Key takeaways from Numbers 1 through 24 (part 1)

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 10: John Tyler

Years in office: 1841-1845

Pre-service occupations: U.S. senator, governor (Virginia), vice president

Key events during his administration: annexation of Texas (1845), Florida admitted to the Union (1845), Webster-Ashburton Treaty (1842), Tyler (Pacific) Doctrine (1843), Treaty of Wangxia (1844)

Nicknames: His Accidency, the Acting President and the Vice President Acting as President

Presidential rating: Successful (but…) and largely unpopular

ESSAY

When President William Henry Harrison died on April 4, 1841, the country entered constitutional turmoil. What was supposed to happen? Would Vice President John Tyler now become president? Would a new election be held? Would Tyler merely be a caretaker president until the next scheduled election? It was new territory, and the country wasn’t sure what to do.

Fortunately for the country, John Tyler was certain, prepared and made sure that he—and he alone—was the president for the remainder of Harrison’s (now Tyler’s) term.

As the first man to assume the presidency after the president died in office, Tyler performed a service to the nation that cannot be undersold. If Adams and Jefferson established the peaceful transition of power between political enemies, Tyler established, or more correctly affirmed, the constitutional continuation of executive authority when the president dies in office.

Today, presidential succession is only thought about when a running mate is selected, but in 1841, many Whigs and Democrats did not recognize Tyler as president. Some members of congress wanted Tyler to be a figurehead while the secretary of state or even congress ran the executive branch. But Tyler would have none of it, and properly asserted his authority. Since 1841, power has transferred smoothly amid times of crisis eight times, thanks to Tyler. (* See note at bottom.)

Nowadays, Tyler is a forgotten president. If he’s remembered, it’s for what he did in 1841, the slogan “Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too,” or for the notion that he is the only “traitor” president because he was elected to the Confederate Congress. He’s also regarded as a failed president, which I believe is a crime of history.So, what of his presidency? How did the Virginian planter handle the affairs of the executive once the major crisis was solved?

A childhood among greatness

John Tyler spent his formative years among a who’s who of Virginian and early American politics. His own father, also named John, was a well-respected politician and early agitator against the slave trade (but not against slavery). Among the elder Tyler’s contemporaries were Jefferson, Madison and Bishop James Madison, onetime president of William and Mary College and something of a kingmaker in Virginia politics.

Young John absorbed much from these men, and he developed a keen sense of America’s destiny, which he shared in powerful oratory throughout his political career. Although Tyler never left the American seaboard—ever, in fact—he came to believe that America had a special destiny to fulfill. Being around such men as Bishop Madison and Jefferson helped hone that vision into a burning desire to take America to the far coast and beyond.

This vision would be codified as “manifest destiny,” and would be identified with Tyler’s presidential successor, James K. Polk, but I believe that Tyler deserves as much credit for the vision of American continental greatness as Polk and Jefferson.

America was destined for greatness, Tyler believed, and he would articulate this belief better than most politicians in the early republic. Whether as a Senator or Virginia’s governor, Tyler articulated a great America, a worldly America, a nation that led instead of followed. Biographer Edward P. Crapol marvels that Tyler appeared so worldly and cultured for a man who never once left the eastern seaboard.

Tyler explained his ideas for America in a visit to New York City in 1843:

“For how can the example of a democratic America be resisted? Do you not perceive that a light is breaking forth everywhere? That this same free America has already civilized a continent, which when we were boys was almost all in a wilderness state?” (Crapol, p.190)

A little flowery, sure, but he meant every word.Tyler also developed a strong sense of republicanism; and how could he not, considering his childhood heroes. But as president, he often betrayed his pure Jeffersonian republican ideals in favor of expanding executive power—even into areas that could justly be called unconstitutional—all in the name of securing America’s destiny.

The “accidental” president

When William Harrison died, Tyler got his chance—earlier than expected—to implement his ideals for American greatness. But Harrison’s sudden death and Tyler’s ascension to the presidency left Whigs very nervous—especially the number one Whig, Henry Clay. Kentucky’s favored son believed he should have gotten the nod in 1840, so he was not happy that the ex-Democrat Tyler was now president. Clay was mildly relieved that Tyler retained Harrison’s all-Whig cabinet, but was put on guard when Tyler announced that he would be no mere “cipher” for the Whig-controlled Congress and would pursue his own course and policies.

Clay’s worst fears were realized when Tyler vetoed key Whig legislation, including a new national bank. Whigs were so upset with Tyler that they expelled the president from the party in 1841, and most of the cabinet resigned that September except for Secretary of State Daniel Webster. Now he was not only an ex-Democrat, he was also an ex-Whig.

Tyler “came back” to the Democrats when he appointed John C. Calhoun as secretary of state to replace the dead Abel Upshur, who had replaced Webster after the latter resigned in 1843. The appointment of Calhoun, with his well-known defense of slavery and the South, helped further drive Whigs north and the base of Democrat power to the South.

Worse, many people in and out of politics never recognized Tyler as president, referring to him as “His Accidency” or “the Acting President” or even “The Vice President Acting as President.” Tyler would return unopened any mail, no matter how important, that failed to address him properly as president.

But President Tyler wasted no time in asserting his authority, however, and making his stamp on the national and international scene.

Slavery’s president

The chief hallmark of John Tyler’s presidency that most historians point to was his defense of slavery. John Tyler realized at a politically early age that slavery was a big problem; that it was, in Jefferson’s words, “a wolf held by the tail,” dangerous to hold but too dangerous to let go. Tyler wasn’t especially fond of slavery, but he accepted the “superiority” of white over Negro as the natural order, as did most whites back then.

As a U.S. senator, slave owner Tyler became ill at the sight of slaves dragged in chains and put on the auction block in the nation’s capitol. He promoted legislation to ban the practice in D.C., but it failed. Like his father, Tyler had a moral obtuseness concerning slavery: The slave trade—trafficking in humans—was despicable, but slavery itself was just hunky-dory.

Also as a U.S. senator, he became aware of just how delicate and troublesome slavery was when the nation experienced the first public convulsion over human bondage with the Missouri Compromise of 1820. Tyler, prescient that slavery could rend the nation, came up with a unique solution: Expand the nation by creating more slave states, thereby dispersing slavery over a much wider space. Slavery would then gradually die out as it did in the northern states. As ridiculous as this idea sounds, Tyler actually believed it could work, as it also fit in with his dreams of an America destined to stretch from coast to coast.

Defending America as a slaveholding republic became a cornerstone of his administration, which is one of the reasons why some historians tend to dismiss him as a failure and a sop to the Southern states.

No president defended slavery more than John Tyler. Although it was American policy to “defend” the institution of slavery on the foreign scene, Tyler did it stronger than anyone else.

Part of it has to do with his status as a Virginia slave owner. Although both he and his father looked askance at the slave trade, slavery itself was acceptable. To us, it’s a distinction with no difference. But to men such as Tyler, real equality between (white) men was maintained as long as slavery existed. (** See note at bottom.)

Mostly, however, his defense of slavery was wrapped in his belief in the Jefferson-Madison “extend the sphere” model of republicanism, where territorial expansion and the viability of the republic intertwined. Abolitionism posed a gigantic threat to this model of America’s destiny. Abolitionists detested Tyler probably more than any other antebellum president because he was a prominent and unapologetic slaveholder. Tyler returned their detest, for he viewed abolitionists as troublemakers who would rend the Union over slavery, thus denying the great nation its great destiny. Although he never went so far as Andrew Jackson did in fighting abolitionists (Jackson permitted Southern states to interfere with the U.S. mail by removing abolitionist literature), Tyler snubbed them and would not receive them at the White House.

In fact, part of Tyler’s Anglophobia, explained below, was tied to abolitionism. He believed that abolitionism was an English plot to disrupt the Union by attacking slavery, as evidenced by prominent English anti-slavery orators who came to America early in his term. It was a fanciful imagining at best, but it played into Tyler’s fears, and he used it to great effect to add to the anti-British sentiment during 1841-42.

