THE COWBOY PRESIDENT

by Michael F. Blake

  Daiquiri, on the southern side of the Cuban island, was chosen as the landing site. It proved to be another nightmare. Lacking any form of a dock for the ships to unload the men and supplies, troopers were ferried to shore in long rowboats, while the horses and mules were simply lowered over the side of the ship and forced to swim to shore. Many drowned, including Rain-in-the-Face, one of Theodore’s two horses.20 Once on land, the Rough Riders, along with the Tenth United States Colored Troops (better known as the Buffalo Soldiers) and the First US Cavalry (dismounted), made their way through the dense jungle toward Las Guasimas.

  The opaque jungle was the perfect site for an ambush.21

  Firing came thick and fast. The Rough Riders and the other two military units quickly returned fire at an enemy that was largely unseen. Spaniards were using the new smokeless black-powder bullets, making it tough for Rough Riders to ascertain where the firing was coming from. Taking coverage in the dense foliage while Mauser bullets whined over their heads, the Rough Riders held their ground. The Spanish eventually pulled back and left. After the fighting subsided, Lieutenant Colonel Wood was ordered to take over command of Gen. Sam Young’s brigade, and given a promotion to general. (Young had been stricken with malaria.) Theodore, promoted to colonel, was now in complete charge of the Rough Riders.

  The march continued in the oppressive humidity. The Rough Riders sweated through their blue flannel shirts, swatting at mosquitoes as if they were the real enemy. The water in their canteens was as hot as the air, offering little relief. Many fell sick with malaria and dysentery, and a few caught yellow fever. Theodore led by example, not complaining, urging his men to keep going. A series of low ridges known as the San Juan Heights was all that separated the US Army from the city of Santiago. The navy blockaded the Spanish ships in the city’s harbor, and once the army took control of the city, Spain would have little choice but to surrender. San Juan Heights, and a low knoll on the northern end of the heights, named Kettle Hill, was the focus of the army’s next attack.

  On July 1, Theodore was to take his command up the small ford that looked up at the Heights and Kettle Hill, and wait there for further orders. The Rough Riders, along with the Tenth USCT and the First US Cavalry, were assigned to attack Kettle Hill while the regular army units would strike the fortification on San Juan Hill.22 As they moved up the ford, the Rough Riders encountered heavy gunfire from the Spanish, who held the high ground on both San Juan and Kettle Hills. Bodies quickly filled the passage, nicknamed “Bloody Ford.” The lasting gunfire from Kettle Hill kept the Rough Riders pinned down on the left bank of the ford. Capt. Bucky O’Neill, walking up and down the line in front of his men, was warned by a sergeant that such action was dangerous. O’Neill stated that there wasn’t a Spanish bullet made that could kill him. Within seconds, he was shot in the mouth. “Even before he fell his wild and gallant soul had gone out into darkness,” Theodore later commented.23

  At 1:05 p.m., Theodore and his Rough Riders were given the orders to assault Kettle Hill. Theodore called it “his crowded hour.”

  Riding his mount, Little Texas, out into the open field, Spanish bullets whizzing around him, Theodore yelled to his men, “Follow me!”

  The Rough Riders, with a chorus of yells and whoops, advanced up the hill, returning fire at the Spanish. They were quickly joined by members of the Tenth USCT and the First Cavalry. Making their way up the hill, the guidon bearer for the First Cavalry was fatally shot and went down. A Buffalo Soldier quickly grabbed the staff and continued advancing up the hill. Forty yards from the crest of the hill, a barbed-wire fence forced Theodore to dismount Little Texas. With the Americans less than ten yards from their front line, the Spanish fighters broke ranks and fled down the backward slope. As the Rough Riders, the Tenth USCT, and the First Cavalry swept onto the top of the hill, the Buffalo Soldier carrying the guidon firmly planted it in the ground, next to the one from the Rough Riders.24

  Securing Kettle Hill, Theodore saw the northern point of the Spanish defenses on San Juan Hill was open to an attack. Theodore led his men down the side of Kettle Hill, over the trenches, and up the northern side of San Juan Hill. The majority of Spanish soldiers fled down the other side of the bluff toward Santiago, while the few that stayed to fight paid the ultimate price.

