Finally, Guiteau allowed the last vestiges of his sanity to go right down the toilet. He purchased a British Bulldog pistol, was instructed by the salesman in how to use it, and—already aware of what he was about to do and what would happen to him as a result—visited the local prison to get a feel for his future digs. When the president was waiting for the train at the Baltimore and Potomac railroad station, Guiteau calmly walked up to him, drew his pistol, and fired twice. The first shot grazed Garfield’s arm, but the second one lodged in his back and felled him.
IS THERE A [CLEAN] DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?
During the eighty days it took him to die, Garfield’s condition went from bad to worse to better again, foiling predictions again and again. One thing seems certain: It wasn’t Guiteau’s bullet that killed him but all the probing with fingers and medical instruments, none of which had been sanitized. The harder his doctors tried to find the slug, the more damage they did to poor Garfield, who was awake through the whole ordeal (and suffering through the stultifying heat and humidity of summer). The bloody process took a tragicomic turn when Alexander Graham Bell was asked to help. He employed a sort of early metal detector in the hopes of locating the elusive piece of lead, but to no avail. The unhygienic investigations continued, and Garfield finally gave up the ghost. Doctors located the bullet during the autopsy.
As for Guiteau, he seemed quite pleased with himself. Incredibly, a jury found him sane, and he was hanged on June 30, 1882.
21 CHESTER A. ARTHUR
October 5, 1829–November 18, 1886
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Libra
TERM OF PRESIDENCY: 1881–1885
PARTY: Republican
AGE UPON TAKING OFFICE: 51
VICE PRESIDENT: None
RAN AGAINST: N/A
HEIGHT: 6′2″
NICKNAMES: “Elegant Arthur,” “Our Chet,” “Prince Arthur”
SOUND BITE: “I may be president of the United States, but my private life is nobody’s damned business.”
Charles Guiteau, the man who murdered James Garfield, wrote a letter from jail to the new president, Chester Arthur: “My inspiration is a Godsend to you. . . . It raised you from a political cypher to the president of the United States.” For a lunatic, Guiteau had a decent grasp of politics; he understood that Arthur never would have made it to the White House if his boss hadn’t been knocked off.
Chester Alan Arthur was the quintessential machine politician. A dapper, congenial, sweet-talking schmoozer, he had become the flunky of the flamboyant New York senator Roscoe Conkling, who was instrumental in appointing Arthur as customs collector in New York City during the Grant administration. Arthur returned the favor by using the considerable money and influence of the New York customshouse to fill the coffers of the party and aid Conkling’s agenda as head of the conservative “Stalwart” branch of the Republicans. He proved something of a genius at using the mostly illegal fundraising methods of the time, wielding patronage and bribes with ease and panache. Aside from this, he was essentially devoid of talent.
Enter Guiteau and his homicidal need for a posting in Paris. After murdering James Garfield, Guiteau repeatedly shouted, “I’m a Stalwart, and Arthur is now president!” This passionate show of support caused many to wonder if the Stalwarts had actually hired Guiteau, and Arthur ducked out of sight during Garfield’s deathwatch to avoid suspicion. When the press showed up at his home with news that Garfield had finally died, the new president was found slumped over a table sobbing.
Arthur was the first president to employ a full-time valet, and for good reason—he is rumored to have owned as many as eighty pairs of pants.
His presidency was remarkable for its social events, fine dining, and little else (with the notable exception of ominous legislation that sought to limit Chinese immigration). The nattily dressed Arthur liked to eat well almost as much as he liked to buy new duds, and he reigned as the first gentleman of the land. To his credit, he turned his back on his old ways. The Pendleton Act sought to undo much of the spoils system he’d done so much to advance, and it grated on his old pals—who promptly dumped him at the next convention.
