The .38 caliber bullet had gone through Theodore’s heavy overcoat, into his suit-jacket pocket, through the folded fifty-page speech, into the vest pocket that held his steel eyeglass case, through suspenders, shirt, and undershirt, before piercing the skin. The bullet was embedded adjacent to his fourth right rib, pointing straight to the heart. Doctors decided not to operate, and the bullet was never removed.
Luck was with him that night.
What Henry Cabot Lodge predicted became a reality on November 5. Woodrow Wilson received 6.3 million popular votes. Theodore earned 4.1 million, and Taft, a distant third, had 3.5 million. Not since 1897, when Grover Cleveland left office, had a Democrat sat in the White House. Republicans were furious, blaming Theodore for their defeat. Within weeks, visits and phone calls from politicians and loyal party members dwindled, then eventually stopped at Sagamore Hill.
Theodore Roosevelt had become a pariah to the Republican Party.
When asked why he undertook the arduous South American river trip in late 1913, Theodore replied that it was “his last chance to be a boy.”
Once again, Theodore sought an escape after a loss. This time he went to South America to navigate a waterway in Brazil known as the River of Doubt. Unlike his African safari, this trip was not well planned or provisioned. The river itself was problematic from the beginning. Merciless rapids forced the canoes to be hauled over land, requiring those on the expedition to hack through thick, dense jungles. The river also hid rocks and palms that could easily overturn a canoe. Piranha fish, known for their vicious attacks on man and beast, called the river home, as did mosquitoes, flies, and other bugs. Rain and humidity were unrelenting, and the density and deafening silence of the jungle were equally fascinating and intimidating. Before the canoes were launched, Theodore, who was again accompanied by Kermit, updated his last will and testament—a harbinger of things to come.
As the expedition moved on, one canoe sank, while another split open, but was repaired. The expedition began confronting several sets of rapids on a daily basis, forcing the canoes to be hauled through a quickly hacked-out path in the jungle. One set of rapids took the group three days to bypass.15 Provisions began to run low, a few more canoes were lost to the river, and Kermit nearly drowned going over a fast-moving falls, which killed another man. One member of the group went mad, killing another man before fleeing into the dense jungle. He was never found.
On March 27, 1914, one of the canoes overturned and jammed against some boulders. Jumping into the river with other men to save the canoe, Theodore cut his right leg on a rock. By evening, he was limping and the leg had turned red. Hiking over rough terrain the following day wore Theodore out, leading Kermit to privately worry about his father’s heart. Two days later, malaria fever, which Theodore had caught in Cuba in 1898, returned. His fever soared to 104 degrees, and he grew delirious. The doctor in the group gave him quinine, and by the following morning Theodore’s fever had dropped, but he was still weak. Not only did fever wrack his body, but he also now suffered from dysentery. If that weren’t enough, the gash on his right leg showed signs of infection. Theodore made the decision the group should leave him behind, but none of the men, especially Kermit, was about to let that happen.16
The bedraggled group pushed on, and by April 14, it was apparent the rapids were behind them. Twelve days later, they reached the confluence of the River of Doubt and the Aripuana, as well as their relief party.
The River of Doubt was renamed Rio Roosevelt in Theodore’s honor.
When he returned home, it was obvious that Theodore was not the same man he had been eight months previously. He had lost a considerable amount of weight, which he eventually gained back, but the robust, energetic man of action was now slower and looking older. Many believe Theodore’s health was never the same after the South American river trip. During the trip, not only had he suffered from previous maladies, but he had developed a serious abscess that had to be operated on in the jungle. For the rest of his life, Theodore would suffer recurring abscesses that quelled his strength, often incapacitating him for days or months at a time.
In the summer of 1914, the world went mad. Archduke Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated in Sarajevo, Bosnia, by a nineteen-year-old student. Within weeks of the archduke’s murder, Austria and Germany went to war against Serbia. By August, Europe was involved in what would be called the Great War. Carnage that had been unseen since America’s Civil War would now be played out in the ruined fields of France, Germany, and elsewhere. Tens of thousands upon thousands of men would be killed or wounded.