  The following day, July 2, Theodore and his Rough Riders stood on San Juan Hill with the American flag behind them, posing for photographer William Dinwiddie. That image—Theodore standing with his hands on his hips, his battered campaign hat slightly cocked on his head, and a resolute look on his face—became the iconic image of the battle—and of Theodore’s crowded hour.25

  Two weeks later, Spain surrendered.

  For the military, the next big problem was evacuating the troops, including the sick and wounded, off the island and stateside, where they could get proper medical treatment. Officials in Washington had no effective plan for properly withdrawing the men, nor did they truly understand how dire conditions were on the island. Washington insiders, fearful that many of the soldiers had contracted yellow fever, would return with the disease and lead to an epidemic within the United States. In reality, very few men suffered from the “yellow jack” disease. Most suffered from either battlefield wounds, malaria, or dysentery.26

  Theodore was in a fury at the lack of preparation to get his men, as well as the regular army soldiers, off the island quickly. He wasn’t afraid to express his feelings to reporters, who liberally quoted him in their articles. Newspaper stories of men dying due to the military failing to provide an organized withdrawal caused a furor in the States. The blame rightly fell on Secretary of War Russell Alger, who had no solution; his incompetence led to his forced resignation a year later. Although Theodore’s public shaming of Alger brought attention to the plight of the suffering soldiers, it likely cost him his chance at being awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Many felt that Theodore should have been given the distinguished medal for his action in the field, and several officers and soldiers signed documents in support. However, others, mainly in the War Department, held a different opinion of Roosevelt. It began with the uninterrupted newspaper coverage of Theodore and his Rough Riders, from their training in San Antonio to San Juan Hill. Army officers and enlisted men equally grumbled that they were all but ignored by the press in favor of his volunteers. Combined with Theodore’s public attack over Alger’s actions, or lack of them, it all but assured Theodore would not get the Medal of Honor. (The medal was awarded posthumously in 2000.)

  Boarding the steamer Miami on August 8, the Rough Riders were bound for Montauk, Long Island. Unfortunately, the return trip wasn’t an improvement over the first one. The food was barely edible, and the water, again, was virtually undrinkable. Seven days later, the steamer arrived at Montauk, and once again the troopers were greeted by mass confusion. The camp lacked food, medicine—even cots. By the time the Rough Riders marched ashore, those without battle wounds were suffering from malaria, dysentery, or both. Some were too weak to walk and had to be carried off the ship. Theodore, with his newfound popularity in the press, quickly took control, and by week’s end, medicine, food, and sleeping arrangements were secured for all.

  From that point on, life for the Rough Riders at Montauk became a paradise. Food was ample and rich, with no further concern over having enough good water or ice. Those who were physically able to do so spent their days swimming in the surf or riding horses along the beach. The Rough Rider units that were left behind in Tampa, as well as the regiment’s three adopted mascots, joined the men on Long Island. One night, Josephine, the mountain lion, managed to get loose from her chain and prowl around the camp before entering the tent of a trooper from the First Cavalry. Finding a comfortable spot, she settled down next to him, much to his horror.27

  During his stay at Montauk, Theodore signed a contract with Charles Scribner’s Sons to write a book about the Rough Riders’ exploits. His work would first appear as six serialized installments in Scribner’s Magazin
e before being released as a book in May of 1899.28 After a month, the men were declared sufficiently physically fit to disband the unit. The last Sunday service before they were mustered out, Theodore addressed his men.

