Political Items – The Intelligent Collector Magazine

Harry Truman’s Big Challenge

This rare Truman campaign button sold for $13,750 in a February 2020 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

Harry Truman was born on May 8, 1884, in Lamar, Missouri. This was during the White House years of Chester Arthur, who had succeeded to the presidency after the assassination of James Garfield. Garfield had been shot on July 2, 1881, in a Washington train station. The doctors were unable to locate and remove the bullet and, in the process, exposed Garfield to unsterile instruments that caused a fatal infection.

Alexander Graham Bell made two attempts to locate the bullet with a homemade metal detector, but Garfield was on a mattress composed of steel wires that distorted the sound. President Garfield lasted until September 19, but Dr. Doctor Bliss (yes, that’s his real name) had ignored the new medical research of Joseph Lister linking germs to infections and the critical need for clean hands and instruments. Garfield’s death could have been ruled medical malpractice even in those early days.

In Truman’s lifetime, two more vice presidents — Theodore Roosevelt and Calvin Coolidge — would become president following the deaths of William McKinley (1901) and Warren Harding (1923). John Tyler had become the 10th president in 1841 by establishing this important precedent for vice presidents — since there were others who favored vice president “acting as president” and the Constitution had been ambiguous on the question of presidential succession.

Now it was 104 years later and the United States was heavily involved in World War II. Truman had only been vice president for 82 days when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945. Chief Justice Harlan Stone administered the oath of office to President Truman at 7:09 p.m. Earlier that day he had been hurriedly told of a new, highly destructive weapon; however, there had not been time to brief him on the details. He was the seventh vice president to follow the death of a president.

Most historians agree that the new president was faced with an unprecedented surge of history, with larger, more difficult global decisions than any president before him. Neither Abraham Lincoln, with a pending civil war, nor FDR, in his tumultuous first 100 days, had to contend with issues of this magnitude. His big advantage was that he was savvy enough to recognize it. On his first full day, he famously told a group of reporters: “Boys, if you ever pray, pray for me now…when they told me…I felt like the moon, the stars and all the planets had fallen on me!”

To magnify the complexity of the challenge, Truman had no relations with our main allies British or Russian. No firsthand knowledge of Stalin or Churchill. He had no background in foreign policy, and Roosevelt had not included him in high-level decisions or plans. He didn’t even know his secretary of state, except to say hello. He was unprepared, confused and even frightened to some degree. The Washington Post summed it up as gently as possible: “It is needless to say that President Truman comes into this gigantic assignment under a handicap.” The paper then went on to write a candid editorial that left nothing to interpretation.

One thing he did have, although he wouldn’t find out until April 25, was an atomic bomb. This would prove to be one of the most astonishing game changers in recorded history. Then two weeks later, Germany surrendered and the nation celebrated victory in Europe (V-E Day). The date was May 8, Truman’s birthday. He was now 61 years old. The problem had been simplified. Defeat Japan.

We know now how the war ended; however, at the time, there were options. By the summer of 1945, the defeat of Japan was a foregone conclusion. The Japanese navy and air force were destroyed. The naval blockade of Japan and intensive bombing of the cities had devastated the country and the economy. Okinawa had been captured, and the Allies could easily launch an invasion of the main home islands. An invasion would be 10 times worse than Normandy, and the Japanese would fight to the last death.

The issue remained: how to get a full Japanese surrender.

In the end it would take two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to obtain a full surrender.

The man from Missouri continues to rise in the ranks of American presidents.

He was one tough dude.

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is president and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as chair and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].

Memo to Elizabeth and Bernie: You’ve been scooped by roughly 130 years

A collection of First Lady Frances Folsom Cleveland’s family and personally owned artifacts went to auction in September 2020.

By Jim O’Neal

March 4, 1893, marked the second time Stephen Grover Cleveland was inaugurated as president of the United States. He was greeted at the Executive Mansion by President Benjamin Harrison, the Republican he had defeated three months earlier. It was a mildly awkward meeting, the only time in history the transfer of presidential power involved outgoing and incoming presidents who had run against each other twice (each one winning once and losing once).

Benjamin “Little Ben” Harrison (he was 5-feet-6) was notoriously cold and aloof and President-elect Cleveland was stubbornly independent, with an aura of self-righteousness. Historian Henry Adams observed that “one of them had no friends and the other only enemies.” Robert G. Ingersoll, nicknamed “The Great Agnostic,” went a step further: “Each side would have been glad to defeat the other, if it could do so without electing its own candidate.” Strangely, I felt the same way in both 2016 and 2020.

