Chester A. Arthur was selected to be the vice presidential candidate—convention politicking had gone against the Grant backers—and Garfield wasn’t exactly enamored with the choice either. It would cause some problems later.

The Democrats chose a genuine war hero—and a confirmed Democrat—as their candidate: Winfield Scott Hancock, the Army of the Potomac’s best corps commander (II Corps). Among his many laurels, Hancock had fought in almost every major battle in the east and had broken Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg.

Garfield returned to Mentor where he conducted the first ever “front-porch campaign,” where party-members, supporters, well-wishers, bands, clubs, civic organizations by the wagon- and trainload came to hear speeches and see the candidate.

Campaign issues at first centered around 1876, but Democrats really couldn’t gain any traction, both because Hayes was not running and because their own investigations had revealed shady dealings on behalf of their own candidate (see previous entry). The campaigns instead focused on the two men. Admittedly, Hancock was the war hero while Garfield, though a general, really couldn’t compete, and Republicans knew they couldn’t touch Hancock’s service. Instead, they focused on him being the figurehead leader of a corrupt party; Democrats returned the favor.

Garfield got a tremendous boost in October when Democratic supporters attempted to damage the Republican by claiming he supported unlimited Chinese immigration. (See the last entry for more on this issue.) The letter, addressed to a “H.L. Morley” of Massachusetts, was published in a newspaper called The Truth. Chinese immigration was a heated issue in the West, and Garfield hurt himself by not answering the widely disseminated charge quickly. Finally, he provided a letter refuting the charge, and handwriting experts declared the Morley letter an obvious forgery. (Gee, this all sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Dan Rather?)

Garfield’s stature went up, the Democrats took a hit (no evidence Hancock was involved) and Garfield won in a close election. He took 214 electoral votes to Hancock’s 155, and just under 9,500 popular votes from over 9 million cast.

“Power” cabinet
With the election won, Garfield set about organizing the administration. The president-elect always must satisfy the various factions of the party that supports his election. To fail to do so for whatever reason usually invites problems, as it did for Grant and Hayes. This involves two things: the cabinet and appointments. The cabinet continues to be a major issue to this day; appointments have evolved into a different animal. The latter started becoming an issue in Grant’s term and would lead to tragic consequences in 1881.

The former produced two months of headaches for Garfield, making the end of 1880 and the beginning of 1881 a period of angst and frustration for the president-elect.

Garfield made his first selection by offering the State Department to James G. Blaine. The Secretary of State’s office during the 19th century was quite powerful: Europeans considered him akin to prime minister, while Americans considered him, and not the vice president, second only to the president. Garfield biographer Ira Rutkow explains that giving State to Blaine was a huge affront to Conkling—who did, after all, “deliver” the crucial state of New York for Garfield, hard feelings from the convention aside.

Conkling wanted a place in the Garfield administration, too—and not just the vice presidency, which few people thought much of. Conkling wanted one of his men at Treasury, the second-most powerful cabinet post. The Treasury secretary controlled monetary policy and a huge number of patronage positions. However, Garfield balked at the thought of having an Eastern moneyman once again in charge of federal monetary policy. Instead, he would eventually name William Windom of Minnesota to the post.

Oddly, Garfield gives the appearance of being under the domination of Blaine during this period, as the only firm commitment he got for a cabinet position was from Blaine by the time he got to Washington. None of Garfield’s proposed appointments seemed to meet with Blaine approval. Blaine also published, without Garfield’s knowledge, a pointed editorial that seemed to take aim at the Stalwarts, who were infuriated.

Garfield was dismayed at the fighting between the two strong personalities and their followers—and he still didn’t have a cabinet. Finally, in Washington, with his inauguration shortly to come, he made his choices. He offered War to Robert Todd Lincoln (A. Lincoln’s son), which gave prestige to the incoming administration. He wound up giving Treasury to Windom after abandoning all further attempts at compromise with Conkling proved futile when discussing the Navy secretary and postmaster general positions.

Garfield named Stalwart Thomas James to be postmaster general—but without consulting Conkling, which lead to, in Ira Rutkow’s words, an hour-long browbeating, where Conkling, witnessed by Arthur,

“...charg[ed] him with duplicity and lack of concern for the needs of the Republican Party. Arthur recalled that ‘for invective, sarcasm and impassioned eloquence, this was the speech of Conkling’s life.’ Garfield listened to the harangue in silence. He made no promises and made no apologies, but came away convinced, more than ever, that Conkling had little regard for most of his fellow Republicans.” (p.68)

There would be consequences.

The administration in action
President Garfield’s inaugural address is remarkable in that it was completely out of character. The man who had brought Hopkins to tears at his valedictorian fell flat during what was arguably the biggest speech of his life. Why? He was exhausted. The bruising cabinet nomination fight had left him little time to work on his speech; so, he didn’t finish until 3 that morning. When he took the oath later that day, he was wiped out.

Still, the new president took office amid prosperous times. The hard economic times were over and Garfield could look forward to tackling some interesting problems, such as pressing for education for blacks, especially in the South. Education was the key to black advancement, he argued in his inaugural, and he repeated that theme later that month in Louisiana. But other problems came up almost immediately—and probably made him happy that he picked the right men for cabinet positions.

First, Garfield set about strengthening the economy through Wall Street collaboration. Secretary Windom and Attorney General Wayne MacVeagh worked out an arrangement with brokers and bankers to redeem 5 percent and six percent government bonds for the new 3.5 percent bonds without unduly affecting the shareholders. Getting rid of the older bonds, which were used for Civil War public debt, became a bright mark for the administration—especially because it reduced interest on the public debt by 40 percent and saved the federal government $10 million a year.

Second, Garfield’s people uncovered one of the greatest scandals in American history: the “Star Route” fraud. It involved corruption in the post office, and it would take a bit of space to explain it. “Star Route” refers to special delivery routes in the southwest that were designated with a star or asterisk on the postal schedules, and that was where some of the fraud occurred. For example, one route charged the government $50,000 a year instead of the $1,000 contracted for. Biographer Rutkow explains that only someone high up in the Postal Service and elsewhere in t he government could authorize such fraud. (p.74-75)

Rumors had been circulating for years until finally a congressional investigation began. During his first week in office, Garfield ordered Postmaster General James to investigate and eliminate the abuses and corruption. He did so, and the investigation and charges would continue long after Garfield’s death.

Meanwhile, Secretary Blaine was working in Central America making the United States’ claim to any canal built in that area—a long-standing vision stretching back for several administrations.

Problems between Garfield and Arthur—and Conkling
While the Star Route fraud investigations got underway, the appointments controversy commenced once more. While Garfield was making appointments—including many black Americans to federal offices, Garfield needed to deal with the thorny problem of New York politics. The battle for civil service reform had only been postponed following Hayes’ half measures. The president actually invited Conkling in March to discuss appointments in hopes of somehow healing the rift. Garfield told the senator that while he agreed with the Stalwart’s suggestions, he needed to remember the non-Stalwart New Yorkers who had supported him in Chicago. Conkling thought they should be “exiled” to foreign service for all he cared.

Once more, Garfield seemed to be under the sway of a powerful personality when he submitted a number of Stalwart names for New York positions. An outraged Secretary Blaine tried to dissuade Garfield, but instead, the president sent another appointment: William Robertson, a Conkling enemy, as collector customs of the Port of New York.

Garfield might as well have kneed Conkling in the groin. Writes Rutkow:

“To appoint one of Conkling’s enemies to the coveted of all patronage positions was both a bold political stroke and a supreme insult to the Stalwarts. ‘This brings on the contest at once and will settle the question whether the President is registering clerk of the Senate or the Executive of the United States,’ Garfield wrote to one of his friends. ‘Shall the principal port of entry in which more than 90% of all our customs duties are collected be under the control of the administration or under the local control of a factional senator?’” (p.76-77)

The showdown brought matters to a head with his vice president. Chester Arthur (who had held the post in dispute until Hayes kicked him out) was a pure Stalwart. He and Garfield never got along—party politics had made them running mates—and the Robertson affair drove them completely apart. Arthur refused to speak to Garfield for a month, and soon started calling the president a liar—in public. Incensed, Garfield barred Arthur from the White House.

Conkling eventually lost the fight. Garfield gained in stature while Conkling, in desperation, resigned his seat in protest. The Senate confirmed Robertson anyway. “Grateful” New York voters did not return Conkling, to his surprise, to the Senate.

Garfield had struck a blow against “boss” politics and won.

A man named Guiteau
The battle over appointments created the most unfortunate consequence. Throughout most of the 19th century, the president had to spend the first several months of his term making appointments, and not just the high profile ones. There were thousands of federal posts that needed to be filled. Often, presidents of the same party kept many men on to ease the burden. Even with cabinet officials sharing the load, it was a tiresome and thankless job.

The chief executive was usually assessable to anyone, and Garfield was no exception. On his inauguration day and for weeks after, well-wishers and office-seekers flooded the White House. On of them was a would-be Stalwart named Charles Guiteau. He claimed that he had been key to Garfield’s election and therefore deserved a lucrative foreign posting. In truth, he had made crazy-man speeches on a street corner.

When his repeated visits to the White House and State Department led to no appointments—and actually caused him to be barred from both buildings—Guiteau turned against Garfield. When the president defeated Conkling, Guiteau decided that that Garfield needed to die: His death as the only way that the Stalwarts could take control and prevent the Democrats from starting another war.

Despite Abraham Lincoln’s assassination—even despite the attempted assassination of Andrew Jackson—there was still no guards for the president. Often presidents rode and walked alone or in the company of a few people. On July 2, 1881, President Garfield and Secretary Blaine walked alone into a Washington train station. They were heading to New Jersey and then other places east.

Once the duo had walked past him, Guiteau pulled out his .44 and shot Garfield twice.

The 80 days
If modern doctors had treated Garfield, he probably would have lived; the shooting would have had no more significance than the attempt on Reagan in 1981 and Guiteau would be akin to John Hinkley Jr. as a would-be assassin.

Guiteau’s first shot grazed Garfield’s right arm. His second shot hit him square in the back. Garfield went down; a policeman captured the shooter, who was screaming about being a Stalwart and that Arthur was now president. Blaine cradled the bleeding Garfield. Four cabinet members out on the platform at first thought a joke had been made: the president—shot?

Soon doctors arrived, including one of the few black American doctors. Garfield was moved to a second floor. He was weakening. Doctor Willard Bliss, a wartime gunshot expert and chief surgeon for the U.S. Armory’s hospital in Washington and current member of the DC Board of Health, soon arrived and took command. He probed for the bullet—most likely with dirty fingers—but couldn’t find it. Ten doctors in all gathered and finally agreed to let the president return to the White House.

He couldn’t have been in worse hands. Biographer Rutkow, a clinical professor of surgery who earned his doctorate of public health from Johns Hopkins, is an expert in the history of American medicine. His biography of Garfield is quite damning of the incompetent “care” that Garfield received from Bliss and the few other attending physicians.

Bliss took charge of the president and, like a mini dictator, controlled all access to Garfield and all information concerning his condition. Few visitors were permitted to see him, including family. Even the president’s personal physician was kicked out. The medical community loudly debated Bliss’ methods, but apparently the administration let him have his way. Worse, every doctor who probed into Garfield’s wound did so with unwashed fingers and non-sterilized instruments:

“From the moment that Bliss first placed his finger and instruments into Garfield’s wound, the president’s health was compromised. What had been a relatively clean bullet track was transformed into a highly contaminated one.” (Rutkow, p.110-111)

Garfield’s infected body was shaken with fever, loss of appetite and pain.

Meanwhile, the shocked nation clung to every bit of news that came from the White House, regardless of how seemingly false it was. Vice President Arthur came under immediate suspicion, and did Roscoe Conkling, considering the would-be assassin confessed his status as a “stalwart’s Stalwart.”

Months passed and finally the emaciated Garfield could take no more and demanded to be moved from the White House. A special train carried him to the New Jersey shore on Sept. 6. Bliss, seemingly delusional himself, kept telling reporters the president was recovering, but others attending him told a different story. President Garfield was clearly dying.

Finally, his painful ordeal was over on Sept. 19.

Legacy
Chester A. Arthur was sworn in the next day, though in truth, the nation had been without a chief executive since that fateful July day. The hard feelings between Garfield and Arthur—and Bliss, of course—kept Arthur from the White House throughout much of the abbreviated presidency.

The shooting and his ordeal had two lasting legacies. The first was the passage of the Pendleton Civil Service Reform in 1883, which I’ll discuss in the next entry. The second was the intense debate his treatment (or lack thereof) helped spark in a medical community undergoing a major—and positive—transition. “The controversies surrounding Garfield’s death became a dividing line between the new and the old in American medicine,” writes Rutkow, who explains that the heated discussions centered on antiseptics, trained nurses, homeopathy, etc. (Even Charles Guiteau, whose lawyer argued for insanity, claimed that he didn’t kill Garfield; the doctors did. The judge didn’t agree, and Guiteau was executed.)

The arguments would continue for some time, and Rutkow notes that Bliss’ defenders would still be defending his methods when McKinley was assassinated 20 years later.

Final Assessment

Garfield was shot six months into his term and died in September, so, like William Henry Harrison, historians never rate him, and neither will I. But the second president to be assassinated, and second to die so shortly into his term, certainly left his mark on his age.

It’s not just that his death finally began the real reform in civil service. Also, Garfield’s life was one of the bright political stars of the post-war era. The tale of the “young man in a hurry” was a true rags-to-riches story, where a poor boy rose to prominence through his wits, eloquence, quick thinking and ability to compromise.

Garfield’s abbreviated presidency had great promise. He took on—and beat—one of the most powerful political bosses in the nation. His fiscal responsibility reduced public debt. He was attentive to racial matters and kept appointing black Americans to office. He ordered a deep investigation into the U.S. Postal Service fraud. A great “what if” was cut short.

Final assessment: No rating but popular.

Resources
Ira Rutkow’s James Garfield (2006) of The American Presidents series is fascinating because Rutkow is a clinical professor of surgery—and says that Garfield shouldn’t have died. Medical incompetence killed him, not Guiteau’s bullets.

Also useful was The Presidencies of James A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur (University of Kansas American Presidency Series) by Justus D. Doenecke (1981).

Illustrations

1 President James A. Garfield

2 Brigadier Gen. James Garfield, probably circa 1863

3 Garfield and family. His wife sits at the table; Garfield’s mother sits at far right.

4 Garfield had several pictures taken of him together with his daughter, little Mollie.

5 This Joseph Keppler cartoon published in Puck on June 16, 1880, shows Ulysses S. Grant, wearing a Civil War uniform, along with many unhappy Republican backers, handing his damaged sword "Third term imperialism" to James Garfield, who is holding paper titled "for nomination President Garfield," in front of "Fort Alliance (anti-third-term)."

6 Garfield received thousands of visitors throughout the 1880 campaign at his Mentor, Ohio, home, pictures here in the Dec. 18, 1880, Frank Leslie’s illustrated.

7 Broadside showing James A. Garfield (right) and Chester A. Arthur.

8 Garfield’s bond of friendship for the unfriendly senators shows President Garfield wrapping a “patronage” ribbon around James Blaine (front) and Roscoe Conkling, as shown in Puck on March 2, 1881.

9 The attack on the President's life--Scene in the ladies' room of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad depot--The arrest of the assassin, from sketches by our special artist's [sic] A. Berghaus and C. Upham in Frank Leslie’s illustrated newspaper, July 16, 1881.

10 New Jersey--The removal of President Garfield, with his physicians and attendants, from the White House to the Francklyn cottage, at Elberon by the sea, September 6th, in Frank Leslie’s illustrated newspaper, Sept. 24, 1881.

11 New Jersey--President Garfield at Elberon--His first view of the ocean from his reclining-chair, Sept. 13th in Frank Leslie’s illustrated newspaper, Oct. 1, 1881.

12 Portrait of the late President James A. Garfield, painted by G.F. Gilman.

Number 19: Rutherford B. Hayes

2007-10-21T02:29:00.000-05:00

Years in office: 1877-1881
Pre-service occupations: lawyer, governor, U.S. representative, general
Key events during his administration: end of Reconstruction (1877), “Great Railroad Strike” (1877), resumption of specie payments (1879), Nez Perce campaign (1877)

Presidential rating: Mildly successful and mixed on popularity

ESSAY

Rutherford B. Hayes seems like one of those “footnote” presidents—an also-ran. Indeed, Hayes’ ascendancy in 1876 marks the string of presidents until Teddy Roosevelt whom most people today are hard-pressed to put in the correct order, much less even name.

Rutherford “Rud” Hayes even enjoyed an ever-so-brief moment in the spotlight seven years ago during the Florida recount, because his own election to president involved disputed ballots and the Democrat candidate (Tilden) winning the popular vote while losing the electoral vote. Then he faded from memory again. In what’s becoming a usual refrain in these reports on the presidents, that’s a shame.

Historians of the Gilded Age often gloss over, speed through or grossly distort the presidents of this era, and Hayes is no exception. Hayes was a decent president; he faced one tremendous crisis in his term—the great strikes of 1877—but his actions are usually misunderstood or, worse, misreported, and his presidency is forgotten (save for the above-mentioned election). But his president shouldn’t be overlooked, because Hayes was a solid and respectable president during a time when the great passions of the previous decades had finally cooled. He stayed true to the Constitution and fought back several attempts by the Democratic-controlled Congress to usurp executive authority, and he made sure that his predecessor’s hard money policy became law, thereby greatly strengthening the nation’s economy.

“Rud” Hayes took office amid cries of fraud. Indeed, the opposition press even addressed him as “Rutherfraud” and “His Fraudulency.” Hayes took office amid a nation still struggling economically and weary from the last two decades of turmoil. Reconstruction was ending; race was fading as an issue while the nation turned its attention to labor versus capital and remaining campaigns in and settling of the West. As president, Hayes was able to steer the nation through these challenges with a quiet dignity. He wasn’t always successful in his endeavors, as we shall see, but overall, his presidency was very respectable.

Early life
Rud Hayes had one of the more interesting upbringings. At first a sickly child whose survival was questioned, Hayes developed into a rigorous young man. He loved to learn and equally loved to hear loquacious and educated men speak. He joined a prominent social club, the Cincinnati Literary Club, which included Salmon P. Chase, who would be Lincoln’s treasury secretary and later chief justice of the Supreme Court.

Not exactly a young Lochinvar, young Rud Hayes nevertheless won the hand of the lovely Lucy Ware Webb in 1852. Lucy would prove to be one of the most popular first ladies ever. Together, they had six children who lived to adulthood.