As President Woodrow Wilson preached neutrality, Theodore was beside himself with rage that Wilson would simply sit on the sidelines as the country’s allies died in battle. Some historians, playing the “what-if ” game of speculation, wonder whether the war would have started at all had Theodore been president, since he had a strong relationship with Kaiser Wilhelm II. During his visit to Germany in 1910, Theodore privately expressed concerns that a conflict with Germany in Europe would sooner or later arise. (He also believed that the United States could someday be involved in an armed conflict with Japan.) Rumors in 1915 began to circulate that Theodore might lead an American peace commission to reach a diplomatic end to the conflict, but Wilson rebuffed any overtures, especially those involving Theodore.17
The conflict and body count continued to rise as 1915 gave way to 1916, yet the United States remained on the sidelines. Theodore, fed up with Wilson’s lack of action, began to publicly criticize the president, calling him a “coward” and “yellow.” Theodore’s rhetoric, in his public speeches, and in his monthly column for Outlook Magazine, was heartily endorsed by the public, but the Republican Party ignored him when it came to the 1916 presidential campaign. The wounds from 1912 were too fresh to warrant a truce. Progressives tried to lure Theodore back into the race, but he declined. The Republican nominee, the moderate Charles Evan Hughes, could not dislodge Wilson from office, who campaigned on the slogan, “He Kept Us Out of War.”
That soon changed. As 1917 dawned, German submarines commenced attacks on US merchant ships, carrying supplies for England and France, as they crossed the Atlantic Ocean. President Wilson was forced to take action, and on April 2, 1917, asked Congress to declare war on Germany.
Theodore was quick to join the mobilization, already drafting plans to assemble another volunteer army.18 His four sons joined the army, taking front-line duty. Ted Jr. and Archie went into the infantry. Kermit served with the British Army in Iraq, while Quentin, who loved anything mechanical, became a pilot. Theodore went to Washington on April 9 to speak to President Wilson. Regarding his criticism over the past few years, Theodore called them “dust in a windy street,” then requested to form another volunteer unit. Wilson listened patiently, saying that he would consider his proposal. Wilson later told associates, “I think the best way to treat Mr. Roosevelt is to take no notice of him. That breaks his heart, and is the best punishment that can be administered.”19
Theodore realized Wilson had no intention of giving him what he so desperately wanted. He was a warrior without a fight. His sons would have to carry the Roosevelt name into battle. Theodore, forced to remain stateside, helped raise war bonds, supported the Red Cross, and preached preparedness. On July 17, 1918, a reporter showed up at Sagamore Hill with a telegram no parent wants to receive. Quentin, Theodore’s youngest and favorite child, had been killed when his plane was shot down by a German pilot. Looking at the telegram, he was lost in thought. “Mrs. Roosevelt. How am I going to break it to her?” he quietly asked, before walking into the house.20 Quentin’s death left a great emotional hole in his heart. The nobility of war, dying for the grand cause, was to have been his final stand. He did not expect it from one of his children.
Ironically, on November 11, 1918, as peace was declared, Theodore entered a New York hospital, suffering from severe rheumatism. As the weeks wore on, signs of a pulmonary embolism required round-the-clock care. Edith, wh
o had taken a room next to his, would sit next to his bed and read to him. By Christmas morning, he was deemed healthy enough to return home to Sagamore Hill.
On New Year’s Day, 1919, Theodore was ailing again, but a few days later showed signs of improvement. On Sunday, January 6, he and Edith spent time sitting next to each other, watching the sun settle. Later in the evening, Theodore complained to his nurse that he felt his heart and lungs were about to give in. His physician, Dr. George Faller, came at once. After examining him, the doctor told Theodore that his lungs were clear and his pulse was normal.
In the early hours of January 6, 1919, Theodore Roosevelt, at the age of sixty, quietly gave up the strenuous life.