  I told them how proud I was of them, but warned them not to think that they could now go back and rest on their laurels, bidding them to remember that though for ten days or so the world would be willing to treat them as heroes, yet after that time they would find they had to get down to hard work just like everyone else, unless they were willing to be regarded as worthless do-nothings.29

  As a gesture of their respect for their leader, the regiment presented Theodore with a bronze of Remington’s The Bronc Buster. “There could have been no more appropriate gift from such a regiment, and I was not only pleased with it, but very deeply touched with the feeling which made them join in giving it. Afterward they all filed past and I shook the hands of each to say good-by[e],” Theodore later wrote.30

  On September 15, 1898, the colors and standards were taken down for the last time. The Rough Riders were now a part of history.

  The newspaper coverage of the Rough Riders turned Theodore Roosevelt into a bona fide hero. His image in his khaki dress uniform was everywhere, from the cover of sheet music and on cigar boxes, to highly inaccurate, yet heroic, paintings of his leading a mounted group in a charge, with sabers drawn. Theodore Roosevelt, the hero of San Juan Hill, was the man of the hour. Boys looked up to him, men and women admired him. His magnetic charm was irresistible to the American public.

  Theodore’s ascension to a heroic designation couldn’t have come at a better time for US Senator Thomas Platt of New York. Known as the “easy boss” because of his smooth manner, Platt was the power behind the Republican Party. He had the ability to make or break a political career. The current Republican governor of New York, Frank S. Black, was nominally linked to “improper expenditures” charges on a stalled Erie Canal improvement project. Platt realized that supporting Governor Black’s reelection could damage his reputation and that of the Republican Party. He began to look for another person to back for governor, and many were pushing Theodore Roosevelt as a promising alternative. Platt had serious doubts due to the young man’s reputation for independence. The last thing Platt wanted was a loose cannon in the halls of Albany’s state capitol. When the two men finally met, Theodore assured Platt he would consult the senator on various bills and consider his choices for certain positions. However, what Theodore did not promise Platt was that he would always follow the old man’s demands. He would act on matters based on his own conscience, nothing more. Platt, given the choice between Black or Theodore, went with the latter, feeling he could handle the young upstart.

  Theodore campaigned throughout the state, often accompanied by some of his fellow Rough Riders in uniform. His arrival at train stops and halls was heralded by bugler Emil Cassi blowing “Charge.” Remarks about his service with the Rough Riders brought hearty rounds of applause from young and old alike who gathered in the audiences.31 What looked to have been a certain Democratic win was now turning into a neck and neck race. On Election Day, November 7, 1898, Theodore Roosevelt won the governor’s seat by 17,794 votes.

  “I have played it in bull luck this summer,” Theodore wrote to Cecil Spring Rice. “First, to get into the war; then to get out of it; then to get elected. I have worked hard all my life, and have never been particularly lucky, but this summer I was lucky, and I am enjoying it to the full. I know perfectly well that luck will not continue, and it is not necessary that it should. I am more than contented to be Governor of New York, and shall not care if I ever hold another office; and I am very proud of my regiment, which was really a noteworthy volunteer organization.”32

  Right from the start of his governorship, Theodore and Thomas Platt butted heads. Platt had chosen Francis Hendricks of Syracuse as superintendent of public works. Theodore knew the man and liked him, but felt that his coming from a city along the Erie Canal improvement project was not a proper or ethical choice. When Theodore notified Platt that he had declined to appoint Hendricks, it “produced an explosion, but I declined to lose my temper.” Theodore repeated that he himself must choose the man for the position. Although Platt relented, the “easy boss” began to wonder if he would be able to control the new governor.

  As his term progressed, Theodore managed to push through several reforms, including strengthening the state’s forest department, enlarging the Adirondack state park, strengthening state factory inspections, improving working conditions in tenement sweatshops, limiting the work hours for women and children, and imposing a maximum eight-hour workday for state employees. He hoped the latter would be adopted by various industries, but it was ignored.