Hayes studied law, graduated from Harvard Law and eventually opened a practice in Cincinnati. Politics eventually beckoned and he entered public service in Cincinnati, but the war put a temporary stop to further ambitions on that front.

Soldier for the Union
Rutherford Hayes volunteered his services to Ohio shortly after the war began. He was made an officer in the 23rd Ohio, a regiment Hayes retained close to his heart the rest of his life. Much of his war career was spent in western (soon West) Virginia, where he was wounded four times.

Hayes loathed being assigned away from command situations, as happened when he was made a regimental judge advocate. He much preferred being in charge than being one of many.

He saw some action during the early fighting in western Virginia, but his first huge battle didn’t come until South Mountain, Maryland, on Sept. 14, 1862, where he was wounded. Made a colonel, Hayes commanded a brigade at year’s end and fought Confederate raiders, including John Hunt Morgan on the latter’s raid into Ohio in 1863. The following year, Hayes fought under George Crook at the vicious fight at Cloyd’s Mountain in West Virginia. Hayes then took part in Phil Sheridan’s subjugation of the Shenandoah Valley, fighting at Opequon Creek, Fisher’s Hill and Cedar Creek. He took three more wounds and lost four horses. Hayes finished the war a brevet major general.

During the campaigns of 1861-62, Hayes earned a reputation for fairness, mildness and the ability to get along with the most difficult officers, especially his commander. His wife, Lucy, often took a harsher and more critical view of President Lincoln and commanders in the field than did Hayes, who always counseled his wife to have patience and trust that things would work out. Lucy didn’t like how Lincoln seemed to toss aside Generals Fremont and Pope (see essay on Lincoln). She was a pure abolitionist who had convinced her husband of the cause. But Hayes, Trefousse writes, was “more farsighted than many of his contemporaries” when it came to judging situations and character (p.24), and his letters to Lucy reveal his foresight and grasp of events in anticipation of official developments. It was a trait that usually served him well as president.

Congressman and governor
In 1864, Hayes’ home district elected him to Congress. Hayes refused to leave his command to campaign for the office, saying that no officer fit for duty should leave his post to electioneer for Congress—and one who did “ought to be scalped.” He won easily and didn’t have to worry about leaving the Army because he wouldn’t have to take his seat until December 1865.

At first, Hayes felt comfortable with President Johnson. But like many moderate Republicans, Hayes reluctantly broke with the president when it became clear they were moving in two different directions. He became convinced of the rightness and justness of the Radical Republican policy in the South, and during one speech in Ohio, said there were two Reconstruction policies: Lincoln’s and Jefferson Davis’. Obviously, he placed President Johnson’s with the latter.

Midway through his second term in Congress, Hayes resigned to campaign for Ohio governor. Congress wasn’t where his ambitions lay, anyway. Even though Ohio’s governor had limited executive authority, it was a position of authority and more to Hayes’s liking. He hemmed and hawed properly then accepted the nomination—and went out to fight a difficult campaign.

Ohio was the home to Oberlin College, where white and black students studied together as equals, but the state as a whole did not want equal rights. The Republican Party ran on a plank of an equal rights amendment to Ohio’s constitution, which the Democrats strongly opposed. Republicans fared badly in the state’s ballots that fall, as the amendment was soundly defeated, a Democrat was elected to Hayes’ seat, the Democrats controlled the state house—but Hayes squeaked by and won the governor’s mansion, taking office in early 1868.

Ohio’s governor during that time didn’t have much power as he didn’t even have veto authority. Yet Hayes was popular enough to serve two non-consecutive terms. He had decided to quit political office at the end of the first term, in 1872, but as he continued to follow politics closely, he got swept in again and won a second term in 1876.

This victory in a key presidential state made him a contender to succeed Grant that year.

The disputed election—“Rutherfraud” Hayes
By 1876, the Republican Party was exhausted. The turmoil of the last 12 years had spent the party, especially Reconstruction and the “waving of the bloody shirt” over outrages in the South against blacks and Republican supporters. Grant’s handling of scandals didn’t help matters much either, nor his determination to fight for Reconstruction when the party was looking to end it. Democrats were resurgent in the South as the states were “redeemed” with white-controlled governments. Northern attentions were focused more on westward expansion, labor and economic concerns, Indian wars, and so on.

The detritus of the Civil War was fading. The party needed a fresh start. Many new faces—at least new to presidential politics—stepped forward in hopes of getting a nomination that summer. Democrats nominated Samuel Tilden of New York, a strong contender who had successfully fought the corruption of “Boss” Tweed’s Tammany Hall ring.

The Republican favorite at first was James G. Blaine of Maine—who we’ll hear from again through the next several administrations—but after coming close on several ballots, finally lost to Hayes. Why Hayes? He was considered a safer choice than Blaine, who was thought damaged by false charges of corruption involving railroad bonds. Even though cleared of the charges, enough Republicans thought a candidate with the sting of a corruption charge versus a candidate who won his stripes fighting corruption was a deal-breaker. So, Hayes was nominated. His running mate was William Wheeler, of whom Hayes confessed, “I’m sorry, but who is Wheeler?”

This was still the era when candidates didn’t stump for themselves, so Hayes remained in Cincinnati, performing his duties as governor, while the campaigns whirled on. Democrats ran on Republican corruption, while Republicans countered by saying that “Not every Democrat was a rebel, but every rebel was a Democrat.”

The election was close—so close that Hayes retired on election day believing he had lost. Tilden commanded a popular majority, and it seemed he had won the electoral vote. He started going about his business the next day until he received notice that some states were still in dispute.

The ballots in Florida, Louisiana and South Carolina were a mess. The governors of those states had certified the ballots—the governors recognized b y the federal government, that is. Florida’s Democratic governor-elect and Louisiana’s Democratic gubernatorial candidate signed their own certificates. The Tilden electors from South Carolina merely sent them to Washington with no certification, claiming their man had won. There were also bad ballots, deliberate fraud on ballots and other problems.

A major crisis was now at hand. This was far beyond the first major disputed election, that of 1824 when the race between John Quincy Adams, Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay and William Crawford was thrown to the House. With outgoing President Grant’s full support, the Congress formed the 15-member Electoral Commission to settle the matter. Members would be three Republican senators and two Democrat senators (the Republicans controlled the Senate), two Republican representatives and three Democrat representatives (the Democrats controlled the House), and five Supreme Court justices (two from each party). Most justices were Republicans, so by common accord, the most impartial justice was selected to be the fifth member.

The commission formed and met in late January, with strong counsel representing each candidate. They reviewed the dual sets of returns from the three states, and decided that they would not review ballots beyond those that were prima facie lawful (meaning they wouldn’t create any new standards for counting votes). In the end, the impartial justice sided with the seven Republican members, and awarded the disputed electoral ballots to Hayes, giving him the 185-184 victory. Only the 2000 election would be closer.

In 1878, Democrats in Congress attempted to embarrass Hayes by proving Republicans committed fraud during the election—and thereby strengthening their hand in 1880. Their Potter committee, however, backfired, when it was forced to examine actual fraud committed by Tilden’s nephew, who attempted to bribe officials in the South. Their grandstanding failed to destroy its intended target—the Republican Party—but instead strengthened Hayes’ stature and damaged Tilden too badly for him to be a contender again. * (See Resources for Treffousse’s mistaken conclusions of 1876 vs. 2000.)

The Hayes cabinet
Once inaugurated, Hayes set about asserting his independence. He didn’t care much for the game of awarding political offices to party men simply because they were “due” or because they “deserved” it. Nor did he like making appointments to satisfy wings of the party.

Like Grant (though Hayes’s biographers never make this point), Hayes appointed whom he wanted without consulting party leaders. His choices were good and strong, and some biographers have hailed his cabinet as the best post-Lincoln one for the remainder of the century. There is some truth to that sentiment, in that the men served ably and honorably, and many went on to greater success and fame.

For example, to State, that most crucial of posts, Hayes named William Evarts, who had represented the president during the election crisis. Evarts had enjoyed an interesting career up to that point: he served as Johnson’s chief counsel during the impeachment mess, then Johnson’s final attorney general; he later served as point man for Grant and Hamilton Fish’s Alabama claims arbitration. Evarts’ term at State would be solid; he would later serve in the Senate and would lead the fundraising drive for the Statue of Liberty’s pedestal in 1881.

At Treasury, Hayes selected his fellow from the Buckeye state, John Sherman. The brother of the famed general was a hard-money man like the president. Sherman would gain greater fame as the architect of the Sherman Antitrust Act in 1890.

At Interior, Hayes appointed the fiery Carl Schurz, a liberal (old sense) Republican who had been instrumental in creating the liberal Republican/Democrat alliance for 1872 to defeat Grant. Schurz had opposed placing the Indian Bureau under the War Department (an idea of Grant’s that Grant abandoned as president). When placed in charge of Interior, Schurz would attack the corruption in that department with a zeal that had long been needed. More on that later.

Meanwhile, party leaders, such as Maine’s James G. Blaine, were dismayed at Hayes’ choices, particularly because they had not been consulted—and many who wanted those choice posts were mad, as had happened with Grant.

It wasn’t a good beginning for the president, especially considering half the nation’s voters initially considered him to be a fraud—but ruffled feathers ignore the fact that he made good choices.

1877: Reconstruction swan song
Supposedly—I use that word deliberately—the resolution of the election of 1876 included a deal whereby Democrats would acquiesce to President Hayes and forget about “President” Tilden in exchange for the removal of Federal troops from the South (meaning, they would no longer protect the two remaining Republican governments in South Carolina and Louisiana, and would decamp from the state houses and return to their forts).

But that’s not quite what happened. The above paragraph is the informal “Compromise of 1877,” but President Hayes, if he actually felt beholden to it, took his time. Chief among his concerns was the seeming abandonment of blacks and Republican government in the South. What he wanted was assurances from the Democratic governors that black and non-Redeemer whites rights would be respected and upheld. Hayes got those assurances during meetings at the White House—and the troops were withdrawn—but they proved disingenuous, to put it kindly.

At first, the president believed his Southern policy was a success and a new political alignment and racial harmony was in the making. Crowds of well-wishers of blacks and whites who greeted him while on a tour of the South in later 1877 convinced him of the correctness of his policy—but also made him succumb to wishful thinking. Hayes, a good man, was being snowballed by Redeemers and white supremacists that had no intention of adhering to his policy or any of the federal laws favorable to black citizens. Hayes biographer Ari Hoogenboom explains:

“He believed that the war wounds had been healed, that white southerners had accepted the Reconstruction amendments safeguarding black lives, rights, and property, and that conservative Democrats would ignore color and sectional lines in politics and would move over to the Republican Party.

Hayes was wrong. The war wounds were not healed, white southerners had applauded the amendments because they thought it likely that they would be neither enforced nor obeyed, and conservative Democrats did not join the Republican party, which steadily shrank until its members were a mere handful of officeholders. A more cynical person than Hayes would not have expected southerners to be rapidly converted to civil and political rights for black. He failed to perceive the pervasiveness and the viciousness of racial prejudice in southern politics and society…” (Hoogenboom, p. 70)

So, the “redeemed” South meant not only the end of Reconstruction but threatened to be the end of everything gained since 1865. And the 1878 elections proved just how misplaced Hayes’ optimism was concerning his southern policy. Hayes, to his credit, took up the cause of civil rights and would fight the Democratic-controlled Congress over enforcement of the hard-won results of the Civil War. More on that later.

1877: The Great Strike
The Panic that started in 1873 stretched into Hayes’ term. Grant’s Resumption Act, which Hayes supported and effectively ended the depression, wouldn’t take effect for two more years. (More on that later.) During the summer of Hayes’ first year, massive strikes gripped first the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad in West Virginia and then many more industries nationwide.

Railroads dealt with the hard economy through cutting costs. Some lines pooled their freight hauling; some fired workers; most lines decided to reduce wages, usually by 10%. Some lines’ employees took the cut in their already low pay in stride, because they were still employed. Others, already smarting from previous wage cuts, couldn’t take it any more. In West Virginia, the trouble began.

Strikers brought rail traffic to a halt in many centers, including Chicago, East St. Louis, Decatur, Ill., and half a dozen other places. Strikers—who were soon outnumbered by general mobs—police, “vigilantes” and finally militia clashed in Baltimore, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. The militia in Pittsburgh killed 20 and wounded 29; the strikers fought back harder and torched 39 buildings, more than 100 steam engines and more than 1,200 pieces of rolling stock. More violence erupted between mobs and police in Chicago. The violence—and the strikes—finally subsided after a month.

Hayes biographer Ari Hoogenboom notes that the great strike was the closest America ever came to a nationwide work stoppage, and it was also testament to the fact that by 1877, the United States economy had truly become national. Hoogenboom also notes that Hayes examined the situation carefully, and, mindful of how federal troops had been used in civilian situations during the past 12 years, charted a constitutionally correct course.

Hayes had dealt with strikers as Ohio’s governor, and as president he would follow exactly the same course: he said that people had the right to work and that property owners had the right to the use and possession of their property, and that he would use force if necessary to keep the peace (and nothing more). The president was most concerned with avoiding using federal soldiers to keep the railroads running, because the strikers kept their heads and allowed passenger trains, with the all-important mail, to keep running. They only blocked freight trains and battled strikebreakers, police and militia attempting to move them along. Interfering with the mail would have been a federal matter; stopping freight trains, however, was not. So, Hayes decided that the best course would be to use U.S. Marines and Army regulars to protect federal property, and, if asked properly by state governors, to keep the peace (i.e., break riots). Hayes refused to order the military to run the railroads.

The Wikipedia entry on Hayes (as of Oct. 19, 2007) claims “Hayes called in federal troops, who, for the first time in U.S. history, fired on the striking workers, killing over 70.” Rubbish! The only soldiers who fired on strikers were the various states’ National Guard units. Marines and soldiers arrived to maintain the peace and often too late to break up a fight. That’s according to both Hoogenboom and Trefousse. Historians who disparage the Gilded Age look down on Hayes as if he sided with the railroads against the strikers, but again, he did no such thing. Hayes reflected later in his diary that

“The strikes have been put down by force; but now for the real remedy. Can’t something be done by education of the strikers, by judicious control of the capitalists, by wise general policy to end or diminish the evil?” (Trefousse, p.95; emphasis in original)

It is an interesting sentiment, but his sympathy went only so far, because Hayes believed that no man, however just his cause, had a right to interfere with another man’s right to work. **

The Nez Perce campaign, the Poncas and Indian Bureau reform
One of the most dramatic incidents that occurred during Hayes’ term was the Nez Perce campaign of 1877. Chief Joseph and several chiefs fought one of the most brilliant fighting retreats in modern history, leading 800 Nez Perce through 13 battles and 1,700 miles through Oregon, Washington, Wyoming, Montana and finally Idaho, where they finally surrendered. The best brief chronicle of the events can be found in Alvin Josephy Jr.’s The Patriot Chiefs.

Hayes’ role in this campaign was negligible, but as president he sought to continue Grant’s reform of the corrupt Interior Department, including the Indian Bureau, which was one of the main sore points of contention between settlers and Indians on the plains and western reaches. Grant’s reforms hadn’t been perfect—soreness and some indecision had lead to the Nez Perce dissatisfaction and subsequent enforced reservation life—but they had been a strong step in the right direction. The reforms under Hayes and Interior Secretary Schurz were better.

With the single-mindedness that had made him a dangerous political enemy—or powerful friend—Schurz uncovered fraud, deception and corruption inside the bureau and out in the field. The new Hays/Schruz reforms included more funding for schools on reservations (Congress approved) and, for the first time, Indian police officers on reservations. The concept was expanded under President Arthur to include the appointment of Indian judges. Hoogenboom writes that by “mixing Anglo-Saxon jurisprudence with Native American practices, policemen and judges were able to keep order on reservations, and they proved effective agents of acculturation.” (p.162-163)

President Hayes earns a strong mark for his reforms, and for his handling of an unfortunate episode that happened on his watch. The land of the Poncas tribe in Nebraska was mistakenly given to some Sioux, and the Poncas were removed to the Oklahoma territory in a rather harsh journey. The new land was unacceptable, and new land was found, but many Poncas wanted to return home. The affair grew uglier—but not bloody—and eventually lead to an extraordinary personal apology from the president himself.

Hayes wrote:

“As the chief executive at the time when the wrong was consummated, I am deeply sensible that enough of the responsibility for that wrong justly attaches to me to make it my particular duty and earnest desire to do all that I can give to these injured people that measure of redress which is
required alike by justice and by humanity.” (Trefousse, p.124)

It was a bold and honorable move that satisfied the Poncas and earned him admirations from men who had formerly opposed him as a “fraud.”

Civil service reform
The president also busied himself with another kind of reform: The civil service was badly in need of a makeover. Grant’s attempts had lead to false cries of corruption from the very crusaders for reform. Hayes took up the challenge, and this occupied much of the attention of his administration.

Civil service reform was a complicated matter. Political parties expected a share of the government pie in terms of appointments to the thousands of lucrative posts, such as postmasters and ports collectors. For example, in return for supporting a successful candidate for Congress—or even president—a powerful party operative had every reasonable reason to expect some of the appointment largess to come his way for his contacts. Inevitably, this often allowed incompetent or immoral (or both) men to hold offices.

The spoils system was the most serious obstacle to getting rid of corruption in civil service, because it let members of Congress interfere with the appointments process—which was an executive function, not a legislative one. Hayes and Schurz sought to replace the spoils system with a merit system, and prevent officeholders from participating in political activities—thus removing undue political influence. It was fine in theory. But in practice? Hayes moved cautiously, which angered reformers who wanted the reform Now! and had long-since grown impatient with Republican reform efforts. But he also angered party leaders such as New York’s Roscoe Conkling, who chaffed at even mild efforts at changing the lucrative spoils system.

The president’s cautious approach brought much criticism—and a showdown over the New York Customhouse (which collected 70 percent of U.S. customs revenue), run by Conkling patron Chester A. Arthur. Hayes tried to remove Arthur and another man from the Boston customs house and replace them with his own appointments (made in consultation with, ironically, spoilsmen), but Congress defeated them in late 1877.

Hoogenboom illuminates this early Hayes defeat by describing the politicians as “disappointed” and the reformers as “peeved” and the administration’s reform credibility as “eroded.” (p.134-135) Hayes was a little inconsistent, because he did use patronage to his effect when it served him—particularly in the South.

Reformers would remain peeved throughout Hayes’ term and unhappy with what they considered the administration’s retreat and inconsistencies. Even though he did make decent steps, Hayes wouldn’t be able to complete reforming the civil service an passed it to his successor Garfield, who unwillingly became the symbol of reform by his death. (It’s also funny that Hayes aimed to kick Arthur out of office, connected as he was with the corrupt New York machine (though not corrupt himself), only to sit in the same seat as Hayes a few years later—and winning praise as a great civil service reformer.)