Of course, like all early presidents, the glaring contradiction of America as a beacon of liberty while simultaneously being a slaveholding nation was never discussed in official channels, or even acknowledged. (This led to awkward situations, such as the refusal to recognize Haiti, another free republic, because it became a republic through a slave revolt. The United States would not recognize Haiti until 1862.)

Diplomatic “war” with England

As mentioned, Tyler was an Anglophobe. The term fits, because Tyler did fear English world domination. In the 1840s, as the saying goes, the sun never set on the English empire, and Tyler feared that the British were attempting to eke away at potential and real American holdings in Maine, the Pacific coast and rim, the Caribbean and even the republic of Texas. While his and secretary of state Webster’s Anglophobia was just a tad bit stretched, England was America’s chief antagonist, and there were several affairs with England that needed strong resolution, and fast.

War fever, or more correctly, a reluctant resignation that war with England was nigh, ruled in American politics during the first two years of his term. Although the prospects of a third war with the former mother country were not pleasant, Tyler and his Navy Department, under the highly capable Abel Upshur, used the scare to press Congress for modernization of America’s coastal defenses and Navy. Not all of Tyler’s and Upshur’s wish list was accepted, but the beginning of the transformation of the Navy from exclusively sail-powered to sail and steam-powered began under Tyler and Upshur, and they deserve much credit. (Upshur created the U.S. Naval Observatory and the regularization of the officer corps, including the introduction of the rank of rear admiral and admiral.)

Tensions with England were already high over the trial of a British citizen held in America. In a bold but curious move, President Tyler threatened to withhold British Ambassador Fox’s passport if the citizen was found guilty and until the matter was resolved. But the man was exonerated. Later, however, relations with England took a sharp turn downward when slaves revolted on the American ship Creole, murdered their master and sailed the ship to a British Caribbean protectorate. The British authorities there let the mutineers and the other captive slaves go free, much to the outrage of the South and joy of northern abolitionists. Coupled with the British sinking of the Caroline in Canadian waters during Van Buren’s term, continued occasional impressments and a few other “outrages,” the South turned to slave owner Tyler for swift justice.

It didn’t come fast enough, and subsequently Tyler’s stock fell in their eyes. Tyler seemed to vacillate, but he really wasn’t. Instead, he and Webster played a very crafty game of diplomacy with England. Secretary Webster and his counter-part, Lord Ashburton, hammered out an agreement during the hot summer of 1842 that came out quite favorable to the United States. England basically apologized for the attack on the Caroline, promised no repeated of the Creole affair, agreed on a mutually beneficial Maine-New Brunswick boundary, and understanding that impressments would finally stop, and also agreed to a joint cooperation to patrolling the shores off of Africa to stop slave traders. This last part surprised abolitionists, who had written Tyler off as an evil “imbecile.”

It was a huge diplomatic triumph for Tyler (and Webster) and although Tyler’s hotheadedness created some later misunderstandings on the wording, Tyler deserves much credit for blustering while seeking a peaceful resolution.The only point of contention not included in the Webster-Ashburton Treaty was the status of Oregon, which both nations jointly occupied. Tyler, in a brilliant bit of political chicanery, pulled Mexico and Britain into a scheme of land and money swapping that was designed to be rejected. (America would pay Mexico for two choice California ports, America would give Britain favorable land in Oregon in exchange for leaning on Mexico for the deal.) Tyler’s scheming was more designed to force England to the table again. It didn’t work out the way Tyler wanted, and the Oregon matter wasn’t solved until Polk’s term.

More manifest destiny—to the Pacific

All early presidents had their eyes focused westward, but none more than Tyler. His successor, James Polk, is usually the one most associated with manifest destiny because of the Mexican War and the fact that he added the most territory to the United States. But I believe the mantle jointly belongs to Tyler, and biographer Edward P. Crapol seems to agree.President Tyler gained two diplomatic triumphs that are long lost to history: recognition of the independence of Hawaii and the Tyler Doctrine, and the opening of China to American trade.

The Hawaiian Islands, then also known as the Sandwich Islands, became a Christian nation with a constitution, and the monarch, Kamehameha III, sent emissaries to Washington to seek recognition. The emissaries, William Richards, a Calvinist missionary, and Timoteo Haalilio, who was “almost as dark as an Ethiopian,” arrived in D.C. in 1842. Haalilio became the toast of D.C. But after several frustrating meetings with Webster, the two threatened to go to England first. That got them an audience with President Tyler, who authorized recognition of Hawaii—and what was accepted to be United States protection of Hawaii and the American missionaries there against foreign interference. In other words, Tyler extended the Monroe Doctrine to include Hawaii!

In the second instance, Tyler, at the prompting of American merchants, and fueled by the recent British success in the Opium War with China, sought a trade partnership with the Celestial Empire. In 1843, he and outgoing Secretary of State Webster sent a man named Cushing to China to open diplomatic and trade relations, with $40,000 authorized by Congress. Cushing proved to be a terrific choice, because he learned to be patient and respectful with his Chinese counterpart. In the end, Cushing secured a trade and ports deal with China that was better than what the British had won. The wisdom of seeking trade with China should not be dismissed, as exports to China (tobacco, cotton and grains) went from $9.5 million in 1845 to $22.5 million in 1860.

But sadly, Tyler received no credit for these moves. In fact, I was totally unaware of the “opening of China” to trade. As a schoolboy, I only heard of the “opening of Japan”—which, incidentally, Cushing sought to do, but Tyler’s administration ended before it could happen. But Tyler would later claim the “seeds” of opening Japan were planted in his term.

Domestic affairs, spies and impeachment

Much of President Tyler’s focus was on America’s borders and international sphere of influence, and with good reason. But when he turned to domestic affairs, he made a lot of people mad. The Whigs expelled Tyler from the party because he went against their agenda, chief of which was the recreation of the national bank. He vetoed the bank because he believed it went against states rights. He also declined to support the Whig Congress’ tariff, but two years later, did support a limited tariff for northern manufacturers, but Whigs gave him little credit.

Whigs were so upset with Tyler over his vetoes of the bank and tariff that they claimed that Tyler has “misused” the veto, which was a ridiculous charge. Instead, they were misusing the concept of impeachment. The first-ever articles of impeachment were drawn up in the House, but the attempt failed, as they never made it out of Rep. John Quincy Adams’ committee.

Still, the attempt stung. And why wouldn’t it? Tyler was being persecuted for not being a Whig. (Sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it?) However, if Congress had known what Tyler was doing with “secret service” funds, it might have been able to impeach him on something very tangible. President Tyler, when executing his foreign policy, often employed spies and special diplomats who operated in secret and were paid for out of a “secret service” executive fund. Tyler and Secretary of State Webster were, in fact, using federal funds to wage a secret propaganda campaign inside Maine to get its citizens to believe that they themselves were behind the impetuous for a peaceful resolution with England over the Maine-New Brunswick border. Why was this unconstitutional or border-line unconstitutional? Because of the money involved, and the fact that the executive branch was waging a covert propaganda campaign on Americans. But the issue never came to light while Tyler was president.

Tyler used spies and unofficial “ambassadors” in other capacities throughout his presidency, especially in England, and especially in the defense of slavery. One “General” Duff Green, with a bankroll of executive money, served as “slavery’s ambassador” to England, doing what he could to disrupt antislavery sentiments, much to the disgust of America’s actual minister to England.

He often stretched the Constitution in ways that he professed to abhor before he held the office. But once he held the reins of power, and had the opportunity to enact his vision of national destiny, he shoved aside his republican ideals in favor of the bigger goal.

Back on the domestic front, Tyler and Whigs did come to an interesting agreement on the purchase of land: Under the “log cabin” bill, which Tyler signed, a man could lay claim to 160 acres before it was offered publicly for sale, and then pay $1.25 an acre for it.But his stand on defending slavery naturally alienated abolitionist New England. Conversely, because Southern Democrats didn’t think he was doing enough to defend slavery, and because he had left the Democratic party, he was not their favorite man, either. So Tyler was a “man without a party.” “His Accidency” was scorned and disrespected from all sides, and was not popular.