  Theodore’s support for one bill forced a showdown with Platt. Called the Ford Bill (written by Senator John Ford), it proposed to force corporations to pay a tax on the public franchises they owned and operated, such as elevated railways and gas companies. Theodore believed it was only fair for these companies to pay a reasonable tax that would then be used for community services. Howls of protest erupted. Senator Platt got an earful of complaints from assorted corporations—the very same corporations that had amply paid Platt (in the form of campaign contributions) to halt such legislation. Platt was none too happy over the firestorm, which he expressed in a letter to the governor:

  I had heard from a good many sources that you were a little loose on the relations of capital and labor, on trusts and combinations, and, indeed, on those numerous questions which have recently arisen in politics affecting security of earnings and the right of a man to run his own business his own way . . . I understood from a number of business men, and among them many of your own personal friends, that you entertained many altruistic ideas, all very well in their way, but which before they could safely be put into law needed very profound consideration.33

  Two days later, Theodore sent a calm and reasoned reply, stating his position on why the tax law was just and necessary. Platt warned him that if he pushed his support of the bill, his political career would be destroyed. Theodore ignored the threat. The tax proposal passed the Senate but was held up in the House, where Speaker S. Fred Nixon had direct orders from Platt not to pass the bill.

  During his time as governor, Theodore once said, “Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.” The “big stick” term became as synonymous with him as his glasses, mustache, and wide grin. He had spoken softly to Platt about his reasons for seeing the tax bill become law. Now he would wield the big stick. A law, called the Special Emergency Message, allowed the governor to take a bill out of turn and force it to the floor for a vote. Theodore sent such a message to Speaker Nixon, who tore it up before having a “nervous collapse.” The following morning, Theodore sent another message, demanding it be read, or he would come over and read it himself. The bill was read and passed.

  Not only had Theodore gotten the law enacted, but he had also thoroughly embarrassed his own party and its boss. Republicans winced, Democrats gloated, and Platt seethed with anger. Theodore knew it was only a matter of time before Platt and his followers would take their revenge. It didn’t matter. He had stood up and done what was right. He had faced down the opposition, as he had done with the drunken cowboy in Mingusville, and confronting the man who had threatened to shoot him on sight.

  “I want to bury him,” Platt said.34

  The political gods answered Platt’s wishes. US vice president Garrett Hobart died of a heart attack on November 21, 1899. With a new presidential campaign about to begin, Platt had the perfect running mate for McKinley. During this period in American politics, the office of vice president was considered a dead end for a political career. Largely a ceremonial position, it offered nothing else. By 1900, only three previous vice presidents had been elected to the presidency on their own.35 For Platt, the vice presidency was the perfect place to bury the pugnacious governor.

  Theodore was not in favor of taking the job, mai
nly because it offered few challenges. In a letter to Lodge, Theodore noted, “It seems to me that the chance of my being a presidential candidate is too small to warrant very serious consideration at present. To have been a good Colonel, a good Governor, and a good Assistant Secretary of the Navy is not enough to last four years. If McKinley were to die tomorrow I would be one of the men seriously considered as his successor—I mean that and just no more. But four years hence the Spanish War will be in the very remote past and what I have done as Governor will not be very recent . . . I would still like to be in the running, but I do not regard it as sufficiently probable to be worth receiving very much weight.”36

  Despite any doubts McKinley may have harbored about Theodore Roosevelt, he was keen enough to realize the young man had a name value (“the hero of San Juan Hill”) which would be beneficial to the upcoming campaign. Theodore won the nomination and, setting aside any private concerns, was quickly out campaigning.

  In September 1900, Theodore’s travels took him to the state of North Dakota. Joe Ferris was the first of many to greet him. E. G. Paddock, the man who had once threatened to shoot Theodore on sight, greeted him warmly in Dickinson. Theodore recalled how Paddock had lent him his buffalo rifle on his first visit, ignoring Paddock’s past threat. In Medora, several people came to the train station to greet the vice presidential candidate, including George Myers. Theodore kidded his old friend about his cooking, adding, “The best proof in the world, George, that I have a good constitution is that I ate your cooking and survived!”37 Theodore was given a horse, which he quickly mounted, going for a ride up to a bluff overlooking the area.