Hayes versus Congress
As stated earlier, President Hayes fought hard against a Congress determined to undo the progress made on civil rights since the Civil War. If Lincoln started the second American revolution and Grant won and sustained that victory, Hayes is one of the many unsung presidents who helped sustain it.

Hayes was a weakened president by the end of 1877 through the combination of his cabinet appointments, civil service reform and the end of Reconstruction. Democrats in Congress realized that if they were to take complete control in the South and regain the White House in 1880, federal oversight of Congressional elections needed to be eliminated. Thanks to the 1878 elections, in 1879, Hayes faced a Democratic-controlled Congress. But as that Congress was about to learn, it wasn’t veto-proof, and “his Fraudulency” was no pushover. Rud Hayes was a mild man, but when his dander was up, he was as rigid as steel.

First, the outgoing 45th Congress failed to appropriate money for the federal government when it adjourned in March (the Republican-controlled Senate had refused to go along with the Democrat scheme to prevent enforcement of the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments, so no funding was approved). President Hayes called the incoming congress into immediate session to get the appropriate funding.

The now-Democrat-controlled House and Senate tried four times to pass bills aimed at removing any type of federal say in the South. Each time, Hayes vetoed the bills. First they tried prohibiting military protection at federal elections, which Hayes declared unconstitutional because it denied the federal government the right to enforce its laws. Then they passed another appropriations bill with riders repealing parts of the Enforcement Acts pertaining to supervisors and marshals for elections. Hayes countered by saying that the aim was nothing more than to destroy federal control over congressional elections.

Then Congress attempted to deny compensation for federal officials at election time, and then denial of payment for marshals employed to protect polls.

Each time, Hayes vetoed the bill with a stern lecture on passing bills with unconstitutional (or unrelated) matters attached to them. With each veto, Hayes’ stature rose and the Democrats’ fell—and Hayes recovered much ground with his own party. Finally, in the summer, they gave him a bill he could sign, but sent a separate one that he once again vetoed. By this time, the Democrats were in total disarray, and well on their way to defeat in 1880.

Sound economics
Hayes was a hard-money man and had been long before he came to Washington. The nation had been off the gold standard since the Civil War, and the nation’s economy ran on government-backed gold coins, the greenbacks that the federal government began issuing during the war, and notes issued by national banks. Hayes’ predecessor had defeated an attempt to greatly expand paper currency, and supported a return to the gold standard (resumption of specie payments, meaning the greenbacks were redeemed with, or backed by, gold at face value). The Resumption Act was scheduled to take effect on Jan. 1, 1879.

President Hayes supported Grant’s sound economic policy and made it his own. Hoognboom explains that Hayes opposed inflation through the expansion of greenbacks in circulation and/or the substitution of a silver standard for the gold standard, and Hayes had attributed his 1875 gubernatorial victory to his hard money support (p. 93). Democrats, backers of a silver standard and some Republicans, however, attempted to undo the Resumption Act. The arguments were the same now as against Grant: expanding the money supply would relieve the economic hardships of the Panic.

Hayes, like Grant, strongly disagreed. Treasury Secretary Sherman (who had authored the Resumption Act in the Senate) built a gold reserve to prepare for 1879. The president, meanwhile, vetoed a veto-proof watered-down government silver purchase bill on the grounds that it didn’t reflect realistic commercial value. In other words, he didn’t object to silver coinage, just that it shouldn’t be put on the same level as gold-backed money. (Hoogenboom p.95 and Trefousse, p.101) ***

Hayes lost the battle over silver coinage, but won out over the inflation supporters when the year following resumption proved a spectacular success. In his subsequent speeches, Hayes usually took credit for the improved economy, and he does deserve a lot of credit by refusing to let Congress gut the Resumption Act. Hoogenboom writes:

“Above all, Hayes was determined that the nation remain on the gold standard, and he fought to eliminate any threat to it. Congress, viewing the currency, not as a question of faith and moral, but as one of politics and economics, was content to ignore that issue, especially since business was booming. But Hayes believed that his hard-money policies sustained that boom, and the continued circulation of greenback and silver dollars made him uneasy. For him, it was an eternal verity of both economic and moral law that gold was the proper base for a nation’s economic currency.” (p.100)

As we shall see in upcoming presidential profiles, the battle over greenbacks vs. silver vs. gold was just beginning.

China and Mexico
President Hayes is not known for foreign policy, but two events merit mention.

The pre-war Nativist Party—later the American Party—was the first formal anti-immigration expression in American history. That party, which faded rather quickly, opposed Irish and Catholic and other “undesirable” immigrants from Europe.

In the West, the number of Chinese immigrants had been increasing—lured, as they were first by gold and then by the American dream just like their European counterparts. A Nativist streak had infected the West, particularly in California. The great strike touched the west coast and many Chinese (called Coolies) were murdered in racist attacks. Competition for jobs and cheap labor was usually the main cause.

Californians lead Congress in passing a law in 1879 specifically restricting immigration from China. President Hayes was under immense political pressure to sign the measure, but he decided it would be a bad move for America. The act would violate the Burlingame Treaty with China and could endanger American merchants and missionaries in the empire. So Hayes sent his veto to Congress, which was sustained, and the president received praise from outside of the West for upholding the ideals of the nation’s founding.

Hayes didn’t veto the bill for idealistic reasons, because he did agree with the Californians’ sentiments to some extent. He didn’t consider the Chinese as immigrants because they were mostly men, not families, and he actually worried about a propensity of aggression among whites against “lesser” (e.g., weaker) peoples. He believed limiting immigration from China would be better for both America and China.

Meanwhile, President Hayes and Secretary Evarts attempted to deal with Mexican bandits raiding across the border and hitting American ranchers. Mexico’s government—or lack thereof—had been unstable for at least half a century. When Hayes took office, Porfirio Diaz also assumed power in Mexico and would consolidate the country until his overthrow in 1911. Diaz would prove to be a strong leader, but of course in 1877 Hayes had no way of knowing this and assumed that Diaz was yet another in the long string of weak rulers unable to control the borders.

Hayes issued orders to General Ord letting U.S. troops pursue Mexican bandits across the border, a move that led to ridiculous charges by political opponents that the president and Secretary Evarts sought to take over northern Mexico.

The troops stayed. And by 1880, Diaz had gained control of his side of the border, and Hayes rescinded the cross-border pursuit orders. Subsequently, exports to Mexico increased.

Succession
Rud Hayes had brought a great dignity and calm to the White House—some said “restored it” after the Grant years, and it is true that there was absolutely no scandal connected with the Hayes administration, absent the 1876 election. Lucy Hayes was a bright and spirited host who eschewed liquor in the presidential mansion (it’s disputed whether she was called “Lemonade Lucy” during or after the White House years). The Hayes presidency was a bright spot, and if Hayes had wanted another term, he could have easily had it.

But he didn’t. He had pledged during his campaign to serve only one year—had even proposed a Constitutional amendment limiting the president to one six-year term (as was in the Confederate Constitution)—and was tired of the ardor of presidential life. Four years was enough.

Republicans gathered in Chicago to choose Hayes’ successor. U.S. Grant had been convinced to give a try for a third term and he seemed to be the favorite at first. But rivals James G. Blaine and John Sherman threw support behind dark horse candidate Rep. James Garfield. Grant and his fervent supporters backed down, and Hayes’ fellow Ohioan won the nomination. Garfield, with Chester A. Arthur in tow, went on to defeat Gen. Winfield Scott Hancock in a close election.

Post-presidency
Rutherford Hayes retired to his beloved Spiegel Grove estate in Ohio, where he continued to be involved in veterans’ affairs—as president, he had pressed for real veteran benefits—and other philanthropic activities. He had already been appointed to the Board of Trustees for Ohio State University, which he served until his death in January 1893.

Final Assessment

Negative historical interpretations of the Gilded Age make it easy to overlook this honest and capable moderate president’s term. Like Grant, Hayes is another president bedeviled by self-anointed intellectuals such as Henry Adams, who sneered at Hayes as a “third-rate nonentity.”

Hayes’ use of executive power was careful and measured. Contrary to popular history, he did not send federal soldiers to break the 1877 strikes on behalf of railroads, but rather to keep the peace. He vetoed appropriations bills that were unconstitutional or included riders that were inappropriate and unconstitutional, and ultimately were designed to damage or undo lawful federal authority. His one major constitutional proposal, limiting the president to one six-year-term, anticipated the post-FDR 22nd amendment (one which I oppose as long as there’s not a proportionate one for Congress and the Court).

Hayes’ attempts to reform the civil service continued the actions begun by Grant, but much of the political establishment of both parties wasn’t too interested; reformers chaffed at his careful measures. Only his successor’s murder would bring the needed change.

His treatment of Indians was even better than Grant’s. Andrew Johnson had foreseen the need for change in direction; Grant had started the change that moved U.S. policy away from merely shoving Indians out of the way, and went so far as to treat many tribal leaders just short of heads of state. Hayes took it even further through Schurz’s fumigation of the Indian Bureau and Interior Department.

His foreign policy, while a minor aspect of his presidency, was measured and punctuated by his farsighted rejection of the anti-Chinese immigration act. His dealings with Mexico were also just.

It’s also interesting to note that Hayes traveled—a lot. During his four years in the White House, Hayes visited more places of the country than most of the other previous presidents combined. He was also the first sitting president to visit the west coast.

It’s fair to label Rutherford Hayes a somewhat successful president, because he accomplished much of what he set out to do. Hayes’ only policy that can be labeled a failure was his Southern policy; while well intentioned, the president labored under an unpleasant illusion that things were getting better in the South when the opposite was true. The systematic crushing of black freedom in the South—it was systematic and done under the auspices of state authority—didn’t escape Hayes’ notice, but he believed Grant’s solution of federal force to prop up Republican governments was not a solution. Instead, he appealed to Southerners’ better nature and pleaded with them to follow the law. But without threat of reprisal—whatever forms that could have taken—the pleading was useless. In this area, Hayes failed.

Final assessment: Somewhat successful and popular.

Resources

Hayes’ presidency is easily overlooked, but fortunately we have some excellent resources. For this study I used The Presidency of Rutherford B. Hayes by Ari Hoogenboom (1988), of the University of Kansas’ American Presidency series, and Rutherford B. Hayes by Hans L. Trefousse (2002), of Arthur Schlesinger Jr.’s The American Presidents series.

A decent one-volume treatment of Hayes’ life is Hoogenboom’s 1995 Rutherford B. Hayes: Warrior and President. (Trefousse wryly notes that his fellow biographer placed Hayes’ soldiering before his government service, which indicates which was better.)

A scathing attack on Hayes and his successors concerning Southern policies is found in The Betrayal of the Negro, from Rutherford B. Hayes to Woodrow Wilson by Rayford Whittingham Logan and Eric Foner (1954, reprinted in 1997).

* – I find some of Trefousse’s conclusions about Hayes somewhat unconvincing, especially concerning his depiction of the “restoration” of the good name of the White House following the Grant years. If Grant was so bad for the Republican Party and Hayes was so great, why was there a strong movement afoot to give Grant a third term in 1880—to succeed Hayes? My point is, Trefousse, while elevating the deserving Hayes, overly denigrates Grant.

It is true that Hayes ran a scandal-free administration and Grant’s people, well, they had some problems (see last entry). But Grant was every bit as popular as Hayes, even more so. Trefousse has more than a bit of modern-day historian’s bias against Grant, especially because many things that Grant did or initiated—especially the specie repayment bill—Trefousse gives Hayes full credit for.

Another big problem with Trefousse’s book: he stretches the comparisons between the 1876 and 2000 elections way too far. In the introduction, he states, “As in 2000, the controversy was in part because of a dispute about African-American votes…” Oh, hogwash! Yes, it was true in 1876, as racist Democrats fought to deny blacks the right to vote. But it did not happen in 2000; even the liberal-dominated Civil Rights Commission was forced to admit by its more conservative-leaning members that the charges of “black voter suppression” in Florida 2000 were flat-out bogus. The fictitious charges were trumped by liberals and black “leaders,” so-called, who just could not accept that their guy had lost the electoral vote fair and square.

There was no black voter intimidation in Florida 2000—and liberals conveniently ignore the fact that in the counties most in dispute (e.g., the only counties Al Gore sought a recount in) were run by Democrats, not Republicans. Trefousse was also writing in 2001 (the book was published in 2002) so he paints a happy picture of Democrats rallying to President Bush unlike the Democrats in Hayes’ era. It’s hard to read Trefousse’s words without laughing mirthlessly, because Democrats did not “rally to Bush” in 2001, and their behavior since the Florida recount has gotten steadily worse.

(And please: anyone who wants to argue the Bush was “selected-not-elected” crap had best go elsewhere. Every major media organization did their own recounts by every possible method and all came to the same conclusion: Bush won fair and square. All the U.S. Supreme Court did was put an end to the endless--and unconstitutional--recounting. It didn’t install Bush as president.)

** -- I agree with Hayes on this sentiment. I appreciate what unions have done for this country in the past, but it makes me mad today when union people tell me I can’t—not shouldn’t, but can’t—do business with someone because they don’t hire union. A pox on that. I’ll do business and shop where I please.

*** -- It’s amazing but not surprising that Trefousse and Hoogenboom manage to give only a passing hard money credit to President Grant, without whom Hayes would not have had a good, solid policy to champion! In addition, I realize that there are certain people on the far right conservative spectrum—such as Ron Paul—who advocate that we must only be on the gold standard and that anything else is unconstitutional, echoing in a way an argument of Rutherford Hayes. However, having the U.S. economy based on the gold standard in 1879 is one thing; doing the same in 2007, with an economy several times over the size of 1879’s, is almost too fantastic to contemplate.

Illustrations

1 A chromolithograph of President R. Hayes created by G.F. Gilman.

2 Rutherford and Lucy Hayes on their wedding day, Dec. 30, 1852.

3 Hayes as a general late in the Civil War.

4 This cover sheet for a song composed for the 1876 campaign highlights Hayes’ support for hard currency: The wagon’s large front wheel is inscribed “Hard Money Wheeler Gold Basis,” a rather clumsy way of mentioning both Hayes’ vice presidential candidate and Hayes support for the resumption of specie act. (Most campaign songs were wretched and eminently forgettable.)

5 Chief Justice Morrison R. Waite administes the oath of office to Rutherford B. Hayes on a flag-draped inaugural stand on the east portico of the U.S. Capitol in March 1877.

6 An unflattering cartoon by J.A. Wales features “The ‘Strong’ government 1869-1877,” with a woman as “the Solid South” carrying Ulysses S. Grant in a carpet bag marked “carpet bag and bayonet rule;” and “The ‘Weak’ government 1877-1881,” with Rutherford B. Hayes plowing under the carpet bag and bayonets with a plow marked “Let ‘em alone policy.”

7 Various scenes of “The Great Railroad Strike” in July 1877, as shown in Frank Leslie's Illustrated, Aug. 11, 1877.

8 “District of Columbia – our Indian allies – interview of a delegation of Indian chiefs with President Hayes, in the East Room of the White House.” Frank Leslie’s Illustrated, Oct. 13, 1877.

9 An Oct. 19, 1881, Puck cartoon by Frederick Burr Opper shows President Hayes kicking Chester A. Arthur out of the New York Customs House.

10 President-elect James Garfield looks at a baby in basket tagged “civil service reform, compliments of R.B. Hayes.” The outgoing president, dressed as a woman, leaves with bag labeled “R.B. Hayes – savings, Fremont, Ohio.” This cartoon, drawn by Frederick Burr Opper, appeared in the Jan. 19, 1881, issue of Puck.

11 President Hayes (Brady-Handy Collection, LOC)

12 Rutherford Hayes flanked by two of his sons.

13 The president in retirement at his beloved Spiegel Grove estate. (Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Center

)

Number 18: Ulysses S. Grant

2007-10-07T09:04:00.001-05:00

Years in office: 1869-1877
Pre-service occupations: officer (1842-1854), farmer, clerk, salesman, general (1861-1865), general in chief (1864-1869)
Key events during his administration: Reconstruction (ended 1877), “Black Friday” (1869), Treaty of Washington (1871), battle of Little Big Horn (1876), formation of the Justice Department (1870), 15th Amendment added to the Constitution (1870), veto of the inflation bill (1874) and signing of the Specie Resumption act (1875), Colorado added to the Union (1876), Centennial Exposition (1876), Office of Surgeon General created (1871), establishment of first national park at Yellowstone (1872)

Presidential rating: Somewhat successful and popular

ESSAY

Amuse yourself with a little quiz: ask family, friends or even random people what they think of when they hear the name President Ulysses S. Grant. Most likely—if they give you an opinion—you’ll hear some variation of “incompetent, drunk and corrupt.”

Such is the power of the historian and the political enemy to rewrite history.

President Ulysses S. Grant was not incompetent, was not drunk in office, and his administration was not corrupt. My proof? The actual historical record. During his time he was revered in the same breath as Washington and Lincoln, but historians, scholars and political enemies succeeded in trashing what was truly one of the better presidencies. His political enemies, including the hypocritical “reformers,” the self-anointed intellectual elite (like Henry Adams), racist Reconstruction historians (such as the Dunning school) and highly judgmental and arrogant modernist historians (such as William McFeely) together succeeded in creating a portrait of President Grant that is a flat-out fabrication.

Some of these historians and intellectuals were biased against Grant because they opposed him personally. Some neglected to use Grant’s actual papers! Some built upon the previous erroneous works of others and compounded the errors. Some were actually bored with their subject! But mainly they trashed him because of Grant’s enforcement of Reconstruction and a real failure to understand Reconstruction both in the context of the Gilded Age and Grant’s strong belief in Reconstruction. For example, the Dunning school of thought from the 1910s and 1920s tore Grant’s presidency to shreds in part because they—like the so-called “reformers” and of course the Democrats before them—despised Reconstruction and blacks and therefore Grant. But latter-day historians, like William Gillette in his Retreat from Reconstruction, 1868-1879, (1982) attempt to paint Grant as an obstacle to Reconstruction, and it is his inattentiveness and lack of a coherent policy that caused Reconstruction to fail! It’s an odd thesis, particularly because Grant was that rarest of presidents: a politically courageous man who did the right thing even in the face of mounting hostility from all sides, especially the racist Democrats, as well as many in his own party who were more concerned about the dawning new age than the detritus of the Civil War.

The violence done to the history, character and presidency of Ulysses S. Grant is stunning and amazing. It’s as if they have a standard for excellence in some areas and a “Grant standard” for the 18th president. Many liberal scholars trash Grant because they want to trash anyone in power connected with the Gilded Age—which, of course, leaves them writing incoherently about one of the greatest champions of human rights in that era.