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FAMILY TIES
Chester Arthur entered the White House a widower. His wife, Ellen Lewis Herndon Arthur, died in 1880, leaving Chester—who’d spent most of his marriage running around raising cash for the party—heartbroken. Though their time together was mostly tranquil, they did quarrel during the Civil War. His wife, a native of Virginia, was sympathetic to the South. Arthur didn’t let his devotion to the Northern cause eclipse his devotion to Ellen, however—he once used his influence as an officer in the New York militia to secure the release of her Confederate brother from a Union prisoner-of-war camp.
A TOUCH OF CLASS
Chester Arthur may have been short on talent, but he was long on taste. The guy had a bona fide love of clothes and was always dressed impeccably, earning him a reputation as a dandy. He was the first president to have a full-time valet, and he needed it—he is rumored to have owned as many as eighty pairs of pants. He could often be seen riding around in his lavishly appointed carriage, complete with gold lace curtains and the Arthur coat of arms displayed on the side.
His extravagant sense of décor extended to the White House, whose dilapidated furnishings he determined to overhaul even before moving in. To raise money for the project (and to empty the old mansion of its piles of detritus), he held an auction. Some twenty-four wagonloads of presidential paraphernalia were sold to a crowd on the White House lawn, including an old pair of Lincoln’s trousers and a hat that once belonged to John Quincy Adams. Much of it was priceless, and Arthur didn’t really give a damn.
Sloooow Down, Chet
No one could ever accuse Chester Arthur of having worked too hard. After all, Gilded Age fops didn’t have much use for long hours or dedication. As one administration official put it, “President Arthur never did today what he could put off until tomorrow.” Arthur was always far too preoccupied with his nightly multicourse feed fests to bother with actually doing stuff. Former Prez Rutherford Hayes was shocked at the Arthur White House: “Nothing like it before in the Executive Mansion—liquor, snobbery, and worse.”
In the end, the secret to Arthur’s lethargy was just that—a secret. He’d been diagnosed with Bright’s disease, a fact he assiduously kept from the general public. Among the affliction’s symptoms is an often profound lack of energy. The disease got worse and—with the help of a bout of malaria he contracted while fishing in Florida—finally caught up with him. He died only eight months after leaving the White House.
HOME SWEET HOME:
The White House
“I pray heaven to bestow the best of blessings on this house and all that shall hereafter inhabit it,” wrote John Adams to his wife, Abigail, from the “President’s House” in Washington. He was the first to reside in the new mansion, a relatively vast structure that would eventually come to be known as the White House. And if he were to crawl out of his grave today and pay a visit, he would hardly recognize it.
For one thing, the building was gutted in 1814 by the British. Though the flames were quickly extinguished by rain, the heat had weakened much of the stonework, which had to be replaced. The result was a virtual rebuild, though one that closely followed the original design by James Hoban. And extensive restorations during the administrations of Theodore Roosevelt and Harry Truman would result in a structure that was almost completely new. When you throw in such additions as the South Portico, a third floor, and extensions that include the West Wing, you have a building that only barely resembles the original.
Because of a stingy Congress, improvements to the White House often had to wait and were sometimes paid for out of the sitting president’s pocket. Running water didn’t appear until 1831, during Andrew Jackson’s presidency, by which time such a convenience was already common in hotels and inns. Martin Van Buren had central heating installed in 1
837, and the White House kitchen staff prepared meals with colonial-era pots over open flame until Millard Fillmore bought a real stove. (Fillmore made a personal trip to the patent office for instructions when his cook failed to understand the stove’s operation.) Gas lighting replaced candle flame during James Polk’s term, and by the time Zachary Taylor was in office, the gas bills were already astronomical—until it was discovered that private tenants along Pennsylvania Avenue were illegally tapping into the White House gas line.
But if keeping up with the times was always a challenge at the White House, the old building’s greatest problem came with four legs and a hairless tail. Rats infested the building throughout the nineteenth century. Andrew Johnson, a devout animal lover, took to leaving flour and water out for them, while his daughter, Martha, waged a losing battle against them with traps and poison. Rutherford Hayes claimed that rats nibbled on his toes at night while he struggled to sleep, and by Grover Cleveland’s second term, the rodents were joined by armies of roaches and spiders. The tide finally turned against the rats during the presidency of Benjamin Harrison, who enlisted not only professional exterminators, but also ferrets, which were allowed to roam throughout the building in search of their quarry. Hundreds of rats perished in the resulting carnage.