Inauguration Day was bitterly cold and many recalled that Harrison’s grandfather, William Henry Harrison (the ninth president) had died 31 days after his inauguration. Following a very long acceptance speech, he caught pneumonia and it was fatal. He was 68 and at the time the oldest person to assume the presidency, a distinction he held until 1981 when Ronald Reagan was sworn in at age 69.

In 1893, President-elect Cleveland’s vice president, Adlai E. Stevenson, took the oath of office first. Sixty years later, his grandson (and namesake) would make two futile runs for the presidency (1952 and 1956). He had the bad luck of having one of America’s greatest heroes, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, as an opponent. War heroes are difficult to defeat and, in this case, it’s generally acknowledged that Ike could have beaten anyone and run on either party’s ticket. Outgoing President Harry Truman had even tried to broker such a deal in 1948 when he offered to step down to vice president.

Sadly, the 1892 election was vexed by Harrison’s wife contracting tuberculosis and dying two weeks before the election of Cleveland. But, after the inauguration and traditional transition, the ex-president seemed more than ready to return to his home in Indianapolis. Surprisingly, four years later, some of Harrison’s friends tried to convince him to seek the presidency again. He declined, but did agree to travel extensively making speeches in support of William McKinley’s successful candidacy. Little Ben died in February 1901 from pneumonia and a short six months later, President McKinley would become the third president to be assassinated.

But today belonged to President Cleveland and his wife Frances. They had been married during the first term in office on June 2, 1886, in the Blue Room at the White House. Cleveland was 49 years old at the time, Frances a mere 21. Frances Folsom Cleveland was the youngest First Lady in history and became very popular, primarily due to her youthful personality. They would have five children with the first one named Ruth. No, she was definitely not associated with Baby Ruth. That candy bar was renamed 30 years after her birth and 17 years after her death. After a warm welcome at the White House, President Cleveland’s troubles started almost right away.

In May, barely two months back in the White House, Cleveland discovered a growth on his palate, the soft tissue in the roof of the mouth that separates the oral and nasal cavities. It turned out to be a malignant tumor that required surgical removal. Fearful of panic in the already shaky financial markets, a clever plan was devised to perform a secret operation on a yacht in the East River. The surgery was successful and the president recuperated while sailing innocently on Long Island. The press was surprisingly gullible and accepted a story about two teeth that needed removal.

However, on dry land, economic forces were forming a dark storm that would usher in the worst financial crisis in the nation’s history. The pending depression would become known as the Panic of ’93. The 19th century had weathered many boom-bust economic cycles, but this powerful downturn would persist until the 20th century. Even as the president was organizing his cabinet, banks, factories and farms were tumbling into bankruptcy. Virtually everywhere, workers were struggling with layoffs and payouts as companies were swept away.

In his inaugural speech, Cleveland had warned about the dangers of business monopolies and inflation, however, his response to the economic chaos was austere in the extreme. He did not believe government should intervene for fear of eroding self-reliance and over-reliance on government. This was a common belief and it would take another generation for a new consensus to shape American politics. To fully grasp the significant schism that was silently evolving, one only has to read Thomas Sherman’s 1889 essay titled “The Owners of the United States.”

Using census data and promises of anonymity, he developed the thesis that 1/30th of the people in England owned 2/3 of the wealth. In America, he listed 70 individuals worth $2.7 billion and asserted no other country had such a concentration of millionaires. By contrast, 80% of Americans earned less than $500 annually, and 50,000 families owned half of the nation’s wealth. Further, wealthy men and corporations escaped taxation, with the burden falling “exclusively upon the working class.”

Memo to Elizabeth and Bernie: You’ve been scooped by roughly 130 years. Somehow, we managed to have a decent 20th century, save the world several times and develop a technological cornucopia for 330 million people vs. any other time in the history of the world. Go Bezos, Jobs/Allen, the Google guys, Walmart, Henry Ford, FDR and my man T.R.!