Partially because of how he attained the presidency, Tyler abstained from making many changes to federal offices for two years. It was only when the bug to become president in his own right grew strong that Tyler began working on party building, but by 1843, it was largely too late in the game for that. Nevertheless, he did the usual purging of postmasters and other office-holders—another betrayal of his pure republican principles. He also commissioned a fawning biography of his life that he “urged” postmasters to buy and deliver.

But strangely enough, when Tyler made the one extended trip of his presidency outside of Washington and Virginia, he was treated as royalty. In Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York City, the Tyler party was feted in grander style than any other president had been. Tyler was canny enough to recognize that it probably wasn’t so much for him as it was for the office of the presidency, considering a presidential visit back then was still something extraordinary. Still, even abolitionist Boston treated him with respect, although the real toast of the town was Daniel Webster, just recently departed from the State department, in town as part of the massive 75th anniversary celebration of the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Regardless, Tyler took the outpouring as a good sign that he was on the road to re-election. And he would use Texas to seal the deal.

Texas, ho!

The Mexican War, in modern memory, is always associated with Tyler’s successor, James Polk. But President Tyler bears as much responsibility because, although Polk brought on the shooting war, Tyler made the final drive for the annexation of Texas. That act precipitated war with hapless Mexico, and Tyler knew full well that it would. I’m not trying to establish Tyler as a villain; rather to make sure that it’s understood that the Mexican-American War, which began in 1846, had its roots in Tyler’s administration.

America had long sought to acquire Texas. Some believed it was rightfully ours since the Louisiana Purchase. John Quincy Adams was blamed for “losing” Texas in the Adams-Onis Treaty back during Monroe’s administration. Jackson had his eye on Texas when his protégé, Sam Houston, won Texas’ independence in 1836. Jackson’s second protégé/mentor (a weird relationship), Martin Van Buren, demurred on annexing Texas. It finally fell to the ex-Democrat/ex-Whig Tyler to push through acquiring Texas for the Union, and he did so with relish.

Daniel Webster was no fan of annexing Texas, so Tyler actually put off the Texas matter until the issues with England were put to rest. After all, he and Webster formed a good team. But when it came time to pursue Texas, Tyler—and Webster—knew it was time for him to go.

His interim secretary of state, Hugh Legare, a longtime Tyler confidant and Texas advocate, died suddenly while the president was in Boston. The personal blow put a damper on Tyler’s re-election plans, and he ended the tour and did not head to Ohio and Michigan as planned. But he found another Texas/expansionist stalwart: the brilliant Navy secretary, Abel Upshur.Upshur entered into a secret negotiation with his Texas counterpart, over the objections of the English and Mexican foreign ministries, who believed (correctly) something was afoot. Mexico even said that if the United States were to annex Texas, war would result. Tyler and Upshur were not deterred.

Tyler allies in the Senate also gave brilliant speeches explaining why Texas’ annexation was not merely a sectional (e.g., slave power) matter, but one of national importance. One senator from Mississippi even gave the absurd argument that Texas would serve as a funnel for blacks to leave the country to Mexico and Central and South America, playing up on racial fears.

The well-liked and smooth Upshur secretly secured the necessary two-thirds votes in the Senate without Tyler’s arch-nemesis being aware of it. Texas seemed a little wary of the deal, though, having been burned once by the Van Buren administration. But at that point, annexation—and Tyler’s re-election—seemed assured.

Then tragedy struck. In February 1844, the day that Upshur’s counterpart agreed to annexation, Tyler, Upshur and several guests were cruising the Potomac on the USS Princeton, the Navy’s most advanced steamship. The recently widowed president, smitten with Senator David Gardiner’s daughter, Julia, lingered below deck with her to hear his song sing a song—which probably saved his life. A cannon misfired and exploded, killing Upshur, the secretary of the Navy, Senator Gardiner and several others.It was the worst calamity to befall any administration: two cabinet members killed, and a third dying mere months before. (One happy note: Tyler had gallantly rushed a fainted Julia from the scene, carrying her from the ship. Four months later, over the wagging tongues of gossips and bores, Tyler and Julia were married, and she stayed with him until his death 22 years later.)

In addition, without Upshur, Tyler’s Texas plans began to fall apart—and arguably ended his chance for re-election. Tyler tried pursuing another four years, but Tennessee’s James K. Polk, an up-and-coming star in the Democratic Party and a staunch disciple of Jackson, seemed to have a better chance at the Democratic nomination than Tyler—or Van Buren, who was making another run at it. (The Whig nomination for Tyler was, of course, out of the question, and it went to Clay.) Rather than engage in a bruising fight with Van Buren and Polk, who shared many of the same views as Tyler, the president decided that another four years just wasn’t going to happen, and he bowed out. But he continued to seek Texas.

Texas’ annexation played a large role in the campaign of 1844, and when pro-annexation James Polk won rather handily over Whig Clay and third party candidate Van Buren, President Tyler gained the impetuous he needed to ram legislation through Congress.

Tyler first submitted the annexation treaty to the Senate, but without Upshur it failed to gain the requisite two-thirds majority. Northern members worried at the potential disruption of the balance of power, and there was no way the new secretary of state, John C. Calhoun, would or could convince them otherwise. As many as four new slave states could be carved from Texas, it was argued. The president then turned to an unusual and unprecedented parliamentary trick: he sought a joint resolution from Congress that required only a simple majority. Was it constitutional? Some argued that it wasn’t, including old Albert Gallatin, Jefferson’ secretary of the Treasury, who had told Jefferson not to worry about the constitutionality of the Louisiana Purchase! But it passed rather handily over the loud objections of Whigs. Congress gave Tyler what he wanted, and annexation was proclaimed in Texas. Tyler himself was unable to officially welcome Texas into the Union as president, as the state did not come in until December 1845, nine months after he left office.

But the triumph was definitely his.

Post-presidency—traitor?

John Tyler left the White House in March 1845 on just about the highest note of any president: Texas was coming into the Union, and he had scored another triumph with the China treaty.

He retired to his Virginia plantation with Julia, returning briefly to Washington to defend Daniel Webster from corruption charges. (Webster was exonerated.) But the elder statesman and defender of states’ rights came back into the public light again in February 1861 to sponsor the Virginia Peace Convention, which sought a compromise to war. Tyler, who long sought to hold the Union together, advocated secession when Virginia rejected his suggestions. He then served in the provisional Confederate Congress and was elected to the formal Confederate Congress, but died in early 1862 before taking his seat.

For those reasons, he is considered a traitor—but no more of a traitor, I think, than Robert E. Lee and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, who are still highly revered among many people. (Is there something less honorable about being a political traitor than being a military traitor? I wonder.)

Final Assessment

How did the Virginian planter handle the affairs of the executive once the major crisis was solved? Better than expected, and better than he is given credit for.And in fact, John Tyler, for all his moral obtuseness, may be the most important of the “forgotten” presidents. After all, many successive presidents have evoked Tyler’s passion for America’s special and unique destiny, including Lincoln, Grant, Wilson, FDR, JFK, Reagan, and George W. Bush, who did so in his second inaugural in 2004.

Tyler used executive privilege in ways that were dangerously close to being flagrantly unconstitutional. Had they been known to Congress, he could have been rightly impeached for using “secret service” executive funds to meddle in state affairs and fund private spy operations.

Tyler often turned his back on his stated republican ideals in the name of expanding executive powers. Biographer Edward Crapol and noted historian Arthur Schlesinger argue that the imperial presidency, which began in Jackson’s term only to temporarily disappear, began anew in Tyler’s term, and there is a lot of truth to that:

“A number of President Tyler’s contemporaries thought his doctrine of executive power undermined the republican principles he formerly held so dear. For example, the editors of the prestigious and influential National Intelligencer, Joseph Gales and William W. Seaton, charged that Tyler’s executive actions violated the constitution because he assumed powers never intended to be employed by the chief executive. They claimed that the prerogative power that that Tyler exercised had no legal standing or constitutional standing. The editors were correct. John Tyler had come to embrace and champion the broad executive prerogatives he found so objectionable when wielded by his predecessors.” (Crapol, p. 281)

But overall, his vision for an America that spanned the continent and influenced commerce and trade well across the Pacific and around the world was powerful, and started to come to fruition at the very end of his term. President Tyler rarely gets credit for the many far-reaching diplomatic triumphs of his administration, and that’s a shame. Historians overlook just how influential Tyler was in his four years, and instead concentrate on his defense of slavery, his assumption of office, and his “traitor” status.