I want to be clear: Grant would never be ranked as a great or near-great president. But he definitely deserves a place among the above-average presidents, perhaps even at the upper end. Even the late Stephen Ambrose and dean of Civil War historians James McPherson say that Grant’s presidency deserves a much more positive evaluation. So does Lincoln’s most celebrated modern biographer, David Herbert Donald. (Ambrose’s comments are found in his final book, To America.)

Grant definitely had faults, chief among them being his nativity with people and his military style, which often ill-served him as president.

But he succeeded in ways that have not been truly appreciated until the last decade or so. These areas are: Reconstruction and the pursuit of black rights; international relations, including arbitration with England through his superb secretary of state, and avoiding war with Spain over Cuba; preventing the genocide of the Plains Indians; amazing fiscal responsibility; and maintaining the peace in 1876.

I won’t forget the scandals, but they just aren’t what they appeared to be. If you think Grant’s administration was nothing more than eight long years of incompetence and corruption, you are in for one heck of a surprise.

I am a partisan for Ulysses S. Grant, and it will probably show in this report. I make no apologies for my defense of Grant, because the way professional men of letters and self-anointed elite have treated this man just plain stinks. They should hang their heads in shame.

Important note: A little drink
The charge persists to this day that Grant was a drunk—a persistent slosh. He wasn’t! He was an alcoholic who 1) knew he had a problem and 2) got it under control. Drinking cost him his first Army career in 1854. When he rejoined the Army in 1861, he brought with him a friend from Galena, Ill., named John Rawlins, whose primary job was to keep him “on the wagon” (e.g., sober). There were a couple of times he fell off the wagon, but it was never during a battle. (He was NOT drunk at Shiloh.) Almost every single report about him being drunk during the war, or after, is false and usually malicious in nature, spread by jealous rivals for command or political enemies. Any contemporary or modern caricature you see of Grant as a drunkard is a vicious slander and ignorant lie.

Even innocent modern characterizations of Grant as a drunk are just wrong, coming as they do from badly sourced biographies. For example, Shelby Foote, whose writings I greatly admire and whose Southern drawl greatly elevated Ken Burns' The Civil War documentary, said during that documentary that Grant "went on a true bender during the Vicksburg campaign." However, the veracity of that claim and similar wartime drunkenness is highly dubious (see Smith for more).

In Hans L. Trefousse's 1989 biography on Andrew Johnson he claims Grant had to be sobered up during Johnson's "swing around the circle," repeating claims of Grant's enemies, but modern Grant biographers dispute this and similar claims.

A failure?
Grant’s civilian life is usually portrayed as failure with a big capital “F.” Even many admirers say that Grant failed at everything except the army. Hogwash!

Grant always kept food on the table, a roof over his family’s heads and clothes on their backs. Does that sound like a failure? Sure, he went from farming to collecting debts to working in his father’s tannery and even sold firewood on the streets, but the point is he didn’t give up. He always made sure his family was provided for. Even at the end of his life, after a swindler of a business partner snookered him out of a ton of money, Grant refused to settle for charity and instead wrote his incredible Memoirs, the profits of which kept his family comfortable long after his death.

The man never gave up and always found a way to provide. That’s not a failure in my book.

First Army career
Grant’s first Army career began at West Point. Suffice it to say Grant wasn’t all that thrilled about some aspects of the academy, but he proved superior at horsemanship—better than any of his classmates, in fact. Although Grant would never serve in a cavalry unit, his prowess with and knowledge of horses would follow him the rest of his life. Normally a shy man around strangers (which lead some people to foolishly think Grant was dull-minded), Grant could talk your ears off concerning the subject of horses.

He graduated in the middle of his class and at his first posting met the woman he would eventually marry: Julia Dent, daughter of a Missouri slave owner. Grant was assigned to Zachary Taylor’s Army of Observation in Texas. As he wrote years later, he thought the Mexican War wrong, but went anyway because it was his duty to do so.

Grant liked Taylor immensely and copied his leadership style: loose and informal, but pointed. Grant would even copy Taylor’s style of dress during the Civil War: like Taylor, Grant eschewed pompous uniforms and wore simple trousers and a private’s blouse. There’s another reason why Grant gladly abandoned formal Army wear: as a freshly minted first lieutenant, young boys apparently made fun of him with the familiar childhood ditty, “Solder, soldier, will you work? No, indeed, I’ll sell my shirt!”

Lieutenant Grant earned citations for bravery under fire during the Mexican War, especially for bring supplies to his men. He ended the war as a brevet Captain (a field promotion) and settled into peacetime army routines. It was not easy for him. The long, boring postings away from his wife, especially to the Pacific coast, led him to drink, which finally ruined his career in 1854.

Rather than be court-martialed, Grant resigned. He tried his hand at the afore-mentioned professions, living for a time at a farm he called “Hardscrabble” (you can see his home on the Grant’s Farm park owned by Anheuser-Busch, near another home where he and Julia lived for a while, called White Haven).

At times he was penniless, and he couldn’t make a go at anything—but he always kept his family fed. When the war began, he was working in his father’s tannery in Galena, Ill.

Call to arms
Grant’s generalship has received far more attention than his presidency, of course, and his reputation has found favors and disfavor over the last 150 years. Currently, he is enjoying a favorable re-evaluation. I’m not qualified to judge whether he was the best of the war, or if Sherman, Lee, Jackson or some other general was, beyond making general observations. I’ll leave that for the military historians. See the Resources section below for in-depth examinations.

He got a second start in the army in 1861 when the Illinois governor placed him in charge of a regiment. As a West Point graduate, he soon gathered a few other regiments under his command, was promoted to brigadier and never looked back. After fighting a sharp battle at Belmont, Missouri, in November of ‘61, he won the critical battles of Forts Henry and Donnellson in Tennessee the following February, which triggered the collapse of the entire Confederate defenses in the West (and opened the northeastern reaches of that state to the Union for the rest of the war).

In April, Grant fought and won the terrible bloody battle at Shiloh. The butcher’s bill and (false) charges of drunkenness derailed his career for a while, but the battle changed his outlook. Before the fight, he thought the war would end with a few more good pushes; after Shiloh Grant became convinced the war could only be won by conquest of the South. During and after the Shiloh campaign, Grant forged his lifelong friendship with William T. Sherman, who explained their friendship in two different ways: “Grant stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk.” (Both charges against the men were false.) And: “I’m a damn sight far smarter than Grant. I know a great deal more about war, military histories, strategy and grand tactics than he does; I know more about organization, supply, and administration and about everything else than he does; but I'll tell you where he beats me and where he beats the world. He don't care a damn for what the enemy does out of his sight, but it scares me like hell."

Grant explained that last statement in a roundabout way in his Memoirs. Early in the war, Grant was tasked with capturing a rebel camp in Missouri. Though greatly afraid, he marched on the camp only to find it deserted. He determined that the rebel leader had been just as afraid of Grant as Grant was of him. He never forgot that lesson.

Armchair general that I am, I think Sherman is wrong, though. Sherman was the better tactician, but Grant was the better strategist. Anyway, Grant got back on track later in the year when he made plans to destroy the army defending Vicksburg, Miss. It was a long and tortuous road that had many setbacks—and some legitimate criticism. But in one of the masterpieces of modern warfare, Grant out-maneuvered the Vicksburg defenses and captured the defending army after a siege, on July 4, 1863. He then defeated the major Confederate western army (The Army of Tennessee) at Chattanooga that November. By then, President Lincoln knew Grant was the man he needed to win the war.

Lincoln brought Grant east to command all Union armies in early 1864. Grant reassured Lincoln like no other general had, largely because Grant told Lincoln that regardless of what happened from then on, it wouldn’t be from lack of support from the government. In other words, Grant was literally the first Union general to actually assume responsibility for what he was about to do, and told Lincoln ahead of time that he had no intention of blaming the president for anything. Lincoln must have loved hearing that.

Grant has long been attacked (starting during the war itself) as a butcher who sacrificed lives needlessly, and as an untalented general who used blunt force to have his way. Such criticism seems overwrought and done to elevate Lee while denigrating Grant. And certain facts cannot ever be denied. Grant won decisively because he had a plan and stuck to it, found and promoted competent and loyal lieutenants such as Sherman and Sheridan, and had a willingness to abandon failed approaches, such as he did when he quit the direct, bloody confrontation with Lee. Grant knew how to whip Lee and the Confederacy and did it. It is argued that Lee was the better general because of his string of brilliant victories, whereas Grant faced poorly led and ill-equipped western armies. Yet practically nothing Lee did advanced his cause decisively. And Lee also faced an often poorly led army, whose weaknesses he took advantage of to deadly effect. Grant’s efforts, however, continually brought the Union closer to victory, at Forts Henry and Donnellson, Shiloh, Vicksburg and Chattanooga. Grant never retraced his steps, and wherever he was in charge, the Union cause didn’t either. Grant’s casualties were also proportionately less than Lee’s. Lee himself refused to hear any criticism of Grant, for when his lieutenants complained that Grant foolishly wasted lives, Lee silenced them by saying he believed Grant had admirably conducted his affairs. (This is not to say Lee wasn’t a great general; he was – but he did, in fact, lose, whereas Grant won.) Lee always sought the decisive battle, but Grant came to understand that the way to beat the South was through a war of exhaustion. (Meaning, he could win the war regardless of whether he won the set battles.)

Grant was also the only the only general to eliminate three entire armies from the field: at Donnellson, Vicksburg and Appomattox.

Finally, one more thing about Grant as general: The keys to Grant’s amazing successes are many. His enemies—and they were legion—credited his successes to mere chance and luck: a foolish drunkard who happened to be at the right places at the right times. But it was Grant’s character, his fortitude, his rejection of any possibility of defeat and his ability to see the “big picture” that gave him success. Grant, of course, had some vanity—what general doesn’t – but his vanity honestly took second place to winning the war. Chief among Grant’s qualities was his ability to generate loyalty in chief lieutenants and his men—and he did this through smart delegation of duties, a decided lack of military pomp and the always-constant drive to press on. And Grant was always in the thick of things, whether placing demoralized or reinforcements into line at Shiloh, or personally moving men and material through the swamps to begin his great flank march on Vicksburg, or disengaging from the Wilderness and putting his men back on the road south. Robert E. Lee’s post-war supporters may have heaped all of the glory from the war on his shoulders, but it was Grant who won it. Not by flash and expensive offensives, but by following this maxim, which he told to his wife Julia shortly after Donnellson: “The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on.”

The peacemakers
There was, of course, so much left out of that summary of Grant’s military career, but you have a general idea, and the story of the Civil War is familiar enough. (See Resources below for more.)

But just before it ended—and just before Lincoln’s life ended—Lincoln met with Grant, Sherman and Rear Adm. David Porter on a steamer at City Point, Va., Grant’s headquarters. This March 1865 meeting is so critical to understanding Grant’s presidency that is it amazing that historians have overlooked it for so long.

During this meeting, Lincoln talked about what he expected to happen next, after Confederate armies finally surrendered and their men paroled. Lincoln had a desire to “let ‘em up easy” and get the Confederate states back into the Union quickly, but fairly. He wanted the newly freed slaves to play an important role as well.

The meeting left a profound impression on Grant and Sherman, as played out in the quite generous terms each dictated to his foe at the Appomattox and Durham Station surrenders, respectively. But Lincoln’s desire for a reunited nation left an even deeper impression on Grant, in that he would spend his entire time in office enacting, in effect, what Lincoln’s second term would have been. Of course, there may be some serious disagreement here, as some Lincoln scholars would argue that we don’t quite know what Lincoln’s second term would have entailed for the South because Lincoln himself wasn’t so sure. However, Ulysses S. Grant was sure, and his understanding of what Lincoln wanted for the South was that the “verdict” of Appomattox must never be overturned.

To Grant, according to his understanding of Lincoln’s wishes, the peace was immutable: the Confederate states would come back to the Union fold, slavery was dead and the newly freed slaves would become citizens. As president, Grant would work to secure that vision—to his eventual despair.

It is a huge mistake, though, to separate the story of Ulysses S. Grant into everything leading up to Appomattox and everything after, because to do so fails to take into account Grant’s increasingly strong desire—his mission, if you will—to preserve the fruits of that victory. He fought hard for that victory and he was not about to see it thrown away. But during the Johnson years, Grant came to believe that those fruits were in danger of being lost.

Playing politics
For the next four years, Grant continued serving as general in chief. He was undoubtedly the most celebrated and honored man in the country. He was still primarily a military man, but events would force him to become politically involved. Before the war, he had been a Democrat, but he identified now with the Republican Party primarily because of Lincoln and the war.

Grant never got along with President Johnson. Early in his term, Johnson (and the Radicals) wanted to punish high-level Confederates, including Robert E. Lee, both by refusing them clemency and putting them on trial. Trying Lee for treason (something Lee was not afraid of) offended Grant because of the terms he had given at Appomattox. Grant was mad—and he had a reputation for never losing his cool. He all but shouted at Johnson “If I had told him and his army that their liberty would be invaded, that they would be open to arrest, trial and execution for treason, Lee would have never surrendered, and we would have lost many lives in destroying him.” As long as Lee and his officers never violated their parole as laid out at the surrender, Grant would never consent to their arrest. He would resign his command first. (Smith, p.418)

Grant had Johnson, and the president knew it. Grant was far too popular for Johnson to have him as an enemy. But probably from that moment on, Johnson knew he needed to either control Grant or neutralize him. He tried, but his own mistakes couldn’t override Grant’s character and popularity.

Relations between commander in chief and general in chief got worse. Grant abandoned the president’s entourage during Johnson’s disastrous 1866 “swing around the circle” when it became clear Johnson was just using Grant to make it appear he supported Johnson’s policies. And Grant was angered by Johnson’s vindictive words against the Radicals.

Strangely, though, things were getting so bad between Johnson and Congress during the fall of 1866 that Grant actually began to fear that Johnson would initiate a coup. It seems fantastic now—almost feverish—but it seemed logical to Grant. After all, Johnson was talking about a Congress that was operating “illegally” and “unconstitutionally.” His suspicions were fueled by Johnson’s desire to send Grant to lead a diplomatic mission to the newly restored Mexican government (a show of force by 50,000 of Grant’s troops just after the war had convinced France’s puppet government under Maximillian to quit Mexico). Grant adamantly refused to go, because it was a job for diplomats, not soldiers, and the president could not order him to do it. (He was right.) The coup of course never materialized.

Johnson and Grant fought even further when Congress initiated Military, or Radical, Reconstruction by dividing the ex-Confederacy into five military districts. Johnson, reluctantly, appointed five generals named by Grant to lead these districts (see the report on Johnson for the battle between the president and Congress over Military Reconstruction). Grant named his protégé, Phillip H. Sheridan, to command the district based in New Orleans, but Sheridan’s blunt style led to outcries that bent the ear of the president. He (probably gleefully) removed Sheridan over Grant’s protest.

The final showdown between Grant and Johnson came when Johnson tried to use the general in the events that led to impeachment. By now (1868) Grant was the assumed Republican candidate, and Johnson, still holding on to the dreams of party building, sought to damage Grant. Grant actually handled matters badly; among other missteps, he didn’t meet with Johnson when he said he would—and Johnson immediately pounced on Grant to “expose” him as a liar. Nobody really believed him, though.

Republicans had begun to look at Grant as their possible candidate for the White House because Grant was tremendously popular. In today’s language, Grant was a superstar. And the Radical Republicans thought Grant would be just want they needed: an easily pliable, very popular war hero in the White House who would let them enact their program of vengeance against the South. Republicans were again doing with Grant what the Whigs—some of them even the same men—had done with Zachary Taylor 18 years earlier.

Reluctantly, and against the advice of Sherman, who abhorred politics (despite his brother John, the senator) Grant accepted the nomination. He quelled party infighting with “Let us have peace,” a statement which became his campaign slogan. He easily won the election, squashing the Democrats’ Horatio Seymour in a commanding victory. However, it was closer than the Republicans thought it would be, given Grant’s popularity, but the Republicans had suffered because of impeachment (sound familiar?) and other issues.

Why did Grant run for president? It’s simple, really. Grant didn’t want the job, but leaving the nation and the war’s legacy in the hands of the likes of Johnson, hard-core and racist ex-rebels and others threatened to wreck what had already been gained. During the second half of the Johnson years, though, Grant moved from a man of pure military thinking to one of political thinking, as well. This movement is illustrated by his involvement in the Military Reconstruction bill:

“When the Reconstruction bill went into conference committee to reconcile the House and Senate versions, Grant worked closely with Sherman’s brother, sponsor of the bill in the Senate, to fashion a measure that would provide for black suffrage and at the same time indicate to the Southern states how military occupation could be ended [Big Mo note: adoption of the 14th Amendment]. Grant’s role was widely reported…

… What was most surprising was Grant’s endorsement of black suffrage. Throughout 1865 and 1866 he had been skeptical of enfranchising the freedmen, at least immediately. But continued resistance on the part of white Southerners to granting legal equality to African-Americans, combined with the increasing violence in the South, convinced him that black suffrage was essential. Only by weaving the freedmen into the political fabric of the nation could past injustices be corrected and the current wave of violence be brought under control.” (Smith, p.433)

So, as both Grant and the Radicals were about to find out, things wouldn’t go as planned. Grant, for all his personal and supposed political nativity, proved to be a much different president than they expected. And the Radicals would not get to mercilessly crush the South like they wanted to.

Political naïves
If Grant had one personality flaw that hurt him in his presidency—and throughout his life—it was his naivety with people. Quite often, Grant would trust someone unquestionably unless and until that person proved himself to be a snake. On such occasion, that person was never trusted again, with rare exception. In the Army, Grant’s instincts and judge of character served him quite well. But in the world of politics, where chameleons ruled and Grant’s instincts on character were less sharp, Grant was initially like a babe in the woods and got caught by some skunks.

Immediately the Republicans sought to control him, mainly through his cabinet appointments and the usual flurry of offices; but like his hero, Zachary Taylor, Grant would prove to be his own man and appointed whom he would. And like Taylor’s, not all of his appointments were good. For example, he made his old Galena friend, John Rawlins, the secretary of war, which naturally angered party members who expected the office to go to someone else. But Rawlins was deathly ill and died later in 1869.

His longtime political patron, Elihu B. Washburne, served as his secretary of state for a mere 12 days before heading to France as ambassador for the next eight years. It was supposed to be temporary to let Washburne have the title added to his portfolio, but it did not—nor should it—reflect well on Grant.

These early appointments cause Grant political embarrassment and exposed a level of political incompetence in certain people’s minds that Grant was never able to shake. It wasn’t an auspicious beginning.