A little history helps put the 2020 election in perspective

This $1000 1882 Gold Certificate, Fr. 1218f (PCGS Very Fine 35) – with a vignette of Alexander Hamilton, the first Secretary of the Treasury – realized $293,750 at a January 2014 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

If our past is any guide to the future, I suspect that presidential politics will be a primary source of contention for several electoral cycles. The United States has produced some unusual presidential elections and the 2020 Biden vs. Trump race is not an isolated event that warrants exceptional anxiety.

A little history helps keep it in perspective.

During the 1787 Constitutional Convention, there was a long debate over the method for selecting a president. Among the proposals was whether the chief executive should be chosen by a direct popular election, by the Congress, by state legislators or intermediate electors. Direct election was rejected primarily because of a concern that common citizens would probably lack sufficient knowledge of the character or qualifications of candidates that would enable intelligent choices. Candidates would be spread throughout the 13 colonies and campaigning was not a viable option due to travel difficulties.

Letting Congress decide was quickly rejected since it would jeopardize the principle of executive independence. Similarly, allowing state legislatures to choose was turned down because the president might feel indebted to some states and allow them to encroach on federal authority.

Unable to agree, on Aug. 31, the Convention appointed a “Committee of Eleven” to resolve it. On Sept. 4, a compromise was agreed with each state appointing Presidential Electors, who would meet in their states and cast votes for two persons. The votes would be taken to Congress to be counted, with the candidate receiving a majority elected the presidential candidate and the second highest vice president. Since there was no distinction between which vote was specifically designed by position, the 12th Amendment was ratified 1804 to distinguish individual votes between the two offices.

Now the conventional election of president and vice president is an indirect election in which (only) citizens, who are registered to vote in Washington, D.C., or one of the 50 states, cast ballots for members of the Electoral College. Those electors cast the direct votes and it requires at least 270 electoral votes to win. In 1960, the 23rd Amendment granted D.C. citizens the same rights as the states to vote for electors, but they can NEVER have more votes than the least populous state. To date, they have never had more than three electors. Also, they do not have any rights to vote for senators or amendments to the Constitution.

For more than 200 years, Americans have been electing presidents using the Electoral College, but despite its durability, it is one of the least admired political institutions. Thomas Jefferson called it “the most dangerous blot on our Constitution.” It’s been an easy target for abolishment or modernization and polls consistently report citizens would much prefer a simpler direct election. However, amendments require a 2/3 majority in both the House and Senate or a complicated state ratification convention with 3/4 approval. This process has never been attempted.

This outdated system has led to a number of anomalies at times. In 1836, the Whigs tried a novel approach by running different candidates in different parts of the country. William Henry Harrison ran in New England, Daniel Webster in Massachusetts and Hugh White of Tennessee in the South. By running local favorites, they hoped to subsequently combine on one candidate or force the election into the House. The scheme failed when Democrat Martin Van Buren captured the majority.

Another quirk of fate occurred in 1872 when Democratic nominee Horace Greeley died between the popular vote and the meeting of the electors. The Democrats were left without an agreed candidate. Forty-two voted for Governor Tom Hicks … 18 for Gratz Brown … two for Charles Jenkins and three Georgia electors cast their votes for the dead Greeley (Congress refused to accept them).

In 1912, President William Howard Taft and ex-President Theodore Roosevelt caused a split in the Republican Party that allowed Democrat Woodrow Wilson to become president. On Oct. 14, just before a major speech, a fanatic named John Shrank stepped up, shouted something about a third term and shot T.R. in the chest. Roosevelt yelled at the crowd to stand back and declared “I will make this speech or die. It is one thing or the other!” He went on to make a 90-minute speech before heading for the hospital. The bullet had lodged in the massive chest muscles instead of penetrating the lungs! Wilson won but Taft finished a weak third place.

Lastly, compared to “the Revolution of 1800,” the 2020 election was mild and relatively free of widespread disorder. The 1800 campaign was so bitter that VP Aaron Burr ended up killing Alexander Hamilton in a duel and John Adams and Thomas Jefferson would not communicate with each other for 12 years.

Neither Abigail nor John Adams would attend the inauguration. Sound familiar?

John Wilkes Booth’s heinous act took away more than a beloved president

A wanted poster for co-conspirators John Wilkes Booth, Mary Surratt, David Herold sold for $47,800 at a May 2011 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

At some point when John Wilkes Booth was planning to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln, he must have decided that it would be more impactful to decapitate the primary leadership of the North and expand the hit list to include Vice President Andrew Johnson, Secretary of State William Seward and, perhaps, even General Ulysses S. Grant. After all, they were in Washington, D.C., and unprotected. It was a desperate move, but it might bolster the morale of the South. In the end, it failed because of a series of unrelated circumstances.