And what about the underground complex we’ve all heard about? If there really is a vast subterranean realm beneath the White House, it’s a closely guarded government secret. It is known that Franklin Roosevelt built a bomb shelter during the Second World War. There is also a tunnel that extends from the Treasury Building into the White House basement below the East Wing. Though it was originally planned as part of the bomb shelter, its primary use throughout the past century was for surreptitiously shuttling party guests into the White House. Many a staffer—and president—has had sexual partners escorted through the tunnel for a late-night rendezvous. At least the taxpayers’ money hasn’t gone to waste, right?
22, 24 GROVER CLEVELAND
March 18, 1837–June 24, 1908
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Pisces
TERMS OF PRESIDENCY: 1885–1889, 1893–1897
PARTY: Democratic
AGE UPON TAKING OFFICE: 47, 55
VICE PRESIDENT: Thomas A. Hendricks (first term); Adlai E. Stevenson (second term)
RAN AGAINST: James G. Blaine (first term); Benjamin Harrison (second term)
HEIGHT: 5′11″
NICKNAMES: “Uncle Jumbo,” “Buffalo Hangman,” “His Obstinacy”
SOUND BITE: “Sensible and responsible women do not want to vote.”
The only American president to serve two nonconsecutive terms, Grover Cleveland was one of the most honest men ever to have occupied the White House. But honesty doesn’t feed the poor, of which the country had plenty during Cleveland’s second stint, and this giant of the presidential pantheon (he weighed more than 250 pounds) hasn’t been treated very well by historians.
Though born in New Jersey, Grover Cleveland would make his political fortune in New York State, serving as sheriff of Erie County and mayor of Buffalo before landing in the governor’s mansion. Incredibly, he climbed his way up the ladder through hard work, fiscal responsibility, and telling the truth (no matter how much it hurt). By the presidential election of 1884, many Republican voters were so fed up with corrupt politics that they abandoned their own candidate and voted for Cleveland instead. At the end of a very close election, he became the first Democratic president elected since 1861.
Cleveland became legal guardian of Frances Folsom when she was eleven years old—and married her just ten years later.
His was a conservative presidency, and Cleveland ran the country as if he were CEO of a failing corporation. From questionable pension payments for Union officers to drought relief for stricken Texans, anything that even remotely sniffed of a handout was vetoed. Indeed, his willingness to veto earned him the title “His Obstinacy,” and by the time his second term was over, he’d killed three times as many bills as all of his predecessors combined. Cleveland was pedantic, stubborn, blunt, and, as always, honest—he seems to have taken particular delight in favoring the talented over the politically connected, appointing people of his own choosing, even when it burned bridges. Though he lost to Benjamin Harrison in 1888, he threw his hat back in the ring in 1892, by which time the Democrats had gained ground against a Republican party that tried to do too much and accomplished little. Uncle Jumbo was back.
But the limited government that worked the first time around proved disastrous in 1893, when an economic panic turned very quickly into widespread recession. While unemployment and hunger stalked the land, Cleveland wrestled with many in his own party who believed that the economic slowdown could be thwarted by adopting silver, rather than gold, as the currency standard. Cleveland stuck with gold, causing fissures among Democrats that would take years to heal. As for the poor and disenfranchised, he either ignored them or used force against them—as in the Pullman Strike of 1894, in which troops were ordered to break up striking railroad workers. Already averse to public scrutiny, his detestation of the press only made him look withdrawn, aloof, and insensitive. The severe recession would last another four years, dooming Cleveland’s second administration and his place in history.
But, hey—did we mention how honest he was?
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BLOOD MONEY
If you were drafted during the Civil War, it was perfectly legal to hire someone else to take your place. And since Grover Cleveland preferred to avoid strenuous physical activity (except whatever effort was required to fill his ample stomach with sausage, corned beef and cabbage, and beer), he reached for his checkbook after being conscripted. He paid a thirty-two-year-old Polish immigrant to take his place for $150.