But most appointments were quite good. Grant’s most spectacular cabinet officer was former New York governor and senator Hamilton Fish as secretary of state (replacing the short-lived term of Washburne). Grant consulted absolutely nobody over the appointment—not even Fish himself! Fish received notice in the mail, and he accepted; reluctant at first, he soon warmed to the job. It’s a good thing, too, because Fish became one of the most celebrated secretaries of state in the nation’s history, on even par with George Marshall. He served throughout the administration. More on him later.

His selections for treasury and attorney general were also excellent. It was a mixed cabinet at first, but historians who seem to dismiss the Grant cabinet as nothing more than a pack of corrupt toadies (with the exception of Fish) don’t know what they’re talking about.

Party leaders were certainly upset over the lack of consultation over cabinet choices, but in Grant’s defense, they should have thought of that before making a general their standard-bearer. A man who is used to giving orders and delegating responsibilities isn’t going to suddenly overnight develop a gift for politics, or see the need for stroking delicate egos in Congress. He’s going to simply get the job done.

But the appointments flap was just the beginning of Grant’s troubles with strong personalities in Congress, particularly the old abolitionist stalwart, Charles Sumner. Grant and Sumner should have been allies, and Grant thought that they would be. But Sumner “betrayed” Grant in a way that (I think) justified Grant’s subsequent treatment of the Massachusetts senator. Sumner believed that he would run foreign policy through his proxies in State and took it as a personal affront that Grant assumed that he and his secretary of state would do so. Worse, the night before the Senate was to vote on Grant’s plan to annex Santo Domingo, Grant had invited Sumner over to talk, and Sumner had assured Grant on his support—in typical politician-speak. In other words, he promised to the politically-naïve without really promising that he would support the treaty. The next day, when Sumner spoke against the treaty, Grant was aghast, and accused (correctly) Sumner of duplicity. Thanks in large part to Sumner’s opposition, the treaty failed—and Grant never forgave Sumner.

Grant was also not a strong speaker. With the written word, he was brilliant. It was said of Grant that his orders in battle were always clear and precise. No one failed to understand what he wanted. His messages to Congress were equally clear and brilliantly written. (If you read his Memoirs, you’ll understand why the great Mark Twain was so enthusiastic about them, and Twain knew a thing or two about the written word.) But when he was speaking, he wasn’t great or too memorable. Fortunately, he came to know his limitation, and kept it to a minimum.

What follows are the major things that happened in Grant’s presidency. Rather than list events chronologically, I’ve described them thematically for easier understanding of just why there is more to Grant’s presidency than you know.

Reconstruction
The period in the South of 1863-1877 generally falls under the term of Reconstruction. It was not a happy period, but it saw, for a time, the elevation of black Americans to equal footing with whites. For the first time, black Americans were elected to local, state and federal governments. But the bitter fighting between Johnson and Congress soured the nation and the South on Reconstruction, so by the time President Grant took command of the situation, he had three primary goals in mind: with Congress in control of Reconstruction (with Grant’s assistance back when the law was passed), Grant was to enforce the law while protecting freedmen and Unionists from predatory violence of white supremacists, being fair to ex-rebels who sought re-union, and reuniting the Southern states to the Union. The formal condition of reunion was supposedly presaged on acceptance of the 14th amendment. Technically, Reconstruction could be said to have ended in 1871, when the last of the Southern delegates was finally seated in Congress. But President Grant still needed to enforce the law in the South.

In short, here’s how Grant handled Reconstruction:

Ulysses S. Grant was the original civil rights president. Not Lincoln, you say? The great Emancipator destroyed slavery and restored the Union to his great credit and the undying thanks of the nation. Grant, however, carried Lincoln’s vision even further, and was the greatest champion of black civil rights until Lyndon Johnson.

During Grant’s administration, he pressed for civil rights long after the country as a whole had tired of “waving the bloody shirt” in support of the freedmen. The general-turned-president spent his eight years in office making sure the “verdict” of Appomattox was not overturned. Grant and his cabinet formed the Justice Department specifically to enforce federal authority in the South and preserve the rights of the freedmen. Two of Grant’s attorneys general, Amos T. Ackerman and then George H. Williams, oversaw Grant’s presidential Reconstruction policies through the five Enforcement Acts and the Ku-Klux Klan Act. Through their actions—driven by Grant—they smashed the Klan and thereby rendered it impotent for 50 years. Thanks to Grant’s forceful actions, violence in the South against freedmen dropped, and it was only when the threat of reprisal was removed following Grant’s presidency that violence escalated again. The 14th and 15th amendments became law based on his full and unswerving support. He suspended habeas corpus and sent federal troops into Southern states to enforce suffrage for blacks, believing that the freedmen should enjoy the same political rights as anyone else. The 1872 elections, which Grant won in a landslide, were the fairest in the South until the 1960s.

He tried to annex Santo Domingo (modern-day Dominican Republic) not, as has been long thought, in a bungled attempt to add territory to the US. Rather, Grant sought to make the black-dominated island into three or four US states on the theory that if they were successful, then they would serve as models for successful, peaceful state governments dominated by blacks. The annexation effort of course failed, and whether it was noble or wrongheaded is beside the point: it was an example of novel thinking from someone often dismissed as a dullard.

Grant was the first president to fight for equal rights for blacks based on the simple belief that they deserved it no less than anyone else. He used the full weight of the federal government as much as he could during peacetime—and more than any other president in peacetime, ever (even Jefferson and the disastrous embargo of 1807-08)—to protect America’s most vulnerable people. But his fight was a doomed fight. (The best analogy I can think of is Atticus Finch defending the prejudged Tom Robinson in To Kill a Mockingbird.) Because racism was so ingrained in America at that time, what Grant sought to do was simply not possible—at least, not then. There are some historians like Gillette who believe that had Grant been a really slick politician, Reconstruction would have worked. But that, too, is hogwash, because even slick politicians can’t change deep-rooted attitudes and beliefs with mere political skills.

As the Republican-led Reconstruction governments fell and states were “redeemed” by Democrat (white supremacist) governments, the public eventually soured on reconstructing the South. The best analogy is to the war in Iraq: when Americans hear nothing but bad news, and are unclear of when the thing is finally over, they lose patience. Historian Josiah Bunting III, writing in 2004, explains:

“It is often a liability of democracy that its citizens cannot for a long time sustain support for policies and actions that, however noble their goals, do not demonstrate measurable progress. Moral stamina, as historians call it, is a perishable commodity in the American polity. Abraham Lincoln might urge that the nation take increased devotion to the cause for which the Union dead had given the last full measure of devotion, but citizens of neither 1863 nor 1875 could agree among themselves as to the real nature of that cause, and what labors were necessary, and right, to secure its final achievement. As the years wore on and the war edged further into the past, many northern citizens had had enough and were ready to move on. For them, this was the meaning of Grant’s famous injunction “Let us have peace.” (Bunting, p.109)

But despite Grant’s valiant losing battle, some people did notice and were grateful—and looked forward to a better day when there were more Grants in the country than white supremacists and Klansmen and Redeemers:

“To [Grant] more than any other man the negro owes his enfranchisement and the Indian a humane policy. In the matter of the protection of the freedman from violence his moral courage surpassed that of his party; hence his place as its head was given to timid men, and the country was allowed to drift, instead of stemming the current with stalwart arms.”

So wrote the great Frederick Douglass, who was absolutely right in his assessment of Grant and of the nation. Because when lesser men succeeded Grant as president, and Reconstruction was abandoned, black Americans essentially had to start over. Yet most historians have dismissed Grant’s efforts, and labeled him as a racist, a butcher and a dullard too stupid to be president.

Superb international relations
With Grant’s full support, Secretary of State Fish enacted methods of international arbitration that are still used and served as the foundational basis for the League of Nations and later the United Nations.

Have you ever heard of that?

During the war, England had manufactured several ships for the Confederacy that were easily converted to commerce raiders. The CSS Alabama (sunk by the USS Kersage of Le Harve in 1864) became the focal point of the dispute between America and England. The Senate had rejected a Johnson administration agreement with England. Fish, on the other hand, and with Grant’s full approval, brilliantly made peace with England over the Civil War claims, and also ended all outstanding border disputes and fishing rights disputes between American and England/Canada, thereby strengthening and deepening the ties between our two nations.

The Washington Treaty of 1871 remains a masterpiece of diplomacy, and was hailed in Washington. Alas, Grant gets no credit, but Fish would not have acted without his chief’s approval. However, it would be fair (well, almost) to say that our true friendship with England began during Grant’s presidency, because after these claims, we really had no more arguments with England. Grant also avoided war with Spain over Cuba—twice—despite enormous public and congressional pressure. He knew that the desire to add Havana to the Union was motivated by nothing more than greed. He offered to purchase Cuba, but did nothing more. Congress and certain segments of the public wanted America to intervene on the side of rebels in Cuba against Spanish rule, but Grant saw absolutely no reason for it. He offered America’s services as arbitrator, but no more.

Thirty years later the United States would fight the highly dubious Spanish-American War—and Grant probably would have disapproved, just as he disapproved of the Mexican War.

Preventing genocide
Elsewhere on the domestic front, Grant made a true effort to make peace with the Plains Indian tribes, thereby in all likelihood saving them from extermination. That’s a bold statement, I know.

And President Andrew Johnson had, to his credit, initiated a peace policy of his own. But Grant’s was much more substantive and carried some actual weight behind it—and Johnson’s fighting with Congress made his a non-starter, despite the truth behind his commission’s reports.

Western states supported Grant in 1868 on the mistaken belief that he—the man who destroyed the Confederacy—would eradicate the “Indian problem” once and for all. They were wrong. In the army in the 1850s Grant wrote to his wife Julia that he knew the Indians were getting shafted left and right, and when he became president, Grant reversed U.S. policy and promoted comprehensive reform designed to bring peace.

Of course, “Custer’s Last Stand” occurred during the final year of his administration, mainly because of the vainglorious Custer but also Sheridan’s aggression and Grant’s mistaken trust in Sheridan. I don’t discount the culpability of the Sioux and etc. who were on the warpath, but this was an avoidable disaster, and Grant took his eye off the ball.

But Grant’s policy usually was to punish those who did wrong while making fair and just peace with those who wanted peace. In fact, it’s very similar to Taylor’s approach to Indians and Mexicans, and George W. Bush’s approach to Islamic terror. What made the difference in Grant’s approach was that Grant believed in treating Indians as individuals instead of just tribes. In other words, seeing them as people, not problems. When the famed Red Cloud and other Plains chiefs visited Washington in 1870, Grant treated them just shy of visiting heads of state. Not for nothing did the Plains Indians refer specifically to Grant as “great white father.” He pressed for citizenship for Indians—a remarkably progressive stance for the 1870s and something no president had ever before done—and sought to treat them fairly by replacing corrupt Indian agents with (presumably) un-corruptible Quakers. The corrupt agents were one of the biggest causes of troubles on the Plains. He also created a blue-ribbon panel for Indian affairs to bypass the congressional logjam on Indian appropriations, and placed his longtime friend Ely Parker—himself a Seneca chief—in charge of Indian affairs. Alas, the panel folded before he left office.

Finally, Grant utterly refused to abandon his peace policy just to win votes in the west. Grant swept the west in 1872 except for Texas, which had to do more with Reconstruction than the peace policy.

Although Grant wasn’t entirely successful on this front, he sincerely believed that Indians deserved justice no less than anyone else.

Managing the nation’s money better than his own
Grant was bad with money—his own, that is. And it often got him into trouble. One of the primary reasons why he wrote his amazing Memoirs was because he hoped to provide for his family after he died (which he did).

But with the nation’s money, Grant and his chosen treasury secretaries proved up to the task. Grant prevented the greedy cornering of the gold market in 1869 by Jay Gould and Jim Fisk in a brilliant counter-stroke that flooded the market with government gold (instead of the small amount regularly scheduled to be sold).

At first, Grant was taken in by Jay Gould and Jim Fisk—his trusting nature got the better of him. But contrary to what history says, the actual paper record proves that Grant ultimately was not fooled by what Gould and Fisk planned and warned his treasury secretary a full two weeks in advance of what they were scheming and to prepare accordingly. Thus, Grant prevented a bad situation from becoming a serious crisis. While the episode does not reflect well on Grant—“laggard and uncertain” is how Josiah Bunting describes Grant’s handling—it is true that once he got wind of the scheme, he acted.

During his second term, the Panic of 1873 slammed the nation. The collapse of the Jay Cooke banking firm in Philadelphia precipitated the Panic, which was exacerbated by the collapse of many railroads. Unemployment ran as high as 14 percent by 1876. The president is criticized in modern times for not doing more to alleviate the crisis, but Grant did what he could with the tools he had. (Remember, this is still the time before the activist presidency, and before the time when the executive branch was looked to as the cure-all of the nation).

So what did Grant do? Contrary to “history,” Grant did not “do nothing,” nor was he confused and directionless. Grant single-handedly prevented the amazingly harmful inflation bill of 1874 from becoming law. Designed by a Congress and Wall Street desperate to do something to combat the Panic, the bill would have creamed the already-struggling economy while benefiting only a few through the release of millions of government “greenbacks” (paper currency). Immediately following that victory, Grant supported the Resumption of specie payment Act of 1875, thereby restoring US credit and avoided turning a financial crisis into a financial disaster. The Panic literally ended abruptly when the act became effective in 1879.

Years later, Grant explained that he took his time witing out the reasons to approve the bill. Republican party leaders were warning that a veto would destroy the party, especially in the west; so was his cabinet, except Fish, so the pressure on Grant was great. He wrote out elegant reasons for approving the bill, arguing that it it wouldn't mean inflation, that it wouldn't affect the country's credit, that it would help, not hurt:

"When I finished my wonderful message, I read it over and said to myself, 'What is the good of all of this? You do not believe it. You know it is not true.' Throwing it aside I resolved to do what I believed to be right, veto the bill! I could not stand my own arguments." (Smith, p. 581)

The importance of that victory cannot be understated. Smith calls the veto "a seminal event in American history" (p. 581) because the nation moved away from Civil War soft money and a massive and necessary step toward the reurn of specie payments (money backed by gold). A triumphant Grant told Congress in December 1874 that unbacked paper currency had served its purpose in the war, but in order to restore economic stability, hard currency was needed, not hundreds of millions of more greenbacks that would lead to a more inflated dollar unable to compete with foreign currencies.

Sure, Congress' and Wall Street's inflation bill would have provided temporary relief across the country -- and Grant was fully aware of this. He knew full well what it was like to be poor and living from one meal to the next. But as the chief executive, he had to look at the bigger picture.

And he was right. It was a major victory and was actually hailed in the financial community , many newspapers and even by Republicans starting to take a dim view of the General in the White House, such as future president James Garfield.

To summarize Grant's economic policy, Frank Scaturro writes:

"Grant pursued an economic policy that was singularly successful in the aftermath of the most serious fiscal problems the nation had ever faced. Under his administration, policies were pursued that reduced inflation, bolstered economic recovery from the mild depression of 1867-69, promoted economy in federal expenditures, and substantially raised the nation’s credit. Both taxes and the national debt were reduced during Grant’s presidency by approximately $300 million and $435 million, respectively; one-fifth of the national debt had been eliminated, and during Grant’s first year in office, [Treasury Secretary] Boutwell had successfully established a policy that (if it had been desirable to continue rather than reducing taxation) would have paid off the entire national debt in less than a quarter century. Annual interest rates were reduced by approximately $30 million under Grant’s policies, and the balance of trade was changed from over $130 million against the United States to over $120 million in the nation’s favor.” (Scaturro, p.49-50)

In sum, Grant successfully pursued what today would be considered fiscally conservative policies.

Other events
Three other incidences that occurred during the Grant era merit mention. In addition to establishing the Department of Justice in 1871 under the attorney general, Grant added the office of the solicitor general. (The office of the surgeon general also began during Grant’s term, though it came about through an act of Congress.)

Grant also signed into law in 1870 the creation of the Weather Bureau, which would later become the National Weather Service.

Finally, Grant and Congress authorized the creation of the first national park in America. Based on reports from (and tireless efforts of) F.V. Hayden, more than 2,200,000 acres became Yellowstone National Park (Wyoming) in March 1872.

The “scandals” and corruption
Yes, there were scandals. And undoubtedly, “scandal” is the word most people continue to associate with Grant. But unlike some of Grant’s successors (including a certain turkey from Arkansas), Grant was not the epicenter of scandal. And many of the “scandals” actually occurred during Johnson’s unfortunate term and only came to light during Grant’s terms (as has happened to George W. Bush: the crimes of Enron actually took place during Clinton’s administration, but since they were exposed during Bush’s time, Bush gets blamed). Other scandals merely occurred during Grant’s terms but had nothing to do with him or his administration, such as Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall.

As for the worst of the “scandals”, it was Grant’s administration that helped expose them! Those were the Credit Mobilier scandal, which occurred before Grant became president, and the Whiskey scandal, which included some low-ranking members of his administration and would eventually bring accusations—proven unfounded—against his primary secretary, Babcock. Grant made sure that no one guilty would go unpunished—even longtime friends.

But when it became clear to Grant that his attorney general, Bristow, was aiming to destroy Grant’s aide and friend Babcock in a bald attempt to win the graces of the reformers and get elected president, Grant sheltered Babcock. Grant’s defense of Babcock, done in an unprecedented five-hour closed session, ended the matter and satisfied (at the time) many of his harshest critics. But these days his defense of Babcock has been taken as evidence of corruption by protecting a crony—but really it was shielding someone from an unjust witch-hunt. At the same time, the nature of some of the “scandals” are willfully misunderstood, as they involved the spoils system, which all presidents to that point had used without protest. Grant was the first president to press for the creation of a civil service to eliminate the spoils system. The so-called reformers, who supposedly longed for civil service reform, accused Grant of corruption primarily because Grant did not appoint them to posts! Grant abandoned the attempt late in his second term in the face of an unwilling Congress; it took the murder of President Garfield—himself a “reformer”—for civil service to be truly reformed under President Chester A. Arthur.

Alas, some of the corruption of Grant's people was real, but -- and this is really no excuse -- it was no different than existed throughout the era. Grant's second-term appointees were much weaker than his first. His men at Treasury, War, Justice and Interior at the beginning of the second term were all bad choices, and it is here that the charge of corruption has the most force. Their actions were either illegal, later declared illegal or merely grossly indiscreet. Fortunately most did not survive the term, but their damage was done.

Grant's loyalty to such men "went beyond prudence," Smith writes (p.554), and Grant hurt himself badly by holding on to men who were no good, both in their offices and in their abuses of thier offices. So, could Grant have handled the “scandals” better? Absolutely.