He’s usually ranked in the “below average” or “near failure,” around 35 of 44 presidencies. I strongly disagree. If I were ranking Tyler against the other presidents, I would place him “above average.” His diplomatic achievements alone place him far above many of the rest.

So, this is what I was getting at when I wrote above that Tyler was “Successful (but…)” True, he had a lot of achievements, but he often played too loose with the Constitution to achieve his goals. He was by no means a failure, though.

Final assessment: Successful (but…) and largely unpopular.

Resources

An excellent book is Edward P. Crapol’s John Tyler: The Accidental President (2006), which takes a more generous view of Tyler’s presidency than previous works. Also useful is The Presidencies of William Henry Harrison and John Tyler (1989) by Norma Lois Peterson, part of the University of Kansas’ American Presidency Series.

* Succeeding a president who died, was assassinated, or resigned were: Fillmore (Taylor), A. Johnson (Lincoln), Arthur (Garfield) T. Roosevelt (McKinley), Coolidge (Harding), Truman (F. Roosevelt), L. Johnson (Kennedy), and Ford (Nixon).

** I had a long talk with my wife about this. It’s actually, thankfully, very hard for someone like me to wrap my mind around such piffle. I understand on an intellectual level how someone could think themselves superior to another, and therefore be master and slave. But emotionally, I can’t. I don’t think it’s just because I’m Christian and I am a “slave” to the real Master, Jesus Christ. I think it’s because I came of age in post-Martin Luther King America, where that kind of raw racism is dying. It’s not dead, as race hustlers of all kinds try to keep it alive. But it is dying. And thank God.

Illustrations

All images are public domain and found in the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division unless otherwise noted.

1. Portrait of John Tyler

2. Official White House portrait of John Tyler (White House Historical Association)

3. Tyler Receiving the News of Harrison’s Death. Supposedly that is Daniel Webster’s son delivering the news to an already prepared John Tyler.

4. Wood carving of John Tyler created in 1841.

5. The very crafty and capable Daniel Webster served as Tyler’s secretary of state until 1843.

6. First Lady Letitia Christian Tyler, who died during Tyler’s term.

7. Texas in 1845. Rights for this map are found here.

8. Tyler’s second wife, Julia Gardiner Tyler, whom the president married in 1844, making Tyler the first president to marry in the White House. She outlived him by several decades; after Congress gave other presidential widows pension, she fought and won a pension for herself, despite her husband’s status as a “traitor.”

9. The elder statesman: a daguerreotype of John Tyler near the end of his life.

Number 7: Andrew Jackson

Years in office: 1829-1837
Pre-service occupations: general, senator, planter
Key events during his administration: Nullification crisis (1828-1833); Indian Removal Act and court cases (1830, 1832, etc.); end of the Second Bank of the United States (1833); states admitted to the Union: Arkansas (1836) and Michigan (1837); Texas war for independence (1836)

Presidential rating: Successful and very popular

ESSAY

Before beginning my investigation of Andrew Jackson, a strange thought came unbidden to mind: Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry approaching a bleeding bad guy, .357 magnum drawn, and saying “Go ahead, make my day.”

The image actually fits. For Andrew Jackson really was the first tough SOB to sit in the White House. He was at once completely different, yet very similar, to his predecessors. He had a love of country rarely matched by presidents, and enjoyed a popularity equally rarely matched.

Yet he is not fully understood. Ask “the man on the street” about President Andrew Jackson and you’re most likely to hear about his treatment of the Indians and maybe, if you’re lucky, how he slapped down the attempted secession of South Carolina.

Harry Truman considered Jackson the greatest president besides FDR, and there is some merit to his thinking, but today’s Democrats don’t really understand Jackson any more than did the late, great historian, Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. He wrote The Age of Jackson, a love letter to Jackson’s presidency that was so fawning that Schlesinger later repudiated large sections of it.

Historians have argued over Jackson more than most other presidents: was he the first great champion of the people, a great leveler who destroyed the hydra of aristocracy and privilege that controlled the young nation with eastern money and influence? Was he an uneducated bully, handled roughly by the British, who lashed out at anyone who got in his way—Indians, more British, Floridian Spanish, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams, Nicholas Biddle and the Second National Bank, etc.? Was he the second coming of George Washington, as admirers insisted and enemies scorned?

I’ll confess: I like Andrew Jackson—a lot. I found myself cheering for him even when I strongly disagreed with him. He could be pushy, a jerk, even, an some of his policies wee more like vendettas than actual agendas. But Jackson had a knack for sticking it to the powerful, whether they were British soldiers, political rivals, other presidents, Congress or the Supreme Court. He always believed he was in the right, but it wasn’t he, himself, that he believed was the source for that right, but the country itself—specifically, the Constitution.

It may seem odd that an uneducated Westerner would set himself up to be a great champion of the Constitution, but Jackson did just that. At the same time, he saw himself as rescuing the Republic from the elitism that was keeping men like him from having a say in the country’s affairs. There was no doubt that the people themselves looked upon Jackson as the second coming of George Washington, an idea that the established political elite viewed with much disdain. After all, Jackson’s election heralded the “age of democracy,” which was a euphemism for the masses having more of a say in government.

A few “firsts”
So who was Andrew Jackson? He was a soldier and planter, but first and foremost a westerner. He rose to fame during the War of 1812, first for defeating many Western Indian tribes and then, of course, for winning the crucial battle of New Orleans. He later remained in the news by winning the first Seminole War during the Monroe administration (causing Monroe some consternation due to “miscommunications” between the two) and securing Florida for the Union.

However, Jackson’s greatest claim to fame in his rise to power came in losing the 1824 election to John Quincy Adams. The subsequent outrage over the “corrupt bargain” directly led to the split in the Republican party and the formation of the Republican-Democratic party (soon just the “Democratic Party”).

Jackson subsequently crushed the hapless Adams in 1828, but at a price: his beloved wife, Rachel, died just before he was inaugurated. Despite this tremendous personal loss, Jackson assumed his duties—albeit with less enthusiasm.

The new president established a few “firsts,” the first of which has never been repeated.

• He was the only president to have been a prisoner of war: during the Revolution, 13-year-old Andrew served as a courier for a regiment until he was captured. He nearly starved in prison. An officer struck him with a sword when he refused to shine the Englishman’s shoes. Jackson’s brother, a fellow prisoner, died of smallpox soon after their mother had them released. Most of Jackson’s family died form the war, causing him to hate the British ferociously.


• He was the first “commoner” elected president. Every man before him came from aristocratic lineage or high society, and had an educated background.


• The first attempted assassination of a president was made against Jackson. Both of the would-be assassin’s pistols misfired, even though in subsequent repeated tests, the pistols worked perfectly every time. The attacker stood a mere eight feet from the president and had a clear shot both times.


• The U.S. government was debt-free for the first time—and last time—in U.S. history during Jackson’s administration.


• His first vice president was the first to ever resign the office.

He was probably also the only president who would take his hickory cane and beat you over the head if you deserved a good thrashing.

A scandal of distraction
It seems presidents never escape scandal—but scandals almost always never rise to a level worthy of the word “scandal.” Jackson’s first occupied much of his first year in office, but, due to the particularly leisurely nature of American government at that time—Jackson was inaugurated in March 1829 but would not deal with Congress in a meaningful way until its next full session in December—the scandal occupied the hearts and minds of gossips and newspapers.

Margaret “Peggy” Timberlake, wife of a naval officer who was usually away at sea, was beautiful, vivacious and flirtatious and gained a reputation for infidelity in Washington. She and one of Jackson’s longtime friends, Major John Eaton, fell in love. Word came that the husband died at sea apparently of a suicide. Jackson urged Eaton to marry young Peggy, which he did; Jackson then made Eaton secretary of war. “Polite” Washington society shunned Peggy Eaton, notably the wife of Vice President Calhoun and wives of other cabinet members and legislators.