Archie telegraphed his brothers in Europe: “The Old Lion is dead.”
Two days later, Theodore was buried in Young’s Cemetery in Oyster Bay. According to the tradition of the time, Edith did not attend the funeral. After the graveside services ended, the crowd slowly dispersed. One of the last mourners to leave was William Howard Taft. He stood at Theodore’s grave, crying.
Tributes flowed in. People cried. The man who had been viewed as a pariah by his party seven years earlier was, at the time of his death, being talked up as the leading candidate for the 1920 election. Books were written by friends, and even his enemies paid tribute to his memory. His deeds as president were honored: the building of the Panama Canal, securing a peace treaty between Russia and Japan, conserving the land and the wildlife for future generations.
At the time of his passing, cartoon editorialists expressed their remembrances of Theodore. Clifford Berryman, whose drawing of Theodore’s bear hunt in Mississippi launched a stuffed doll, drew the bear cub, who always accompanied Theodore in his cartoons, in pajamas, standing on a chair and turning off a gas lamp. Billy Ireland, of the Columbus Dispatch, showed Theodore riding in a buckboard, pulled by two horses and driven by a cowboy. Theodore sits in the back, with his ever-present rifle and other Western gear, as the wagon makes its way toward the mountains. He looks back on the trail, smiling, and doffing his cowboy hat. The cartoon simply says, “Good-bye!”
J. N. “Ding” Darling hastily sketched out an image of Theodore on his horse, his hat raised above his head, smiling. Ahead of him is a winding path of wagons making their way through the mountains. Titled “The Long, Long Trail,” it became one of the most famous editorial cartoons in America. Most editorial cartoonists found the best way to depict Theodore’s passing was in true Western fashion—riding into the sunset.
Edith remained at Sagamore Hill until her death in 1948, at the age of eighty-seven. She is buried next to Theodore at Young’s Cemetery.
Ted Jr., who was honorably decorated for his service in World War I, went on to serve as a New York assemblyman and assistant secretary of the navy before losing a bid for New York governor. He was appointed governor of Puerto Rico, and then of the Philippines. With the outbreak of World War II, he was given a brigadier general’s commission and ably served in Europe. Despite his suffering from arthritis, he landed with his men on Utah Beach in Normandy on D-Day (the only general to do so), and his heroism on the beach earned him the Medal of Honor. He died of a heart attack on July 12, 1944.21 Kermit enlisted in the British Army in 1917, serving as an Arabic translator. Resigning from the British forces in April of 1918, he joined the US Army as a captain of an artillery unit, fighting in the Battle of the Argonne Forest. After the war, Kermit founded the Roosevelt Steamship Line, working for the company until 1939, when he enlisted in the British Army. Medically discharged in 1941, mainly due to heart problems, he was overwhelmed with depression. Kermit sought relief from his emotional issues with alcohol, and was ultimately institutionalized. Franklin, his cousin, liked him greatly and used his presidential powers to appoint Kermit as a major in the US Army. Stationed in Alaska, he committed suicide on June 4, 1943.
Ethel married Dr. Richard Derby in 1913, and worked alongside him as a nurse in a French hospital during World War I. She continued her efforts with the Red Cross for many years, eventually earning the association’s sixty-year service pin. An ardent supporter of civil rights, she helped build the first low-income housing for blacks in Oyster Bay. She passed away in 1977. Discharged from the army after being wounded during World War I, Archie became an executive for Sinclair Oil Company for several years. He resigned from the company when the Teapot Dome scandal broke, eventually testifying before a Senate committee. (Archie was never implicated in the scandal.) He then worked at Roosevelt and Son until the outbreak of World War II. In New Guinea, commissioned as a lieutenant colonel, Archie was wounded in the same leg that had been badly injured in World War I. After the war, he formed an investment firm and was very active in many right-wing causes, and was a fervent anti-Communist. He died from complications of a stroke in 1979.