Worse for his reputation, Grant did not loudly and repeatedly condemn corruption and scandal when it was discovered. However, that wasn’t how he operated. When someone betrayed his trust or royally screwed up, President Grant privately offered that man a chance to make things right by resigning. In other words, he didn’t go for the political theater. Contemporary and modern critics use this as evidence of corruption by way of protecting cronies. To Grant, it was merely a way of one man offering another man a way to save face.

So, yes, he could have handled matters differently (i.e., better). But then he would not have been Ulysses S. Grant.

In the end, equating Grant with “scandal” and "corruption" almost to the singular exclusion of all else is, quite plainly, idiotic. There were far worse scandals in other administrations, but no one attaches that word to them as easily as they do to Grant. Not even Warren G. Harding. I’m not trying to set up an “everyone does it” excuse,” but rather argue that Grant does not and never has deserved to have this label attached to him. The scandal and corruption label has been way overblown and falsely—even maliciously—applied.

Maintaining the peace: the disputed election of 1876
By 1876, Grant had lost much of the support of the Republican Party, as the north was looking to move beyond Reconstruction. He was still popular personally, but a third term did not seem likely. Republicans decided on former general and rising star Ohio Governor Rutherford Hayes as their standard-bearer.

For eight years Grant had shepherded the nation through an intensely complex era that immediately followed on the heels of a decade of tremendous upheaval. His era would end with his calm and non-partisan handling of the election crisis of 1876, where Democrat Tilden won the popular vote but the electoral college vote was in dispute. Grant’s handling of the crisis was different than Bill Clinton’s in 2000. Clinton was a non-entity during his crisis, which is understandable considering his chosen successor was one of the candidates, and Clinton inserting himself into the Florida recount probably would have made that explosive situation worse. In 1876, Grant made sure order prevailed and the transition was peaceful, and inserted himself into the crisis in order to solve it because, to use a modern term, he didn’t have a dog in the fight.

Grant already knew that, one way or another, Reconstruction was finished. He naturally preferred a Republican victory, but he wanted a fair outcome. Grant recommended a commission to Congress to settle the election, which Congress did, certifying the results shortly before Hayes was inaugurated. He even quietly ordered troops assembled in Washington in case there was trouble. True, it’s easy to overplay Grant’s role in this dispute, but to his credit, he made sure there was a peaceful transition.

Around the world—and a third try
When he left office, Grant was still as much of a hero as he was in 1865. The political class didn’t think so, nor did the self-anointed intellectuals and “reformers.” But Grant didn’t care. Grant and Julia packed and left on a celebrated, two-year, worldwide tour. They visited England, Prussia, Italy, Egypt, Russia, Burma and Japan. Everywhere he went, he was regarded as a conquering hero, and addressed as “general.”

In Berlin, he stunned Chancellor Bismarck by simply walking to the imperial palace on his own, rather than arriving with a full—and pompous—entourage. In the Holy Land, he talked for hours about his favorite subject, horses, with a powerful sultan. In Japan, he was actually asked to settle a border dispute between Japan and China, and did so, “ruling” in favor of Japan. In Venice, Italy, he cracked that the city would be nice except for all the flooded streets. Unkind bashers have used this remark as evidence of his supposed dullness.

A reporter accompanied the Grants and later published his writings. The book is particularly valuable because Grant gave many impressions to the reporter that he didn't relate in his Memoirs, especially of his presidency and various Confederate generals. For example, Grant didn’t fear Robert E. Lee, but was always wary of Joseph E. Johnston, whom he thought was the better general. And he expounded on various political leaders and defended the actions he took as president, such as the critical veto of the inflation bill.

The Grants returned home to a hero’s welcome in 1879, when Grant was talked into making another try at the presidency. Unfortunately, Grant was interested and actively pursued getting his old job back. He came within a stone’s throw at the 1880 convention, but enough of the party decided that two terms of Grant was enough, and nominated James Garfield instead on the 36th ballot.

Ruin, cancer and final victory
Grant went into business one final time in New York City as a broker, but his partner proved to be a skunk and bankrupted the company—leaving Grant broke once more. Worse, all of the cigars Grant had smoked since the fall of Fort Donnellson in 1862 had given him inoperable throat cancer. (Grant had not smoked cigars before then, but after the spectacular victory, he received so many cigars as presents he decided to just start smoking them.)

Grant, now virtually penniless again, needed a way to support his family. Century magazine had approached him about writing an article about the Battle of Shiloh as part of the magazine’s new series, Battles and Leaders of the Civil War. (This is a great series written entirely by the participants. Any public library worth its salt should have a copy of the four-volume series.) Grant wrote a dry account, which was not at all what the editors wanted. They asked him to try again. So, he did, and he soon found himself writing not just about Shiloh, but his whole life.

By then Grant had made friends with the humorist Mark Twain, and Twain, hearing of Grant’s problems, worked out a deal where Grant would write his life’s story and Twain would see it published. Grant and his family would get 75% of the profits and Twain would get the rest.

Moving to Mount MacGregor in upstate New York in 1885, Grant worked diligently on the Memoirs while the cancer sapped his life. He finally finished five days before he died on July 23.

The Memoirs sold incredibly well and brought in $450,000 for Julia, which more than made her comfortable. Twain declared them the best military memoirs since Caesar’s, and at least on this one point, most Grant critics agree.

Final Assessment

Few other presidents faced as deep and profoundly diverse crises upon entering office as Grant. (The others were Lincoln, Andrew Johnson and Franklin D. Roosevelt.) That fact needs to be appreciated, as Scaturro writes:

“More important than the observation that certain [new and unprecedented] issues began to face the country when Grant was president was how he handled them: whether the issue was economic policy, foreign affairs, or civil rights, Grant established a record on the questions he encountered with a decisiveness that towers above the record of other presidents. His stand on monetary policy effected a party realignment and set the stage for future debate, and his successors through the nineteenth century never achieved their own economic goals as clearly as Grant did through the Resumption Act. …Grant’s own record on civil rights stands alone in his era, a fact that is largely intertwined with Reconstruction’s repudiation, and even the repudiation could not endue after the government passed measures nine decades later to recover the legal framework of civil rights that had been either created or otherwise realized under Grant.

…The notion that Grant was a president without policies stands in stark contrast to a record that indicates strong leadership (even if that leadership was sometimes manifested in “hidden hands”-style interaction with congressmen). Grant’s period, which occurred during a period of unprecedented growth, which began in the face of so many unanswered political questions, and which ended having answered virtually every question facing it, established the foundations of modern America largely in the same way Washington’s presidency shaped the earlier establishment.” (Scaturro, P.117-118)

Grant was the only president between Lincoln and McKinley to win re-election to back-to-back terms. He won re-election in a landslide, counting among his supporters the western states, most every single black man and progressives. He crushed the liberal-Republican/Democrat alliance arrayed to defeat him—as effectively as he crushed Rebel armies in Tennessee and Virginia. (Biographer Jean Edward Smith plays up this theme often.)

So why does President Grant have such a lousy reputation? It’s because the history of his presidency was written by and large by his political and personal enemies. Grant became a victim of “the Lost Cause,” wherein the Confederates were the natural inheritors of the Revolutionary mantle and were overwhelmed by Lincoln’s “illegal war.” Grant’s contemporary enemies proved far more prolific with their condemnations than his supporters were with their praises. Grant’s 1872 victory, vigorous enforcement of Reconstruction and lack of appointments to hypocritical “reformers” soured Grant before the intellectual class—including historians. White supremacists, redeemers and Lost Cause-sympathizing historians naturally trashed Grant’s presidency. William Dunning and his students became the leading authorities on Reconstruction and the Gilded Age from the early 1900s through the 1940s. They elevated Andrew Johnson and viciously attacked the Radicals, Grant and Reconstruction, and by extension, blacks. They viewed Reconstruction with utter contempt, and therefore Grant himself. This view is the predominant view that continues to this day. (To see this in action, read The Tragic Era by Dunning student Claude Bowers. Then read W.E.B. DuBois’ Black Reconstruction in America, written as a response to the Dunning school. Then read Eric Foner’s definitive 1987 Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution, although Foner does not give Grant his due.)

Later New Deal Democrats and liberals, who despised anyone in power during the Gilded Age, took an equally dim view of Grant and played up the so-called “scandals.” And latter-day bored, unthinking, uncritical or Lost Cause-sympathizing historians have accepted their biased verdict without question. (McFeely admitted he was bored with the monetary aspects of Grant’s presidency.)

You still see this gross bias and character assassination at work today, in biographies of other presidents (the most recent Rutherford Hayes biography repeats the tired “corruption” theme) and even on the White House’s official history page. The Wikipedia entry on Grant is terrible and full of Grant bashing. I don’t blame Wikipedia—I blame what the author of that post used as source material, including Hesseltine and McFeely. You can even see it in works on other presidents of that era, who cite how much the public was “tired” of the “scandals” of the Grant era.

However, the last decade’s worth of research on Ulysses S. Grant’s presidency has revealed that Grant’s good sense displayed on battlefield after battlefield did not desert him in the White House. As a president, Grant has long since deserved much better treatment than he’s gotten from historians and elites.

In sum: Grant saved the Union three times. First by winning the war, second by winning the peace at Appomattox, and third by preserving the peace as president. He is under-appreciated, underestimated, misunderstood and undeserving of his presidency’s lousy reputation. If there were such a creature as historical justice, Grant would be immortalized on Mount Rushmore.

Presidential rating: somewhat successful and popular. Had Reconstruction actually succeeded, then it would be possible to call Grant our greatest president behind Washington and Lincoln.

Resources
Grant’s reputation has enjoyed a renaissance during the past decade. The best recent resources are:

Josiah Bunting III, Ulysses S. Grant (2004), is one of the absolute best of the short biographies in the late Arthur Schlesinger Jr’s The American Presidents Series. Jean Edward Smith’s Grant (2002) is the best one-volume synthesis of Grant’s entire life ever written. He doesn’t introduce anything new on Grant’s war career, but his exposition on Grant’s presidency is fresh and refreshing. Frank Scaturro’s President Grant Reconsidered (1998) is a necessary book for anyone interested in understanding the violence done to Grant’s character and presidency over the past century.

Geoffrey Perret’s Ulysses S. Grant: Soldier and Patriot (1998) is not a biography I recommend, because the presentation is much weaker than the later works (and I am just not a fan of Perret’s work). He’s too much of a cheerleader and too easily explains away Grant’s flaws and mistakes.

And lest you think I’m too much of a cheerleader for Grant, read a current negative assessment, Michael Korda’s Ulysses S. Grant: The Unlikely Hero (2004). Korda agrees with Bunting on Grant’s military career but does not buy the new thinking on Grant’s presidency.

William McFeely’s Grant: A Biography (1982) is definitely not my favorite Grant biographjy, despite its Pulitzer Prize. While well written, McFeely's work boottle up Grant as a racist and a butcher and a failed incompetent president, a judgemnent I obviously and strongly disagree with.

For Grant’s military career, you can still find no better treatment than the trilogy begun by Lloyd Lewis in Captain Sam Grant and completed by Bruce Catton in his superb Grant Moves South and Grant Takes Command. However, Brooks Simpson’s Ulysses S. Grant: Tragedy and Triumph, 1822-1865 is also an excellent and recent one-volume (of a planned two-volume study) treatment. His earlier study, Ulysses S Grant and the Politics of Reconstruction, which takes Grant up to 1868, is also valuable and portends good things for the second volume of his biography.

(While Grant’s military prowess has enjoyed a renaissance of late, Lee’s has taken a severe hit. Edward H. Bonekemper III wrote A Victor, Not a Butcher: Ulysses S. Grant’s Overlooked Military Genius (2004), a companion to his earlier book, How Robert E. Lee Lost the Civil War. Both are highly charged and debatable, but seem to be typical of the emerging thought on both generals. Lee’s stock as a general has been slowly falling since the publication in the early 1990s of Alan T. Nolan’s highly critical Robert E. Lee Considered, written from the premise that Lee had never before been considered—at least honestly. However, such arguments over who was the better general never seemed to matter to the actual generals in question.)

And of course, you should read Grant’s own Memoirs of U.S. Grant. (Note: one of the many scurrilous attacks against Grant is that Twain actually wrote them, but Twain never claimed this and I doubt he ever would. Besides, all you have to do is compare the clarity of Grant’s wartime orders with the clarity of the Memoirs AND his written presidential messages, and you can easily dismiss this ridiculous charge.)

It is a crying shame that military history is considered such a revolting subject on today’s wimpified university campuses; few military historians find tenure anymore. However, military history is the most popular historical subject among lay people—who seem to know better than the sneering self-anointed intellectuals who look down on men like Grant.

Illustrations

All illustrations are in the public domain and taken from the Library of Congress Photographs and Prints Division unless otherwise noted.

1. This is my favorite photograph of Grant as president. It shows his strength—and a little weight gain now that he was no longer living off of Army rations.

2. Lt. Sam Grant as he appeared before the Mexican War. This drawing appears as the frontpiece for the 1885 illustrated edition of Grant’s Memoirs.

3. A chromolithograph of Ulysses S. Grant surrounded by nine (sometimes fanciful) scenes of his entire military service. Clockwise from bottom left: West Point graduation in 1843, artillery crew in the Tower of Chapultepec outside Mexico City in 1847; drilling volunteers in 1861; Fort Donelson in February 1862; battle of Shiloh, April 1862; Siege of Vicksburg 1863; battle of Chattanooga, November 1863; appointment by Lincoln as commander in Chief, 1864, and Lee’s surrender, April 1865. Apparently this was published by L. Prang & Co. of Boston in 1885 on the occasion of Grant’s death. (This image replaces the detail from The Glorious Fourth, a painting by Mort Kunstler, which showed Grant entering Vicksburg, Miss., on July 4, 1863. Kunstler is one of my favorite artists, but I realized I could have been violating copyrights by reproducing even a detail of the image on my site. See it here.)

4. Edwin Forbes sketched Grant (on horse, center) as he orders the Army of the Potomac to disengage from the bloody battle of the Wilderness and continue marching south. It was the first time after a defeat that that army had pressed forward, and it marked a momentous shift in the war. Combat artists were an integral component of reporting the Civil War, and Forbes, Alfred Waud and Winslow Homer were the best.

5. Grant at Cold Harbor. This is a haunting photograph, because it was taken after 40 days of continuous fighting between the Army of the Potomac and Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. Grant lost 50,000 men while Lee lost around 30,000. You can see the strain on Grant’s face. (The Ulysses S. Grant Information Center).

6. Alexander Gardner photographed Grant c.1865.

7. Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant was photographed by F. Gutekunst of Philadelphia.

8. General Ulysses S. Grant, Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles and President Andrew Johnson pose together on Aug. 31, 1866, in Auburn, New York, at the home of former Governor Enos Throop during Johnson’s disastrous “swing around the circle.” This photograph was donated to the Ulysses S. Grant Association by Doris C. Baker, great-great-great-niece of Governor Throop, and is believed to have never been previously published anywhere before appearing on that organization's web site. (Ulysses S. Grant Association)

9. Grant’s secretary of state, Hamilton Fish, was surprised when the president offered him the job. Yet he served faithfully and brilliantly throughout the entire administration. He’s rated one of the best ever.

10. Alfred Waud drew this scene of a three different black men—an artisan, a businessman and a soldier—casting votes for the first time. Published in Harper's Weekly on Nov. 16, 1867. Grant would spend his entire presidency fighting to keep such scenes from disappearing in the South.

11. President Grant signs the Ku-Klux Force Bill with Secretary Robeson and Gen. Porter at the Capitol on April 20, 1971, as shown in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated, May 13, 1871.

12. The Fifteenth Amendment. Celebrated May 19th, 1870, from an original design by James C. Beard. This was one of several large commemorative prints marking the enactment of the Fifteenth Amendment guaranteeing the right to vote regardless of race and showing the grand May 19 celebratory parade in Baltimore. Noteworthy in this print are some of the vignettes around the edges: President Ulysses S. Grant and Vice President Schuyler S. Colfax occupy the upper corners. In the top center are Martin Robinson Delany, author, pre-war agitator and the first black major in the U.S. Army; famed abolitionist Frederick Douglass; and Mississippi senator Hiram Rhoades Revels. At the sides are (left, top to bottom) a young black man reading the Emancipation Proclamation, three black men with Masonic sashes and banners (“We Unite in the Bonds of Fellowship with the Whole Human Race”), an open Bible (“Our Charter of Rights”), and a bust portrait of Lincoln. In the lower left corner is a classroom scene in a black school, labeled “Education Will Prove the Equality of the Races.” In the lower right corner a black pastor preaches to his congregation, with the motto “The Holy Ordinances of Religion Are Free” below. To the right of the central scene are (top to bottom): two free blacks who “till our own fields;” a black officer commanding his troops (“We Will Protect Our Country as It Defends Our Rights”); a bust portrait of John Brown; and a black man reading to his family (“Freedom Unites the Family Circle”). The bottom row shows three more scenes (left to right): a black wedding ceremony (“Liberty Protects the Marriage Alter”); a black man voting (“The Ballot Box Is Open To Us”); and Senator Revels in the House of Representatives (“Our Representative Sits in the National Legislature”).

13. Frederick Douglass was an outspoken supporter of President Grant. (Although he was actually nominated to be Virginia Woodhull’s running mate 1872 on the Equal Rights ticket, Douglass never campaigned or acknowledged the honor.)

14. President Grant greets Red Cloud, Spotted Tail and Swift Bear during a visit of the Indian delegation with Commissioner of Indian Affairs, Ely S. Parker (not the other man in the picture), in 1870, as drawn for the June 18, 1870, Harper’s Weekly by C.S. Reinhart.

15. This medallion, created in the early 1870s, is titled Defender, Martyr, Father - U.S. Grant, A. Lincoln, G. Washington. Despite the negative—and untrue—views of intellectuals and historians, Grant remained close to the hearts of his countrymen for at least a generation.

16. Julia Dent Grant, taken sometime in the 1870s. Grant adored his wife, and she brought much class and dignity to the White House.

17. The penalty of being an American statesman of the first magnitude, a c.1913 cartoon addressed to Theodore Roosevelt, illustrates that at least 35 years after he left office, Grant was often still ranked with the greats. (Certain restrictions may apply to this picture: Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, [reproduction number, e.g., LC-USZ62-90145])

18. Grant’s tomb overlooking the Hudson River in upper New York City is often the butt of the joke “Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb?” Grant and Julia Grant are, of course. The tomb was recently restored. It forever faces south and is emblazoned with Grant’s misunderstood 1868 campaign slogan, “Let us have peace.” (Grant Monument Association.)