Jackson, a self-styled defender of womanhood and fresh off the attack against his late wife during the recent campaign, was outraged. It’s fortunate that Congress didn’t meet until December because the matter threatened to derail his presidency—and even occupied one entire cabinet meeting with Jackson proclaiming that Peggy was as “chaste as a virgin.”

The Eaton affair ended in early 1830 when Jackson, seeking in part to end the matter and also rid himself of cabinet members he had deemed less than reform-minded as he was, “fired” his entire cabinet. “Fired” is not quite the right word as Jackson also compelled his allies Eaton and Martin Van Buren to resign, with the former taking the post of Florida territorial governor and the latter minister to England. (Van Buren would return to be secretary of state and, in Jackson’s second term, vice president and chosen successor.)

The episode worsened the relations between Jackson and Calhoun, who would leave the administration before the term was up.

Reform and the birth of the “spoils system”
Andrew Jackson hated privilege, and believed that passing bureaucratic offices from one administration to the next was an open invitation to corruption. He believed that the Adams administration had been a machine of corruption—a gross exaggeration, though despite Jackson’s magnifications of the problems, he did uncover theft in the treasury department.

Jackson’s ultimate goal was to rid government offices of “unfaithful or incompetent hands,” as he said in his inaugural address. He set about instituting a “rotation” of appointive offices, which, laudable though it was, was no less susceptible to corruption than the system it replaced.

Jackson’s system still relied upon appointing individuals recommended by friends and political allies.

His enemies seized on Jackson’s reform as evidence of his backwardness and called removal of longtime public servants a “terror,” but Jackson’s removals were actually only about one out of every 10 government servants—no different than the last time there was a major political shift in the White House, when Jefferson defeated the first Adams. But the “terror” put everyone on notice: if you’re drunk on the job and/or incompetent, watch out. A Jackson ally in New York, trying to be helpful, played into anti-Jackson hands by remarking that reforming government service was something to be expected to the winner of the presidency.

“To the victor go the spoils,” he said, whereupon Jackson’s enemies coined a new term for sacking government officials and replacing them with your own men: the spoils system.

Felling a “giant:” The Second Bank of the United States
Reform of government appointments was but one victory for President Andrew Jackson. His attack on privilege took aim at the biggest target of all: The Second Bank of the United States.

The Bank of the United States, reconstituted during the second Madison administration, was a powerful entity that held sway over the American economy. Under the capable leadership of Nicholas Biddle, the Bank served as the official depository for United States funds, and a steadying influence on the economy. Unlike today’s Federal Reserve, however, the Bank of the United States was a private organization, with very limited government oversight. It accounted for almost 20% of all loans in the nation and up to 40% of all notes in circulation.

Jackson’s big problem with the Bank was that he believed it unconstitutional because it placed so much power into the hands of a few unelected, unaccountable moneyed men. It also seemed to favor the East over the West and South. At first, he wanted to replace it with something constitutional, but that was before his political enemies, notably Henry Clay and Daniel Webster, convinced Biddle to seek reauthorization of the Bank’s charter a few years early and before the 1832 election.

By turning the Bank into an election issue, and convincing Biddle that Jackson would have no choice but to reauthorized it, the Bank’s supporters made a big mistake. Much to their surprise, Jackson vetoed the bill and turned it into a cornerstone of democracy that the Bank be killed.

Jackson easily defeated Clay in the election. When it came time for the Bank to close, Biddle refused; Jackson used an executive order to withdraw all federal funds from the Bank and deposit them in selected state banks. With the Bank strapped for cash, Biddle started calling in loans across the nation. A serious financial crisis ensued, with Jackson and Biddle blaming the other. Outraged, Clay and Webster and other anti-Jacksonians formed the Whig party with its first goal being to over-ride Jackson’s veto. They failed, and the bank died in 1836.

Jackson bade it good riddance, as it offended his beliefs in democratic equality. While Jackson didn’t go so far in believing in equality between races—far from it—as far as (white) men were concerned, he believed that:

“…distinctions in society will always exist under every just government. Equality of talents, of education, or of wealth cannot be produced by human institutions… When the laws undertake to add to these natural and just advantages … to make the rich richer and the potent more powerful, the humble members of society—the farmers, mechanics, and laborers—who have neither the time nor the means of securing like favors to themselves, have a right to complain of the injustices of their Government.” (W.H. Brands, pp 470-471)

It's notable that Jackson's veto of the bank bill marked the first occasion that the veto was used for policy differences.

But at what cost?
Jackson’s campaign against the Bank of the United States had a serious unintended consequence that didn’t manifest fully until after he left office. States began unrestrained issuing of notes, which fueled rampant commodities speculation. Jackson was only able to take on step against this: to curb land speculation, he required that purchasers of federal lands pay in gold or silver.

The land boom went bust, which in turn chilled the economy, which didn’t nosedive until 1837, after Jackson was out of office.

So Jackson, hell-bent on helping the people, actually wound up hurting many of those same people who could no longer afford to buy land. It may not be fair to say that the bank war caused the Panic, but it certainly played a major role.

And if Jackson's term had ended a year later, would history remember him as a bum?

The nullification crisis
My image of Andrew Jackson that most likens him to Dirty Harry is his stance on nullification.

The breach that began with Vice President John C. Calhoun over the Peggy Eaton affair magnified over the renewal of the tariff of 1828. The tariff, which seemed to be bringing prosperity to the nation, was, in southerners’ views, hurting them—and them only—unfairly, enriching northerners at their expense. The chief concern was that the South’s cotton crop would suffer considerably, and thus would the economy of the South.

Calhoun anonymously attacked the “tariff of abominations” in his 1828 South Carolina Exposition and Protest, though it was obvious to Jackson who the author was. The Exposition revived the Jefferson-era concept that a state could negate or nullify a federal law that it deemed hurtful to a state. The revised and lessened tariff of 1832 did little to alleviate southern concerns. Jackson, although sympathetic to the South, his home, nevertheless viewed nullification as a direct threat to Union.

The crisis between Jackson and Calhoun came to a head at an April 1830 dinner honoring Jefferson. All present were to rise and give a toast. Jackson gave a memorable toast while looking straight at his vice president, as if issuing a final challenge—which in fact he was.

In one of the most dramatic showdowns in all American politics, Jackson cried, “Our Federal Union: It must be preserved!”

Calhoun rose and replied, “The Union: Next to our liberty, most dear!”

The battle lines were drawn, and within a year and a half, Calhoun resigned the vice presidency to serve as South Carolina’s senator.

South Carolina threatened secession if it were not permitted to nullify laws. To his credit, Calhoun actually only wanted nullification, not secession, but he was in the minority of nullifiers. But Jackson either didn’t know or care, because to him, Calhoun and the rest were plotting treason. Jackson boasted he could send 200,000 soldiers to South Carolina to put an end to their plans, and Congress gave him the wherewithal to do just that by passing the Force Bill in early 1833, authorizing the president to use whatever means necessary to put down an insurrection. The crisis abated when Jackson sent a fleet of seven warships to Charleston, and the nullifiers backed down.

Explaining that the Constitution forms a government and not a league, Jackson said that “To say that any State may at pleasure secede from the Union is to say that the United States is not a nation.”

Indian removal
The threat of a state leaving the Union was no more vexing to Jackson than the threat of Indians to the states. Of all the things that modern America associates with Andrew Jackson, nothing is more prominent than the unpleasant subject of Indian removal. Every president in the 18th and 19th centuries dealt with this to some extent, but Jackson gets more credit—or damnation—than all of the others because of his policies. His policies today are either roundly condemned or grudgingly praised, but rarely are they understood or thought of in the context of their times.

After the state of Georgia thoroughly played John Quincy Adams over Indian lands, it was inevitable that the question of states versus Indians would come before President Jackson—and Jackson was no stranger to Indian affairs. But he was a president now, not a general in the field who could have his way with hostile tribes.

From the president’s point of view, Indian matters concerned two things:

1) obeying and interpreting the Constitution as it related to the federal government and states rights, and

2) giving the tribes the option to either move west of the Mississippi where they would be out of state control but under federal protection; or remain where they were and live under state laws and adopt white ways; or be wiped out.