Alice, Theodore’s first child, was the most impulsive. During her White House years, she wore a small green snake around her neck (called Emily Spinach), and smoked in public, a major social taboo for a woman in the early 1900s. Theodore once told his friend Owen Wister, “I can either run the country or attend to Alice, but I cannot do both.” In 1905, she married Senator Nicholas Longworth III, but the marriage was shaky from the start. Alice’s only child, Paula, was fathered by Senator William Borah, with whom she had a long-term affair. In later years, she was a well-known Washington socialite, acknowledged for her stinging wit. Alice died in 1980.
In 1949, Sagamore Hill was purchased by the Roosevelt Memorial Association (later renamed the Theodore Roosevelt Association), with plans to turn the home and land into a museum. In 1962, Congress established the home as a National Historic Site, and the following year, the property became part of the National Park Service.
Bamie, Theodore’s oldest sister, married naval lieutenant commander William Cowles in 1895, and they had one son, William Jr. She was plagued in later years by deafness and crippling arthritis before her death in 1931. Elliott married Anna Hall in 1883 and had three children, including his eldest daughter, Eleanor. His engaging personality helped to mask his growing attachment to alcohol. A horseback-riding accident left him addicted to opiates, and his life began to spiral downward. He would disappear for weeks at a time, leaving no idea of his whereabouts. A family trip to Europe proved to be a disaster, as Elliott drank profusely and, at times, was violent toward his now-pregnant wife. Bamie traveled to Austria, where she got Elliott admitted into a sanatorium; shortly after that, his affair with a household servant, which had left her pregnant, surfaced. (The woman was paid an undisclosed sum to remain silent.) Elliott agreed to seek further treatment in the United States, and for a while seemed to be conquering his demons. Things deteriorated when his wife, Anna, died in December 1892 of diphtheria, and his second child, Elliott Jr., died the following May from scarlet fever. Elliott returned to his old habits, and his tragic end came on August 14, 1894, at age thirty-four, when he suffered a seizure and collapsed. Corrine, Theodore’s youngest sibling, was a writer of poetry, her first book being published in 1911. She eventually published five books of poetry, as well as a book about her famous brother. Corrine married Douglas Robinson in 1882, and they had four children. She died in 1933.
Joe Ferris, who guided Theodore on his first buffalo hunt, remained in Medora with his wife, running his general store even when almost everything else in the town had disappeared. He was elected postmaster in 1887. When Theodore became president, he reappointed him to the position, and he served until 1908. In 1909, Joe moved to Sidney, Montana, where he ran another general store. In 1922, Ferris and his wife moved to Santa Paula, California, where he died in 1937. Sylvane Ferris became the auditor of Billings County, and later, a bank president in Dickinson. Like his brother, Sylvane moved to California, passing away in 1933. Bill Merrifield eventually moved to the Flat Head Lake area in Montana where, in 1907, Theodore appointed him US marshal. Merrifield died in Kalispell, Montana, in 1929.22
Bill Sewall and Theodore maintained their close friendship until Th
eodore’s death. Theodore invited the Sewalls to visit him at the White House in 1903, where he showed him the presidential house. Afterwards, he asked his old friend what he thought of the White House. “Why, it looks to me as how you’ve got a pretty good camp,” Sewall stated. “It’s always a good thing to have a good camp,” Theodore replied. When reporters asked Sewall what he thought of his visit, he said he liked it, but would rather go fishing.23 In 1905, Theodore appointed Sewall collector of customs for Aroostook County in Maine. They saw each other one last time in 1918, when Theodore came to Portland, Maine, to give a speech. After Theodore’s death, Sewall wrote a small book about his memories and friendship with Roosevelt. Sewall passed away in 1930 at the age of eighty-five. Wilmot Dow, Sewall’s nephew, died in 1891 at the age of thirty-six, possibly of Bright’s disease. His passing was quick and a shock to everyone, including Theodore. Months later, Theodore recalled Wilmot in a letter to Sewall:
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