Number 17: Andrew Johnson

2007-09-23T13:47:00.000-05:00

Years in office: 1865-1869
Pre-service occupations: military governor of Tennessee, senator, vice president
Key events during his administration: presidential Reconstruction (1865-1866), military Reconstruction begins (1866), impeachment (1868), purchase of Alaska (1867), 13th Amendment (1865), 14th Amendment ratified by Congress (proposed 1866, ratified 1868), Nebraska admitted to the Union (1867); Hancock’s War (1867); Washita battle/massacre 1867; Fetterman massacre (1866)

Presidential rating: Near failure and mostly unpopular

ESSAY

To modern Americans, Andrew Johnson was the answer to a trivia question—up until 1998, that is: who was the only president to have been impeached. He was also the first man to succeed an assassinated president, the only Southern Senator who refused to join the Confederacy, and the first president to have a veto overturned.

Andrew Johnson was never meant to become president—at least, not by Abraham Lincoln and the Republicans. He was an “olive branch” candidate, a Democrat joined with Lincoln to form a unified ticket against the McClellan/Copperhead Democrats in 1864.

But Lincoln’s shocking murder propelled Johnson to the presidency, something that neither he expected nor the Radical Republicans thought would happen. What followed were four torturous years between an unpopular president, an over-reaching Congress, and a blasted South ripped between newly freed slaves and ex-rebels.

Before starting this evaluation of Johnson, my primary view of him was that, for all of his faults, he performed one service that every president following him owes a debt of thanks: he fought an imperial Congress trying to impeach him over an unconstitutional law—and won. I wanted to see if that view holds up against the historical record.

The view not only holds up, but Johnson did other things that merit praise from history, which I’ll discuss in detail. However, his record is quite mixed. Understanding him must involve more than reducing the 17th president to a one-dimensional caricature of a backwards, barely literate racist. He deserves better. Much better.

That’s not to say I agree with everything Johnson did while in office—far from it. He was a disagreeable man who sought to create a new postwar party, with himself at the center. His actions were motivated by the desire for power as much as they were by the desires to maintain white supremacy and beat down the new “traitors,” the Radicals.

Andrew Johnson was often wrong in his motives—and his racism is sometimes hard to stomach—but he was often right in his actions.

A man of the people
He had been born in poverty in North Carolina—returning there as president was a special treat—and moved to Tennessee in his youth. It’s safe to say that no other president has experienced as much of a rags-to-riches life as had Andrew Johnson. He was orphaned when he was three. He learned the craft of a tailor and would often be referred as one in his political career. Johnson never attended school; his wife, Eliza, taught him basic reading and writing skills.

Some presidents built their political power based on their party organizational skills (Martin Van Buren, Harry Truman, Lyndon Johnson); some men did so based on good political acumen (Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt, Bill Clinton); others have done so as a sheer cult of personality (George Washington, William Henry Harrison, Dwight Eisenhower, Ulysses S. Grant). Others are a combination of one or more of the above (Franklin Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan). Andrew Johnson built his political power based largely on the power of his mouth.

Picturing Andrew Johnson as a “man of the people” may seem odd, but that’s what he was. Johnson came of political age in Tennessee, where stump speaking was far more important than newspapers. Johnson was a master of oratory, which could sway opinion often better than the highly partisan press could, if used in the right places. His powerful speeches made him Tennessee’s golden boy in the 1850s. His style was quite aggressive, and he would directly engage the audience; this served him well in Tennessee, but would help destroy him as president.

Having been born quite poor, Johnson’s frequent targets were men of privilege, especially the planter class. Johnson was no abolitionist—he was about as far from being one as you could get—but he despised the planters.

He rose through Tennessee politics, clawing (possibly the best word) his way from alderman, to state legislator to governor to finally U.S. senator.

Pro-war/pro-Union Democrat
During the secession crisis, Andrew Johnson declared he would remain loyal to the Union. He powerfully denounced the “traitors” of the South and toured Tennessee urging against secession. When Tennessee went with the Confederacy, Johnson became the only Southern senator to remain with the North, earning him much hatred in the South and much praise in the North.

In 1862, he left the Senate to become military governor of Tennessee, where he proved quite effective in helping quash the rebellion. Eastern Tennessee was of course pro-Union; the western half of the state was Confederate country. By early 1864, the state was permanently in Union hands except for Hood’s expedition late in the year.

Johnson apparently freed his own slaves in 1863. No friend of blacks—he favored shipping all of them back to Africa or at least an America without them at all—Johnson nevertheless embraced the Lincoln administration’s emancipation policy in 1863. He argued that slavery had brought on the war and it needed to be destroyed.

This move at once set him apart from Northern Democrats and furthered his alliance with the Republicans. Embracing emancipation made re-establishing civil government in Tennessee more difficult for Johnson, who had enough troubles through using often high-handed measures. Although he kept Nashville in Union hands after its fall in 1862, he was unable to fully reorganize the state. In 1864, he attempted to require a loyalty oath from both pro-Union and pro-rebel citizens, which naturally outraged Unionists, and called a state convention. But his efforts failed. Biographer Hans L. Trefousse explains that:

(Johnson’s) ambition for higher office made him careless. He achieved his personal goal [becoming vice president], but his administration of the state suffered. For a time, however, his great popularity in the North caused admirers to overlook his shortcomings. These would not become evident until later. (Trefousse, p.175)

Because of Johnson’s status as a committed pro-Union Democrat who supported the administration’s goals and the uncertainty of the 1864 election, Lincoln tapped Johnson to be his vice president under the banner of the National Union Party (the temporary name of the Republican Party). He seemed the ideal choice.

At the inaugural, though, it seemed like a terrible mistake had been made. Johnson had been sick with typhoid and to brace himself for his speech, he took a couple of shots of whiskey. He speech was a rambling and slurred affair, embarrassed Lincoln (and Johnson, of course) and immediately tagged Johnson as “the drunken tailor.” Even though Johnson’s explanation is acceptable, he never lived it down.

The “Avenger” and securing the war’s end
Vice President Johnson escaped the Booth conspiracy that assassinated Lincoln and wounded Secretary of State William Seward when his own would-be assassin chickened out. A stunned Johnson became president on April 15.

He assumed the presidency while the war was still underway—Lee had surrendered, but several Confederate armies remained in the field, most notably Joe Johnston’s in North Carolina, facing William T. Sherman. Cries arose from the North for vengeance against the South for Lincoln’s murder, but throughout the rest of April and into May 1865, Andrew Johnson acted in a way that deserves much praise.

He saw to it that vengeance did not rule the day, but that the war ended on the right terms.

The most alarming development came when the president received the surrender terms that Sherman had given to Johnston in North Carolina. In effect, Sherman’s terms were so generous that the Confederate state governments would remain in power and the results of the war would be all but negated! In his defense, Sherman knew they would probably be rejected—and unlike Lee’s army at Appomattox, Johnston’s army was not surrounded and was still free to maneuver and fight—and he was right. Johnson ordered hostilities resumed until terms similar to the ones Grant gave Lee were worked out. (Secretary of War Stanton added a personal insult to the orders, which created permanent hostility between the men.) This was done, and Johnston surrendered.

By the end of May, all Confederate armies were surrendered and Jefferson Davis had been captured. Johnson ordered him placed in irons in Fortress Monroe, which outraged some but pleased the Radicals, who recalled Johnson saying early in the year that Davis should be hanged.

By maintaining a cool head in the wake of Lincoln’s murder, Sherman’s outrageous terms to Johnston and the final details of the war—and in keeping with Lincoln’s desire to end the war on the “let ‘em up easy” terms that Grant gave Lee—President Johnson brought the war to an end. It’s no easy feat, when you consider that some rebel leaders were countenancing continuing the fight through guerrilla warfare and some Northerners wanted to renew all-out war because of Lincoln’s death.

Johnson’s zenith
When Andrew Johnson became president, most people didn’t know exactly what to expect: the “drunken tailor”? Davis’ hangman? A new Lincoln? A new “Moses” for the newly freed slaves? None was right. Johnson knew that the first thing he was expected to do following the conclusion of the war would be to continue and expand the reconstruction of the South.

He retained Lincoln’s cabinet, of whom the most important members were Stanton at War, Seward at State, Gideon Welles at Navy and Hugh McCullough at Treasury. All four men were highly capable. Welles and Seward were the most loyal to Johnson, and consequently for Seward, it meant the end of his political career. Johnson sometimes questioned McCullough’s loyalty but never his ability. But Stanton and Johnson were enemies, and Johnson’s failure to remove him early on when he had the chance would help trigger his impeachment.

But that was in the future, and in 1865, Johnson enjoyed the greatest popularity of his life. Praise for him was near universal, especially following the introduction of his reconstruction program, leaving one historian to remark that if he had died in early 1866, he would be remembered as one of the greats.

Here was the situation, then, in the summer of 1865: 10 states were to be “reconstructed” for their formal re-admittance to the Union: Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas and Texas. (Louisiana had already been readmitted under Lincoln’s 10% plan.)

During the summer of 1865, Johnson introduced his reconstruction program. Latter-day historians have fount fault with this, but historian Albert Castle correctly points out that 1) the people expected Johnson to act, having gotten used to strong executive action under Lincoln; and 2), not acting would make him appear weak and indecisive—of which he was neither. His plan, though, differed in a way from Lincoln’s 10% plan, where loyal Unionists could return a state to the Union with full representation as long as the state government was reorganized by 10 percent of those who had been eligible to vote in 1860. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was designed to “let ‘em up easy,” in Lincoln’s words, and return the Southern states quickly to the Union.

Where Johnson’s plan differed was this: At first, he seemed to favor harsh reprisals against all senior civil and military leaders in the South, as well as all planters, and reorganize land and power in the hands of the men who were “mislead” by the secessionists. But Johnson decided that to exact revenge against the hated upper class would leave the Southern states vulnerable to Radical designs on the South, most notably black suffrage. Black suffrage most likely meant loss of white influence and increase of Radical power (Johnson would soon consider all Republicans as “Radicals”). So, to thwart the possibility of black suffrage, Johnson started issuing presidential pardons to practically any ex-Confederate who called for one—except for the highest-ranking ex-rebels, that is.

The idea was to return the states to the Union quickly without the need for black suffrage—and to counter Republican protests, Johnson quite rightly pointed out the hypocrisy of imposing the franchise on the Southern states when it was denied in the “free” North. In short, Andrew Johnson did not believe in Reconstruction per say because he did not see the need for it. As with Lincoln, he never recognized the legal right of secession; so, the Southern states never left the Union. Therefore, the states didn’t need to be “reconstructed,” but needed to be readmitted quickly with legal governments.

Johnson’s pardons let ex-rebels lead the way in re-organizing their states, so that by year’s end, they had elected new members to Congress—many of them ex-rebels, and even a few of them attempting to reclaim their pre-war seats.

It was the first break between Johnson and the Republicans, but in this summer and fall of Johnson’s glory, the cracks were tiny.

Johnson’s pardons and dreams of party
Perhaps nothing better illustrates the seemingly contradictory nature of Andrew Johnson than his presidential pardons. Throughout the secession crisis and war, h had strongly battled and denounced the “traitors” in the South, especially the planters. But during the summer, he started issuing pardons as if they were party favors. Why the switch? The best explanation, writes Castle, is his desire to be a party-builder:

By summer it was clear that the Confederate leadership retained the allegiance of the Southern masses … At the same time, it became evident that in most parts of the South the Unionists were few in number and low in ability. …Thus Johnson must have realized that whether he liked it or not, he would have to work through and with the followers of Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee if he were to bring the South back into the Union and keep himself in the White House.

He would have to pardon many Confederates, let them take offices and restore normal government, thereby fostering a new loyalty to the Union and alliance with their Northern Democratic brethren—with Johnson at the head. Johnson wanted to fashion a new party of Democrats and conservative Republicans: a new coalition that depended on rapid restoration in the South. But the Radicals had other ideas. So, the “traitors” became his hope for staying in power, and his allies, the Republicans, would become the new “traitors,” and their programs to refashion the South to their liking threatened Johnson’s ambition.

Throw into this mix the Republicans’ own ambition, Johnson;’ belief that his course was correct, sincere Radical Republican steps toward racial equality and increasing hostility between the president and Congress, and you have the mix for an explosive situation.

Opposition to presidential Reconstruction
The South was blasted: the economy was ruined; thousands of farms destroyed; railroads wrecked; Richmond, Atlanta, Columbia, SC and Jackson, Miss., were destroyed, as well as numerous other small towns; and the social order had completely broken down.

In his masterpiece Reconstruction, Eric Foner describes how the simple fact of being able to go where one pleased caused probably half of all ex-slaves to be on the road. Quite often, they were looking for family members separated on the auction block. Whites saw this and misinterpreted it as being what they had long feared: lazy blacks unable to account for themselves without directions from their betters. There’s more to it than that, of course, as there was crime both black on white and white on black, but by the end of 1865 came the first of many “Black Codes” in the South.

These odious rules were designed to put blacks “in their place” and were a slide back toward slavery. Dismayed Republicans, who controlled Congress, refused to seat the delegates from the Southern states while these outrages were committed against blacks. (Federal organizations such as the Freedman’s Bureau, which had been created to help with the transition from slavery to freedom, were largely ineffectual.) The codes did give blacks some rights, but they relegated them to second-class status.

The refusal to seat the Southern members angered President Johnson. Now, to his credit, Johnson was not happy with the actions of Southerners who abused the goodwill of his pardons, and instead of “repenting” and treating the newly freed slaves well, they mistreated blacks and elected “unrepentant” rebels to Congress. He only had himself to blame for that, however, through his quite lenient pardons policy. Johnson also misunderstood why he was popular, overestimated the popularity of his own policy and also underestimated the determination of the Republicans to preserve their power and postwar vision.

Radicals, lead by Thad Stevens in the House and Charles Sumner and Ben Wade in the Senate, had opposed Lincoln’s 10% program, and sought harsher measures against the South. Initially, they supported Johnson’s program, but started to turn against him over the pardons, and realized that Johnson would be a dangerous opponent if his policies continued. Thus they refused to seat the Southern delegates because of the Black Codes and the fact that allowing “unrepentant” ex-rebels to return to the government was tantamount to abrogating the reasons for the war.

Johnson said differently in his first message to Congress that December. His message was well received by all except the Radicals, and marked them, so Johnson hoped, as the party of division and disunion. He confidently believed Northerners would side with him over Radicals who were pushing for black rights.

The winter of 1865-66 marked the height of Johnson’ popularity. But the Radicals were only just getting organized. Letting the defeated South back into the Union with blacks in a condition almost like slavery was unacceptable—almost as if the war hadn’t happened.

So why did Johnson fail?

Battling Congress and blunders
Andrew Johnson believed that once the Southern delegates wee seated, Reconstruction was finished. He thought wrongly. As Castle explains, acceptance of Johnson’s presidential Reconstruction by the North was contingent upon it actually working. If it didn’t—and the treatment of the ex-slaves and the unrepentant attitude of Southerners made it clear that it wasn’t—Northerners expected Johnson to work with Congress to try something different.

Johnson was a stubborn man for which defeat only energized him that much more. He believed correctly that the North no more wanted black equality than did the South, but he misread the Northern desire for black rights, at least in the South—and that Northern belief was based on perceptions of how horrible whites treated blacks there (which was not too different from the North) and the fact that most Northerners correctly believed that they wanted the South to accept the results of the war for which 300,000 Northerners had died. So Johnson was both right and wrong, and he underestimated Northern opinion in the fight to come.

The first showdown came with the re-authorization of the Freedman’ Bureau in early 1866, which Johnson determined to veto as both unnecessary and unconstitutional, as it placed military over civilians in peacetime, extended rights to blacks denied to whites, etc. The public at large hailed his veto message, and his veto was barely sustained. Again, Johnson seemed to be master of the situation and of Congress.

Then Johnson tripped—over his own tongue.

On Washington’s birthday, Johnson spoke to a crowd of well-wishers, despite the advice and warning of cabinet members He said the old traitors had been defeated, but new traitors had appeared in the North. Worse, at the urging of the crowd, he named them by giving names of prominent members of Congress. He also compared his sacrifices for the country as those of Jesus Christ, and his policy henceforth would also be on of forgiveness (unlike the Radicals). The crowd loved it, of course, but the North was not amused:

The vast majority of Northerners felt outraged or shamed [over] Johnson’s speech. In their eyes he had disgraced himself and the presidency. Many of them suspected—or concluded—that he had been drunk again. In particular, they resented his denunciation of Stevens and Sumner; whatever else they might be, the two were not traitors to the Union. Indeed, Johnson’s attack on them enhanced the prestige of both the Radical leaders, with Sumner probably being saved from defeat in his bid from re-election to the Senate. Even Johnson’s friends ex-pressed regret over his performance. … All in all, Johnson had committed an act of great personal and political folly. (Castle, p.70)

Johnson’s aggressive stump speaking that had served him so well in Tennessee before the war was obviously a liability on the national stage. By attempting to prove that he was master of postwar America, the president instead hurt himself. And it was only going to get worse.

When the Republican Congress passed a civil rights bill in early spring, Johnson could have rescued his respect and reputation by signing it, but he vetoed it on the grounds that it favored the colored over the white. His contemporaries and most historians of all eras agree that it was a huge blunder, because it “turned friends into enemies, united Moderates and Radicals, and made the issue between him and Congress not the Negroes’ political rights, on which he probably could have won, but their civil rights, on which he was doomed to lose.” (Castle, p.71, emphasis added)

Johnson didn’t realize it yet, but he also dashed his chances for the presidency. But why did h do it? Most likely because he believed his reconstruction program was sufficient—and no more was needed—coupled with his racism, growing disgust with the Radicals over their hypocrisy (forcing black suffrage on the South when thy wouldn’t do it in the North) and his own political ambitions, which required Southern Democrats.

But Johnson was about to learn that the Radicals were not the same enemy as the “traitors” of the South; and indeed, he was his own worst enemy.

The Radicals fight back; the disastrous “swing around the circle”
In the spring of 1866, Congress and the president engaged in a tragic-comedy of dueling Reconstruction programs. While Congress was overriding Johnson’s civil rights bill veto, Johnson issued a proclamation declaring that the rebellion was at an end and Southern states restored to the Union. He also declared an end to military tribunals in the South.

Congress disagreed, and continued to deny the Southern delegations their seats. In response, Congress created the 14th Amendment to the Constitution: its own peace terms with the South, and the cementing of certain civil rights legislation in the Constitution. This in effect made all blacks U.S. citizens who would enjoy the full protections of the federal government. If the vote were denied to male inhabitants of a state (e.g., blacks), that state’s representation in Congress would be proportionately reduced. (See the full text here.)