No option was pleasant for the tribes.

Jackson’s attitude was certainly paternalistic, and superior-minded, as, like most white people at that time, Jackson believed that “savage” tribes lived a way of life far below “civilized” society and that way of life was not worth preserving. At the same time, Jackson truly was concerned that Indians were in danger of being wiped out by encroaching whites and duplicitous state governments wanting land. Therefore, he believed that the best solution was removal from state control to west of the Mississippi where they could be under federal control only.

Case in point: of all tribes, the Cherokee had most adapted to white ways, including developing an alphabet, schools, farming, etc. But they petitioned to remain an autonomous nation within Georgia, something Jackson could not allow, because he saw such autonomy as a threat to the integrity to the United States. (Had the Cherokee disbanded as a tribe, Jackson would have held them up as a model.)

Over the protests of northern Christians, northern Democrats and national Republicans—and of course the tribes themselves—Jackson pushed for and Congress approved legislation ordering the removal of the Cherokees, Choctaw, Creek and Chickasaw tribes to west of the Mississippi. The “Trail of Tears” would not actually occur until Van Buren’s administration but the deed was done. More than 45,000 Indians were moved West during Jackson’s administration; he authorized the purchase about 100 million acres of tribal land in exchange for $68 million and 32 million acres west of the Mississippi. Critics decry the inconsistency of Jackson’s democracy as being for one type of man and not for another, and it is true—but it’s the same inconsistency that would continue to plague the nation until the next man to be elected to two terms as president.

Final Assessment

Andrew Jackson changed the face of the nation. He became president to make the nation more democratic and he succeeded.

Of course, to the modern American, “more democratic” seems like it should come with an asterisk, considering Jackson was a slave owner who suppressed abolitionists and took actions to expel Indian tribes from the eastern half of the nation. But “more democratic” truly is his legacy,” because he represents a major milestone of the transition from elitism as exemplified by federalism to democratic popular sovereignty.

Jackson was no leveler; rather, he despised how people used rank, lineage or wealth to trample the rights of others. He hated elitism for the sake of elitism. In the words of biographer Sean Wilentz,

“Jackson dedicated his presidency to vindicating and expanding [a government in which the citizenry and not royalty were sovereign] by kidding the nation of a recrudescent corrupt privilege that he believed was killing it. His victories as well as his imposing presence have stamped his name on an entire period in American history…[But] he was deeply paradoxical. (p. 7)

Jackson’s paradoxes are such that today, both conservatives and liberals would find things to cheer and hiss in his presidency.

But in his own time, Jackson met each challenge and succeeded—sometimes wildly so. Almost very challenge he looked at as some degree of Union preservation, which is why it came sometimes seem like he lashed out and took a hard line on almost every issue. But amazingly, he succeeded. Not always for the best, and not always the best for the people involved (namely the Indians), but his overall success is undeniable.

Final rating: Successful, and very popular. I would call him highly successful, but for the unintended consequences of taking out the Bank of the United States, which definitly contributed to the Panic of 1837.

Resources
President Jackson evokes many strong feelings in professional and lay America, both positive and negative. For this study, I used H. W. Brands, Andrew Jackson: His Life and Times, the most recent full-length biography and celebrated as being on par with David McCulloch’s Truman and Joseph Ellis’ His Excellency: George Washington. Not being an expert on Jackson, I can only attest that it is a beautiful and easy read. However, Brands is a little too one-sided concerning the election of 1828. Brands makes the Jacksonians the victims in that sordid affair, and not equal instigators in gleeful mudslinging. (None of the Jacksonian mud is even mentioned.)

A slightly better book on Jackson’s presidency is Sean Wilentz’s Andrew Jackson in The American Presidents series. And if you want to indulge in a work of pure fawning, read Arthur Schlesinger, Jr.’s The Age of Jackson, which he wrote in 1945 in part to justify/illuminate the age of FDR.

Illustrations

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

1. Official White House portrait, painted by Ralph E. W. Earl circa 1835 (White House Historical Association)

2. Alexander Hay Ritchie engraved this image of Andrew Jackson circa 1860

3. President's Levee, or all Creation going to the White House, by Robert Cruikshank, 1841. A huge crowd mobbed Jackson at the White House on his first inaugural reception in 1829.

4. Andrew Jackson drawn from life and engraved by J.B. Longacre

5. Chief Justice John Marshall is shown administering the oath of office to Andrew Jackson on the east portico of the U.S. Capitol, March 4, 1829, on this ceiling mural of the east central portico of the U.S. Capitol.

6. In this Edward Clay political cartoon from 1833, Andrew Jackson destroys the Second Bank of the United States with his “Removal Notice” (removal of federal deposits). The Devil himself is depicted as a supporter of the collapsing Bank.

7. This daguerreotype of Andrew Jackson was taken circa April 1845.

Number 6: John Quincy Adams

Years in office: 1825-1829
Pre-service occupations: minister to Berlin, U.S. senator, minister to Russia, peace delegate (Treaty of Ghent), minister to England, secretary of state (Monroe)
Key events during his administration: Erie Canal completed (1825); C&O Canal begun (1828); Tariff of 1828 (the “Tariff of Abominations”); treaties of Indian Springs (1825) and Washington (1826); Panama Congress (1826)

Presidential rating: Mostly unsuccessful, and unpopular

ESSAY

John Quincy Adams was literally groomed for great things.
He was the first relative of another president to hold the office. Like his father John, Adams was a brilliant, successful and driven man. Like his father, Adams would attain the nation’s highest office and be limited to one term. And like his father, he would be no more successful holding on to that office.

But unlike the elder Adams, the son’s solitary term was a struggle from the start, and arguably the first unsuccessful presidency.

John Quincy Adams was one of the most highly educated men to become president. JQA—as he often referred to himself—led what biographer Robert V. Remini terms “a privileged life.” His famed parents, John and Abigail Adams, literally raised him to achieve great things. His parents guided his life intensely: what to study, wear and eat; how to conduct himself in public; where to live; what to do with himself; when to marry, etc. It was relentless. You can read about the famed love and intellectual affair of John and Abigail in David McCulloch’s John Adams, but you’ll only get a hint of just how much they—especially she—controlled every single aspect of the son’s young life.

Youth, they drilled into his fertile mind, was for study, and his pleasures should be found in learning, not frivolity. Therefore his life revolved around education, prayer and learning how to be a proper man ready to carry fourth the good Adams name—and being ever watchful to never bring shame to that name. The instructions began early. For example, Abigail took the seven-year-old Johnny to watch the battle of Bunker Hill as it was being fought, so he could understand the price of liberty. Later, his father took him on his missions to the courts of Europe, which freed him from his mother’s physical presence but not her spiritual presence. She loomed large over his life, continually nagging him by letter, even robbing him of the one woman he passionately loved because Abigail said it wasn’t time for him to marry.

In other words, John and Abigail Adams raised a stern, highly self-critical man who was intensely curious, well-versed on most any subject, but gloomily resigned to follow a path not of his choosing. (Adams would treat his own sons worse, even going so far as to not invite two of them for Christmas one year because their grades at Harvard were poor.) He placed exacting standards on himself, keeping to his almost his entire life: He’d rise early to exercise and study, and work late. In another day and age, he’d be called a “square:” While his contemporaries on diplomatic missions engaged in cards and drinking, he retreated to books. He immersed in studies on the Bible, languages, sciences, mathematics, literature, philosophy, etc. You’d think that he’d make a fascinating dinner companion, but unlike Jefferson, Adams was a brooding and stiff character. Brilliant—but so personally demanding that it could paralyze him.

It was this man who became the sixth president of the United States.

Diplomat extraordinaire
Adams followed his father into the diplomatic arena at a young age. During Washington’s administration, he vigorously defended the president’s policy of neutrality. Consequently, Washington took note and appointed young Adams as minister to the Netherlands in 1794. As one of only six ministerial positions, it was a high honor. Adams, reluctant to leave America, nevertheless went at his parents’ behest. Adams storied diplomatic career was off.