Hanging Tough
During his stint as sheriff of Erie County from 1871 to 1874, Grover Cleveland personally threw the noose around the necks of two convicted criminals. He remains the only American president to have hanged anyone (personally, anyway).
HELPIN’ HALPIN
There is no finer example of Cleveland’s outstanding honesty than the Maria Halpin story. Maria, a fellow Buffalonian, was a department store clerk with a weakness for drink and married men. She’d experienced plenty of both by the time she began a sexual relationship with Grover Cleveland, who was still a bachelor at the time. When told by Maria that she was pregnant, Cleveland—though doubtful that he was the father—decided to support the child anyway. It was an extraordinary move for a Victorian man eager to make it in politics—if the secret of his illegitimate son ever leaked, it could ruin him.
The leak sprang during the campaign of 1884. When his aides scrambled to compose a response to the charges, Cleveland’s instructions were—and remain to this day—simply fabulous. “Tell them the truth,” the candidate directed. The public learned that Cleveland had indeed fathered the child, and scandal rocked the voters. But they got over it; more important, they came to respect this flawed but courageous man, and the incident helped Cleveland squeak past Blaine into the White House.
How’s that for damage control?
WHO’S YOUR DADDY?
Grover Cleveland’s friend and law partner, Oscar Folsom, had a daughter named Frances, born when Cleveland was twenty-seven years old. Grover bought Frances’s first baby carriage and became quite attached to the little tyke, who referred to him affectionately as Uncle Cleve. Oscar died in a carriage accident when Frances was only eleven, and Uncle Cleve became her legal guardian.
Later, when Cleveland was president, Frances and her mother, Emma, would often visit him. Rumors started circulating—was the bachelor president wooing Emma Folsom? Wouldn’t that be nice? Such a happy family the three of them would make.
As it happened, the rumors were only half right. The president was actually hoping to marry twenty-one-year-old Frances. Thus, she and Grover became the only first lady and president to be married in the White House. Media coverage of the event was so exhaustive
that the newlyweds had to scramble for privacy at their secluded Maryland honeymoon spot. The experience gave the president a hatred of the press that would one day come back to haunt him.
Two Names, One Rifle
Grover Cleveland tended to balance long hours of work with food and beer. Lots of food and beer. He exercised rarely, though he did cultivate a love of hunting and fishing. His weapon of choice was a rifle that he called Death and Destruction.
MAKING CANDY FROM A BABY
Between Cleveland’s two terms as president, he and Frances had a daughter, Ruth, who became immensely popular with the public—so popular, in fact, that Nestlé named a candy bar after her: Baby Ruth.
Ruth was the first of five Cleveland children. Another, Esther, was born during Cleveland’s second term—the only president’s child ever born in the White House.
THE HOLE TRUTH
Long after Grover Cleveland died, a doctor named William Keen revealed a secret he’d kept for twenty-four years: A dangerous operation had been performed on Cleveland while he was president to remove a cancerous tumor from his upper palate.
When, in 1893, Cleveland learned that the rough spot in his mouth was cancer and had to be removed, he insisted that the procedure be kept secret to avoid alarming the public. Extraordinary precautions were taken. A friend of the president’s offered his private yacht for the operation. It sailed to Long Island Sound, where surgeons anesthetized Cleveland with laughing gas and then started cutting. Led by Dr. Joseph Bryant, the president’s personal physician, they labored for an hour to remove the tumor. The operation was a success, and the doctors filled the resulting hole with a rubber prosthetic. Incredibly, the whole charade worked—Cleveland delivered a speech to Congress a month later without sounding as if his jaw had been torn apart. The press continued to follow up on strange rumors during the president’s convalescence, but the truth didn’t come to light until Keen spilled the beans to the Saturday Evening Post in 1917.
Secret Lives of the U.S. Presidents Page 10