This was actually a Moderate Republican measure, not a Radical one, and people hoped the president would acquiesce. But Johnson and the South treated it as a gross affront. Even though the executive branch has no legal role in amending the Constitution, Johnson fought the 14th Amendment. He claimed that the current Congress had no authority to amend the Constitution while it unconstitutionally prevented duly elected members from assuming their seats. Here was another instance where Johnson was both correct and wrong: correct in that the 14th Amendment—though right in its language—is nevertheless very questionable in how it was passed, and wrong in that the executive has no say in who Congress admits into its halls.

The Radicals promptly seated some Southern members—Republicans, that is, including Johnson son-in-law. Angered, Johnson decided to retake the argument and his prestige through an unprecedented move: he would go on tour and argue his case in person.

Using the dedication of a monument to Stephen A. Douglas as a catalyst, President Johnson undertook the first “whistle stop” campaign in American history during the summer of 1866. The president dragged Gen. Grant and cabinet members along with him, but Grant would later abandon Johnson when it became clear that the president was just using the “hero of Appomattox,” making it seem like Grant was in agreement with the president’ Reconstruction policies, when in actuality, he wasn’t. The so-called “swing around the circle” to New York, then west to Chicago, then St. Louis and back to Washington, was intended to be a triumph. Instead, it was a disaster.

It started well enough, but in Cleveland, Johnson again ignored the advice of Seward, Welles and other confidants to hold his tongue. Craving the attention and to make his case, he made an unprepared speech before a crowd outside his hotel. In response to hecklers, he became increasingly aggressive and, to put it kindly, unhinged. The exchange got nasty and culminated with Johnson demanding,

"The twelve apostles had a Christ and he never could have had a Judas unless he had the twelve apostles. If I have played the Judas, who has been the Christ that I have played the Judas with? Was it [abolitionist] Wendell Phillips? Was it Thad Stevens? Was it Charles Sumner?”

At this point, the cry came, “Why not hang Thad Stevens and Wendell Phillips?”

“Yes,” said Johnson, “Why not hang them?” (Castle, p.92)

Stops at St. Louis and elsewhere were little different, and Republican newspapers and even some Democratic ones pounced on Johnson’s incredible demagoguery. He hurt himself badly with the “swing around the circle.”

His reputation was ruined in the North among both Republicans and Democrats, who had rejected him at a “National Union Movement” convention earlier in the summer.

In the fall elections, Republicans increased their power throughout the North, reversing the Democratic gains of 1864—and it was all largely because of Johnson and his mouth. It was also because he believed that the duty of the government was the restoration of the Union, and not the imposition of black rights on the South that Republicans were denying to them in the North.

Military Reconstruction and the veto wars
Andrew Johnson bears the ignominy of being the first president to have a veto overridden (the aforementioned civil rights bill of 1866). It wouldn’t be the last. Congress overrode single veto Johnson made, which speaks to the president’s inability to build effective coalitions in Congress, his unpopularity and the Radicals’ power—and pettiness.

By the end of 1866, all of the Southern states, with governments comprised of ex-Confederates in power thanks to Johnson’s lenient pardons, had rejected the 14th Amendment. Because of that, and outrages committed against blacks and Unionists, the Radicals used their newfound majority strength to create a new Reconstruction program: military Reconstruction, whereby the South was divided into five military districts ruled by a general appointed by the president (and approved by Congress, of course). The general would have total authority in his states, and the present state governments would be abolished and high-ranking ex-rebels would be disenfranchised. Blacks would get the franchise and so would those declaring loyalty. Readmission to the Union would be contingent upon acceptance of the 14th Amendment.

Enough Moderates agreed with the approach to create the First Military Reconstruction Act, which would have several more acts join it. President Johnson decried military Reconstruction as unconstitutional and despotic, and he was largely on solid ground. The Supreme Court had recently ruled in the Mulligan case that civilian trials by military tribunal were unconstitutional.

Johnson failed to convince Congress, of course, and both houses easily overrode his veto—which became a routine dance in Washington. Congress would pass a law, Johnson’s advisers would urge Johnson to sign it or pocket veto it lest the Radicals pass something worse, Johnson would veto it with a combination of solid constitutional arguments and racist appeals, and Congress would ignore him by easily overriding his vetoes.

Johnson was more correct than not in his arguments that the Radical actions in the South were unconstitutional, but his stubbornness, desire for greater power and labeling of the Radicals as the new traitors worked against him. Likewise, the Radicals stopped cooperating with Johnson in any way and put forth legislation both designed to strengthen their power (black votes = more Republicans) and do justice to blacks and Unionists in the South. The Republicans did respond to Johnson’s charge of hypocrisy in the North by placing black suffrage on state ballots, but they were defeated everywhere—and cost Republicans support. Only Johnson’s bad stumbles kept the Republicans from losing too much from those defeats.

The road to impeachment
That’s not to say Congress wasn’t exasperated with Andrew Johnson. Radicals began looking for some way to impeach Johnson as early as 1866. Johnson was a roadblock to Northern desires to form a “more perfect Union.” The president and “unrepentant” white Southerners stood in the way.

Articles of impeachment were introduced, but nothing stuck until finally, a showdown cam over an act of Congress that was blatantly unconstitutional. To thwart Johnson and make sure he wouldn’t mess with Military Reconstruction, Congress passed (over Johnson’s veto, of course) the Tenure of Office Act in March 1867. It stated that the president could not remove anyone from office that he had appointed and that the Senate had confirmed unless the Senate approved the removal. Johnson rightly declared it unconstitutional because the Senate only provides advice and consent on the appointment, not removal, of executive officers, and eventually the Supreme Court agreed—but not until 1926.

Nevertheless, Congress made the law both to prevent Johnson from arbitrarily removing harsh generals from the Southern districts and, specifically, to prevent him from firing Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton. Stanton, an old-line Democrat, had become a strong intimate of Lincoln’s during the war and was now thoroughly on the side of the Radicals. Johnson should have fired him when he had the chance—in fact he had more than enough good cause to fire him—but he had kept him on when he thought h could still use Stanton during his dreams of party-building. Now he was stuck with a man who was openly hostile to him and his policies, and Congress was determined to keep it that way.

Johnson decided he would test the law. He sought General-in-chief Grant’s cooperation in a scheme to suspend Stanton and elevate Grant to interim secretary of war. After an unhappy time, Grant stepped away, letting a triumphant Stanton return. Johnson still attempted to use Grant and also Sherman to get rid of Stanton—and he even succeeded in publicly humiliating Grant, who by this time was emerging as the likely Republican candidate for president in 1868.

Advisors and his few remaining political friends urged Johnson to appoint someone who would at least be acceptable to Congress, but the president didn’t listen. In February 1868, Johnson named Gen. Lorenzo Thomas as interim secretary and ordered Stanton removed. Stanton refused, and on advice of Grant and Sherman, stayed pat. Thomas was arrested, soon let free, and Congress immediately instituted impeachment proceedings against Johnson for violating the Tenure of Office Act, which had recently been enacted.

Gleeful and grim at the same time, Johnson welcomed the coming battle. He retained some of the best legal minds of the age to serve as his counsels and prepared to fight impeachment. He believed—correctly, I think—that the Radicals had finally overplayed their hand. This is what Johnson had been waiting for. Unable to defeat them politically since early 1866, Johnson had had little choice except to push them to more extreme positions until they hoisted themselves on their own petard. And once they failed, Johnson would reap the victory.

So, for the first time in American history—and, we now know, not the last—a president was tried in Congress for high crimes and misdemeanors. Articles of impeachment were drawn up and passed from the House. In actuality, the 11 charges against Johnson were thin, and ultimately centered on differences in politics, rough political language and attempted (but unsuccessful) violation of an act whose constitutionality was questionable.

After a month and a half of deliberation before presiding judge Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase, a final vote on article 11 was taken on May 16 and the rest on May 26. The votes were razor close—one vote!—but they were enough: not guilty. Enough Moderates in the Senate changed their mind and voted against impeachment.

Aftermath
Johnson had won, yet he had lost; the Radicals had lost—a deflated Stevens would soon die—yet they had in a sense won, too. Even though Johnson escaped removal, he was utterly finished in the North. When he tried to secure the Democratic nomination that summer, the Democrats virtually ignored him.

Had he not championed their causes? Had he not fought the Radicals more than anyone? Johnson cried. It was true, but Democrats had fought impeachment not for Johnson, but against the Republicans. They wanted nothing more to do with him. Instead, they selected the lackluster Horatio Seymour of New York to run against Grant. (Seymour made a respectable showing against the most popular man in the country, which speaks of the weakness of the Republicans in 1868 and of Grant as a candidate.)

Undeterred, though, Johnson continued to fight the Radicals until the very day he left office. One of his final acts was to grant full pardons to all ex-Confederates, including Jefferson Davis—whom he had previously vowed to hang.

Two more things merit mention:

Seward’s “folly”
As mentioned earlier, William Seward’s political career ended because he stuck so close to Johnson. But he scored a couple of significant diplomatic achievements during the unhappy late 60s, most notably buying Alaska from Russia.

Seward wound up purchasing the huge land to the North instead of negotiating fishing and trading agreements, because Russia no longer wanted Alaska. He bought it for a steal: about $7 million.

Radicals held up the treaty out of sheer spite; they didn’t want Johnson to get any credit for anything, but thanks to levelheaded action from Charles Sumner, the treaty as finally approved.

Rails West/Hancock’s War/Washita
With Democratic opposition virtually nil during the war, Lincoln and the Republican Congress authorized federal funds for the construction of a transcontinental railroad. No longer would this be a political football; it was going to be built starting in Omaha in the East and from California in the West. Though funding of this and other railroads would later cause a scandal, the transcontinental railroad went ahead when the guns fell silent.

Building the railroad was one of the factors that helped turn the nation’s focus westward after “the late unpleasantness;” the other was continued westward migration, which brought with it the inevitable clashes with Indians. In December 1866, a large party of Sioux ambushed and killed and mutilated 81 soldiers near Fort Kearney, Wyoming in the so-called Fetterman massacre.

Reprisals were called for, but Johnson actually called for peace on the plains. Grant wanted the corrupt Bureau of Indian Affairs transferred to the War Department (he would act quite differently when he was president, but had the same goal in mind) but Johnson demurred, instead preferring to investigate why these attacks and counterattacks kept happening. His commission reported that the best way to avoid clashes was—surprise—“do no injustice to them.” (Castle, p.123)

But Westerners wanted the Plains tribes tamed, so Missouri department commander Winfield Scott Hancock launched what became known in the press as Hancock’s War, a yearlong campaign in 1867 that provoked the tribes instead of overawing them. It culminated in the controversial battle/massacre of Washita (in present-day Oklahoma). George Armstrong Custer and his 7th Cavalry attacked the village of the Cheyenne Moketavato (Black Kettle) and killed mostly older men, women and children.

Regardless, Castle gives credit to Johnson for initiating the peace policy in the West, but Eastern reformers didn’t see it that way, and neither did Westerners. I tend to agree, for the real “peace policy” didn’t really begin until after Johnson’s successor took office.

Triumphant return
Andrew Johnson left the White House in March 1869 without accompanying Grant to his inaugural. Johnson had been defeated and rejected, but as always, he treated those as temporary. He would spend the next five years attempting to return to power in Tennessee politics.

Finally, Tennessee voters returned him to Washington as a Senator in 1874. He assumed his seat in 1875 and made one well-received speech on the floor against the Grant administration. Former enemies actually greeted him warmly, and with little wonder. By 1875, the country was tiring of “waving the bloody shirt” in support of black rights against the South, and some were beginning to remember the Johnson years a little fondly.

Johnson had actually recovered some of what he had lost as president, and lived long enough to have a last laugh over the increasingly unpopular Radicals before he died on July 31, 1875.

Final Assessment

I’m not of the mindset to label Andrew Johnson a failed president as Albert Castle does in his presidential analysis, nor do I agree with Eric Foner, the dean of modern Reconstruction historians, who argues that Johnson was a complete failure, because I don’t think he was that bad. Nor do I agree, of course, with the early 20th century Dunning School that claimed Johnson was “near great.”

He did a number of things right. For example, Johnson prevented Lincoln’s assassination from turning the surrenders into a rekindled war of revenge, and he took on the overreaching, imperial Congress over an unconstitutional law. Those two actions alone keep him from being labeled a failure.

However, he was mostly unsuccessful in his real goals: He failed to form a new party around himself; he failed to stop the Radicals’ reconstruction programs, and even pushed the Moderates and Radicals together instead of breaking them apart; he even failed to secure his party’s nomination. (If it would be fair to say that Johnson had a goal of keeping America a white man’s country, well, he was somewhat successful in that, at least for a while.)

My two primary sources conclude:

“…[I]t is clear that although the seventeenth president unquestionably undermined Reconstruction and left a legacy of racism, he was an able politician. Overcoming all opposition in his own Democratic party, he became a dominant force in it, while at the same time frustrating all efforts of the opposition. His courageous stand for Union also paid handsome political dividends, enabling him to reach the highest office in the land. What defeated him during his term in the White House was not so much his lack of formal education, nor even his tactlessness, but his failure to outgrow his Jeffersonian-Jacksonian background. … [H]is attachment to a strict construction of the Constitution that was no longer in vogue, his refusal to adjust racial views to the needs of the Republican party…blinded him to the realities of the post-Civil War United States. … [H]e failed to impress his contemporaries in the country at large, and his administration was a disaster. Johnson was a child of his times, but he failed to grow with it.” (Trefousse, pp.378-379)

True, somewhat. But you can also say that about most of the South, except for Unionists and freed slaves. I agree more with Castle, who describes Johnson as a strong president, and writes:

“…[B]ecause of his blunders and obstinacy, the presidency in an institutional sense plummeted to it lowest point of power and prestige in its history… Finally, Johnson was far from being altogether wrong about Reconstruction, and the Republicans were far from being altogether right. Yet the dominant factor of his presidency is this: His policies were defeated, those of his enemies triumphed.” (Castle, p. 230)

President Johnson was often simultaneously right and wrong: he could brilliantly oppose something on good, arguable constitutional grounds, but would sabotage himself either through his unguarded speech, obtuse myopia, ambition or even racism.

Likewise, history hasn’t made up its mind about Johnson. At first, historians denounced Johnson as an obstacle, then, by the turn of the century, as an incompetent. But by the 1920s, the “Dunning School” had reversed thinking and had elevated Johnson to “bear great” status for his defense of the Union and Constitution against the “evil” Radicals. His status was secure through the 1950s, but in the 1960s, a new generation of historians reversed course and threw Johnson aside as a backwards, hopeless racist. We’ve climbed a few notches up since then, but not much, and Johnson still remains near the bottom of the heap. Again, this does him a disservice. His racism should not be overlooked, but it alone cannot be allowed to define him, either, in this ultra politically correct age.

Resources
My primary resources were The Presidency of Andrew Johnson by Albert Castle (1979), part of the University of Kansas’ American Presidency series, and Andrew Johnson: A Biography, by Hans L. Trefousse (1989). Both authors were well respected in the field of the Civil War and Reconstruction.

Also useful was the new book The Avenger Takes His Place: Andrew Johnson and the 45 Days That Changed the Nation by Howard Means (2006). (The title is pretentious and is typical of an unfortunate trend in history books lately where every event is treated as a "BIG thing" that changed American forever.)

For a useful (or amusing) exercise to see how thinking has changed on Andrew Johnson, read or skim the following: James Ford Rhodes’ History of the United States Since the Compromise of 1850, (volume 6) from 1906, which depicts Johnson as utterly “ill-fitted” for the work of Reconstruction; then read 1928’s The Tragic Era by Claude Bowers, a member of the Dunning school, which elevates Johnson to near-saint status. Then read W.E.B. DuBois’ Black Reconstruction in America, written in the 1930s as a response to the Dunning school. Then read Eric Foner’s definitive 1987 Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution, which advances the line that Johnson was a hopeless racist.

Illustrations

All illustrations are in the public domain and taken from the Library of Congress Photographs and Prints Division unless otherwise noted.

1. Matthew Brady took this portrait between 1855 and 1865.

2. Andrew Johnson had this portrait taken at A. Bogardus & Co. in New York.

3. Andrew Johnson takes the oath of office in the small parlor of the Kirkwood House Hotel on April 15, 1865, as depicted in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated.

4. Official White House portrait (White House Historical Association)

5. Thomas Nast drew And not this man? for Harper’s Weekly in August 1865. It depicts Lady Liberty presenting a crippled black Union Army veteran as someone deserving of the franchise and other rights. President Johnson was quite correct to continually deride the hypocrisy of imposing black political and civil rights on the South when they were denied in the North.

6. This 1866 Pennsylvania broadside presets the opposite view of Thomas Nast’s cartoons. It says: The Freedman’s Bureau! An agency to keep the Negro in idleness at the expense of the white man. Twice vetoed by the President, and made a lawy by Congress. Support Congress & you support the Negro Sustain the President & you protect the white man.

7. Full-length photo taken by Brady.

8. Frank Leslie’s Illustrated depicted Andrew Johnson as a woodsman taking two children, “civil rights” and the Freedman’s Bureau, into the “veto woods,” on May 12, 1866.

9. Congressman Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania was the chief Radical “traitor” in the House, and the House manager of Johnson’s impeachment.

10 Secretary of War Edwin McMasters Stanton posed for this portrait during the war. Johnson’s attempt to remove him from office to test the unconstitutionality of the Tenure of Office Act in the courts triggered his impeachment.

11. George T. Brown, sergeant-at-arms, serving the summons on President Johnson, sketched by T.R. Davis for the March 28, 1868, issue of Harper’s Weekly. The man to Johnson’s right is his faithful secretary, Col. W.G. Moore.

12. The Senate as a Court of Impeachment for the Trial of Andrew Johnson was published in Harper’s Weekly in April 11, 1868.

13. “This is a white man's government… We regard the Reconstruction Acts (so called) of Congress as usurpations, and unconstitutional, revolutionary, and void" - Democratic Platform. This Thomas Nast cartoon, published in the Sept. 5, 1868, Harper’s Weekly, illustrates the ultimate rejection of Andrew Johnson. It depicts a man with “CSA” (Confederate States of America) on his belt buckle holding a knife “the lost cause,” a stereotyped Irishman holding a club with “a vote,” and another man wearing a button with “5 Avenue” and holding a wallet with “capital for votes.” They stand on a black soldier sprawled on the ground. In the background, a “colored orphan asylum” and a “southern school” for freed slaves are in flames; black children have been lynched near the burning buildings. The cartoon is supposed to represent what the Democratic platform means for the South if the Republicans are defeated and Reconstruction is ended.