He later served as minister to Berlin—in the meantime marrying the daughter of a British merchant in 1797—before being recalled by his father in 1801 in one of President John Adams’ last acts as president. Young Adams then served a term in the U.S. Senate, where he angered his Federalist allies by not opposing Jefferson’s embargo. Slowly moving in the direction of Republicanism, Adams won favor with the Madison administration and was appointed minister to Russia. He formed a strong friendship with Czar Alexander I and was present for Napoleon’s invasion and subsequent defeat.

In his greatest feat as a diplomat, he lead the commission that negotiated the end to the War of 1812, which essentially returned things to the status quo ante bellum.

He won much fame and friends at home and abroad as a diplomat, and subsequently James Monroe made him secretary of state, where he further burnished his credentials through the formation of the Monroe Doctrine and the Adams-Onis treaty.

As secretary of state, Adams was a natural choice for the next president. But he had competition—especially the formidable Andrew Jackson.

The “corrupt bargain”
The election of 1824 was, at first, a five-man contest between Adams, Jackson, Calhoun, Treasury Secretary Crawford and Speaker Henry Clay. Calhoun soon dropped out when he realized he’d never win, but he easily won the vice presidency. Crawford suffered a stroke but remained somewhat popular. When the electoral ballots were counted, Jackson had 99 (41% of the popular vote), Adams 84 (30.9% of the popular vote), Crawford 41 and Clay 37. No one had a majority, so the election went to the House—which meant that Clay, as the very powerful Speaker, would in effect decide the next president.

Since Clay had the fewest votes, he was dropped. That left Jackson, Adams and Crawford. The latter had the least support, and his mild stroke left questions of his ability to serve. So the question was Jackson or Adams. Jackson was clearly popular, but Clay detested the thought that someone whose only qualification was “killing 2,500 Englishmen” would become president.

Clay met with Adams, who, although opponents in some matters during Monroe’s terms, found some common ground. They apparently pledged mutual support; Adams also sought pledges of support from electors from other states to vote for him in return for favors.

Clay threw his support—and electors—to Adams, who was chosen on the first ballot on Feb. 9, 1825, shocking and outraging the Jacksonians, who believed that Jackson should be president based on his lead. A week later, Adams named Clay his secretary of state, the position Clay had sought eight years earlier. Jacksonians howled in protest, and immediately charged that a “corrupt bargain” had been made: If Clay would support Adams and make him president, Adams would make Clay secretary of state, still the surest route to the presidency.

It was a gigantic mistake.

In fact, “mistake” seems too tame a word. The “corrupt bargain” effectively ended Clay’s political career, and almost destroyed the Adams presidency before it started. It would be a long four years, with the Jacksonians hounding Adams every step of the way.

Was there a “corrupt bargain?” Not really, but on the surface—especially to those who wanted to see one—there definitely appeared to be one. But it’s easy to understand why Clay wanted Adams and not Jackson, and why Adams would chose the very capable Clay to lead State. However, Adams was completely politically tone deaf. He expected people to understand why he did things because of his superior intellect, and just never did understand how things looked politically. No matter what the reasoning, no matter the justification, the appearance of a “corrupt bargain” became the reality.

The end of the Republican party of Thomas Jefferson
The corrupt bargain essentially doomed Adams from the get-go. Like the 2000 Florida debacle, the Jacksonians vowed revenge and immediately began the 1828 presidential campaign. Every step they took in the Congress from Adams’ inauguration on was designed to undermine Adams and his administration. It’s no exaggeration. The Jacksonians, believing that they were the aggrieved party and had an election “stolen” from them, acted from spite and malice. They brought no credit upon themselves.

Some of their opposition to Adams’ programs was honest, and done from constitutional and philosophical grounds, but a lot of it had to do with how Adams gained office. Their actions were often petty and downright mean (especially those of old purist Republican John Randolph), but they formed the basis of the permanent split in the old party of Jefferson.

One of the hallmarks of the “Era of Good Feelings” during the Monroe administration was the absence of political party, as the Federalists were no longer a national party and the Republicans were in near complete control. But one-party rule was either an illusion or a temporary truce. Two camps formed: the National Republicans, loyal to Adams and Clay; and the Democratic-Republican party, true to the core of Jeffersonian republicanism. The opposition leader in the senate was Martin Van Buren, often called the architect of the Democratic party, and he moved to thwart Adams every way he could. The new Democrats’ de facto leader was of course Jackson, and included in its ranks supporters of John C. Calhoun—the vice president!—and former supporters of Henry Clay, who sealed his political fate by joining with Adams.

The “National Republicans” would not last long, and would soon be replaced by another short-lived party—the Whigs.

Some true successes—but no credit
Adams’ presidency was full of ideas, but unfortunately for him, many of those ideas were stillborn because of the hostility toward his administration. The Jacksonian-controlled Congress rarely gave him a chance through adherence to Jeffersonian values and, sometimes, sheer spite. (Note: Jacksonian Democrats gained control of Congress midway through Adams’ term, but opposition to Adams started almost right away.)

Adams’ primary domestic program consisted of Henry Clay’s “American System,” which included a high tariff (protectionism) against foreign goods, support for internal improvements—which were critical for moving goods to markets and fostering greater industrialization in Pennsylvania, New York and other northern states—and support for the Second National Bank. Some of this actually succeeded in passing Congress, but the Jacksonians immediately squashed some of Adams’ more fanciful suggestions, such as a national observatory and a national university.

Although much derided by the Jackson Democrats, who believed in only a minimalist federal approach to economic affairs and internal improvements, the American System succeeded in creating some critical internal improvements. Among the successes were the beginning of the C&O Canal (to compete with the Erie Canal, completed and opened in 1825) and an extension of the Cumberland Road.

In addition, the Adams economy was actually pretty good. The debt from the War of 1812 was finally retired, manufactures expanded, shipping grew, industry grew, etc. The American System actually worked, and didn’t harm agriculture, such as cotton, as much as was feared. But Adams received little credit for it both because he wouldn’t propagate for himself and because the opposition was more vocal.

Another Adams success, enacted through Henry Clay, was the establishment of free trade with several nations—though again Adams received very little credit. One reason is because one nation ceased to exist by the time he left office, and, as usual, the Jackson Democrats derided his foreign policy attempts—especially the Panama Congress.

One political disaster after anotherBecause of intense hostility and Adams’ own political tin ear, his administration struggled continually. President Adams and Secretary Clay had wanted the United States to participate in the Panama Congress, organized in 1826 among Central and South American states to create a unified policy toward Spain. It was a forward-thinking policy—get America involved with her neighbors to the south; after all, hadn’t Adams and Monroe declared this part of the world was for the Americas only? Adams saw involvement with Simon Bolivar’s congress as the next step in American relations, but the U.S. Congress didn’t see it that way. Even though Congress had pressed for recognition of Latin countries during Monroe’s time, Congress—namely southerners—wanted nothing to do with the Panama Congress, especially because many Latin states had outlawed slavery.

Eventually, the foot-dragging Congress authorized a couple of delegates, but one died en-route and the other arrived after the Panama Congress concluded, much to Adams’ embarrassment.

A worse conundrum for Adams was what to do about the collection of tribes in western Georgia known as the Creeks. It’s a complicated matter, but in summary, a small selection of Creeks had made an agreement in 1825 called the treaty of Indian Springs. However, not all of the Creeks agreed to the treaty (a frequent problem with treaties) and killed the man who had made the treaty. President Adams declared the treaty void. He obtained a new treaty with a broad representation of Creeks, with many of the same stipulations of the prior treaty. But Georgia’s governor objected, claiming the first treaty was still in effect. Adams called out federal troops, while the governor countered with state militia. Fearing a civil war, Adams backed down.

The Creeks were the ones who got shafted, as the governor moved to seize all of their lands; by the end of the decade they were gone from Georgia entirely—and Adams’ stock fell even further in the South.

But the worst disaster for Adams was the 1828 Tariff, also called the Tariff of Abominations, which was part of the American System. What the 1828 tariff did was to create a protectionist program that essentially touched most aspects of American life, including shipping, manufacturing and agriculture. Southern states, especially South Carolina—home of John C. Calhoun—were hurt because of the reduced market for southern cotton in Europe. (Calhoun would later rage against the tariff during Jackson’s administration.)

The tariff split Adams’ cabinet, probably irreparably. Clay was of course all for it. But combined with Jackson’s popularity throughout the South, the tariff cost Adams any remaining support he had in that part of the country.

By election year, Adams was damaged goods—but that doesn’t mean his case was hopeless: the economy was mostly strong, the country was at peace. The only problem was that he was John Quincy Adams, and his opponent was the ever-popular Andrew Jackson—and Jackson’s supporters were fired up like no one had seen since the Revolution.

1828: the dirtiest, nastiest campaign ever
The 1828 presidential election was the nastiest, dirtiest, most disgusting and vile campaign in American history—and it had been going on for four years.
Over the previous four years, the Jacksonians had done everything they could to destroy Adams politically because of the 1824 election—and it was working. Now, they turned their attention to Adams personally.

The two candidates stayed out of it directly, as was the custom. (Candidates never campaigned during that age, beyond occasional speeches. Surrogates did most of the work.) But their allies and partisan newspapers let fly with some of the most revolting crud imaginable. Issues really weren’t debated. Lies, insults, charges, imaginings, hyperbole, flights of fancy were hurled back and fourth, lies that brought neither honor nor glory to either candidate, because neither man distanced himself from the junk being said on his behalf.

Some of the charges made by Jackson’s Democrats, none of which were true:

• Adams had “pimped” for Czar Alexander I when he was minister to Russia
• Adams bilked the government for far more money than necessary for diplomatic missions
• Adams used public money to buy “gambling devices” (they were a chess set and a billiards table, which he purchased with his own money)
• Adams “criminally” cost America Texas in the Adams-Onis treaty

Charges made by Adams’ National Republicans, the first two which weren’t true:

• Jackson married his wife, Rachel, before she was divorced, making her a bigamist. (The Jacksons said it was a clerical error, as they believed she was divorced.) She died shortly after Jackson was inaugurated, and Jackson never forgave Adams for not speaking out against the slur.
• Jackson’s mother was a prostitute and he was the son of a mulatto
• While a general, Jackson massacred Indians, was exuberant in using death sentences in courts martial and dueled excessively. These had some validity, but were seen in the context of a larger effort to smear Jackson, so they didn’t stick.

None of the charges against Jackson stuck, but the ones against Adams were poison. But what made my jaw hit the floor was the willingness of both sides to make up anything—anything—to slime the other side. It’s really sickening, and it’s no different than the garbage that the committed left has been doing to George W. Bush since 2000. (The truth doesn’t matter—only what they can throw at him that sticks.)

Inevitable defeat
Adams, already known as a poor public speaker, wouldn’t campaign on his own behalf, even when given the chance. On one occasion, a crowd of well-wishers wanted some comments from the president. He said hello and goodnight. That was it. Such was Adams’ public presence.

Even though his programs worked, America faced no true enemies, the economy was growing, America was expanding, Adams was in serious trouble. The National Republicans were unorganized, while the Jackson Democrats held meetings and ran clubs all over the south, west and north. The Jackson press was relentless, and the Adams press could hardly keep up. Even when the Adams newspapers took the high road and argued issues, they couldn’t keep up.

In the end, the lack of organization and a sour, uninviting incumbent weighed against a highly organized and dynamic challenger foretold the end of the Adams presidency. The public, already sour on Adams, booted him from office.

Jackson held Adams personally responsible for the slurs against his wife, so the general never paid a courtesy call on Adams. Adams detested this breech of decorum. This sealed Adams’ bitterness against Jackson. And so, like his father, Adams became the only other president to not attend the inauguration of his successor.

Post-presidential success
Personally, Adams was a wreck. His father had died during his presidency, so he was left to carry fourth the Adams legacy. His hard-driving ways helped drive two of his sons to alcoholism, and suicide. (That’s a hard thing to write.) Only his son Charles would live up to the father’s demanding expectations (Charles would be a diplomat during the Civil War, instrumental in keeping Europe neutral, and his own son, Henry, would of course become the famous man of letters at the end of the century).

But much to his surprise and delight, Massachusetts in short order returned Adams to Washington as a congressman. It was there that Adams finally found his voice. The presidency was not his forte, but sparing in the well of the House was. Over the next two decades, Adams surprisingly became an antislavery champion, not because he was an abolitionist, but because he fought against the “gag” rules.

All Americans have the right to petition Congress, but Adams believed it a travesty that pro-slavery forces prevented slavery from even being discussed in Congress. From the time of his first election until 1844, Adams repeatedly railed against the gag rules (where petitions and motions on slavery were tabled and not discussed, hence “gagged”) until finally all gag rules were overturned.

Adams gained a popularity he never enjoyed while president. Biographer Remini suggests Adams did this partially to get back at everyone who treated him so roughly while he was president, and there seems to be some validity to it, but he also believed in what he was doing.

Adams, before never a great speaker, honed his speaking skills in Congress to such a great extent that he won the famous “Amistad” case at the Supreme Court in 1841. Africans kidnapped by Spanish traders rebelled and killed most of the crew of the ship Amistad. The surviving crew members tricked the Africans into sailing to America. Spain declared the Africans to be slaves and demanded their return, but an initial trial held that they had been taken illegally and were therefore not slaves, but free.

The case went to the Supreme Court and Adams won—even though he hadn’t appeared before the court in more than 30 years. It was his finest hour.

Final Assessment

While reading about John Quincy Adams, I wondered if he was just a man ahead of his time. Many of the proposals he made in his first message to Congress—a national university, a national observatory, internal improvements, etc.—were things that would have found a much more receptive audience at a much later time.

Historians disagree on whether his presidency was a failure, or whether it was an unappreciated, qualified, partial success. Biographer Mary Hargreaves argues for the latter, with a lot of justification.

It’s not that Adams’ ideas or programs were bad. It’s that Adams himself was a political disaster—and that set him up for attack after attack, against which, by his own admission, he failed to respond. I’ve found that he had five things working against him that would make him a poor president no matter what the age:

1. He was politically tone deaf—stone cold deaf. He could never appreciate the forces arrayed against him because of the arrangement that made him president.
2. He refused to advocate for himself openly on the basis that it was beneath his dignity.
3. He refused to dismiss people from the administration despite overwhelming evidence that they were actively working to undermine him.
4. He had no understanding of politics and how it worked, despite being a diplomat and secretary of state. He didn’t learn this until he was a congressman. In this respect, having legislative experience would have greatly served Adams prior to being president.
5. He wouldn’t fight back.

Personally, I’m glad to move on from Adams to Jackson. He wasn’t fun to read about until the end, in his Congressional career. Then I finally found something to cheer!

Final assessment: Mostly unsuccessful, and unpopular, but mainly because politically, he failed. (Had his programs not worked, I’d consider him a failure.)

Resources

A recognized authority on Andrew Jackson, Robert V. Remini, wrote The American Presidents entry on John Quincy Adams. He may seem a little partial to Jackson, but he understands Adams; while giving the brilliant statesman his due, Remini points out his numerous flaws and how they kept Adams from having what could have been a decent presidency.

Remini’s is a more personal account of Adams’ entire life. For a meatier account of Adams’ often overlooked presidency, read Mary W. M. Hargreaves, The Presidency of John Quincy Adams (1985) of the University of Kansas’ the American Presidency series. Hargreaves is kinder to Adams’ presidency than Remini.


Illustrations

1. John Quincy Adams, official White House portrait.

2. Adams sat for this portrait while in London at age 29. (Oil, 1796, by John Singleton Copley, Boston Museum of Fine Arts, from a gift of Mrs. Charles Francis Adams.)

3. A daguerreotype of John Quincy Adams, taken 20 years after he left the White House. Adams became the first president to have his picture taken (but not while he was president). Public domain image.

4 and 5. Part of and an entire infamous “Coffin Handbill” from the 1828 election, used against Andrew Jackson. It was supposed to show how Jackson enthusiastically used executions in courts martial. Public domain image (U.S. only)

6. Composite of significant people in the Amistad story: (L to R) Margru, John Quincy Adams, Cinque and Roger Sherman Baldwin. Illustration courtesy of The Connecticut Historical Society.