General Grant had declined the invitation of the president to attend a theater show because there was an eagerness to return home and resume normal life. However, that would still leave Secretary Seward, who was at home recuperating from a serious carriage accident that required medical attention. Vice President Johnson had already booked a room that night in the Kirkwood Hotel. Both men would be relatively easy targets for Booth’s co-conspirators.

Lewis Powell, the man assigned to kill Seward, had a clever plan to act like a delivery boy bringing medicine, enter the house and shoot the bedridden Seward. He did manage to stab Seward in the throat, but a metal splint on his jaw deflected most of the blows. Powell ran from the house, was easily captured and later hanged. The other conspirator, George Atzerodt, managed to book a room at the Kirkwood Hotel, but started drinking at the hotel bar, lost his nerve and fled. He was also captured and hanged. That only left Lincoln, and Booth shot him in the theater as he watched “Our American Cousin” with Mary by his side.

The date was April 14, 1865. The location was Ford’s Theatre.

Lincoln had won the 1860 presidential election by defeating three opponents. One was Senator Stephen A. Douglas, a Democrat from Kentucky who had helped Lincoln gain national prominence through a series of high-profile debates regarding slavery. (Douglas, coincidentally, died just two months after Lincoln was inaugurated). A second Democratic opponent was John C. Breckinridge – the incumbent vice president for James Buchanan. The third – John Bell – was the Tennessee Senator who ran as the candidate for the Constitutional Union Party, a group that was neutral on slavery but adamant that the Constitution be upheld. Lincoln’s 180 electoral votes were more than the other three combined.

Now it was four years later and President Lincoln was struggling to barely hang on. In June 1864, the prospects for the Union Army were equally dim. General Grant was bogged down in Virginia, General William Tecumseh Sherman was stalled before Atlanta and heavy casualties were shocking people back home. There was even talk about suspending or postponing the election due to the national crisis. But, as President Lincoln pointed out, “We cannot have free government without elections. If this rebellion forces us to forego a national election, it will appear we’re conquered and ruin us.”

We all now know that the 1864 election did go ahead as planned. It was the first time any nation held a general election during a major domestic war.

However, President Lincoln took a pounding in the press. Horace Greeley, founder-editor of the New-York Tribune, claimed “Mr. Lincoln is already beaten!” The influential James Gordon Bennett, founder-publisher of the New York Herald, was more direct: “Lincoln is a joke!” Some wanted to run Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase and some were clamoring for General Grant. Even Thurlow Weed, Lincoln’s advisor, told him his re-election was hopeless.

Just when it seemed that Lincoln had reconciled himself to defeat, military actions started to slowly improve. Admiral David Farragut (who was the first rear admiral, first vice admiral and first full admiral in the U.S. Navy) won a great victory at the Battle of Mobile Bay (admonishing his men to “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead”). General Sherman took Atlanta and began his famous “March to the Sea,” which culminated in the burning of Charleston, S.C., where the war had begun. Meanwhile, General Philip Sheridan was routing Southern troops in the valleys of Virginia and then devastating the surrounding areas.

Virtually all of Lincoln’s critics were muffled by these turns of events.

Abraham Lincoln and Andrew Johnson won the 1864 election and the Civil War in 1865. But, the country’s troubles were not over. After Lincoln was assassinated, Vice President Johnson became president and was unable to work with the Republican Congress, which had devised a trap to impeach him. He was acquitted, but lost any hope for governing. He went home a chastened man.

In 1875, he did manage to get re-elected to the U.S. Senate … the only man to do so (up to 2020).

John Wilkes Booth did much more damage than just assassinating a president. By killing Lincoln, he eliminated possibly the only man who could have restored harmony, implemented reconstruction and unified us as our founding documents intended.

Nearly 160 years later, we are still waiting for another messiah.

Presidential elections routinely deliver twists of fate

This Martin Van Buren rectangular sulfide sold for $11,250 at a February 2015 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

The Republic of Texas became an independent sovereign state on March 3, 1836. The United States recognized the legitimacy of the republic, but declined to annex the territory until Dec. 29, 1845, when it also became the 28th state. However, after the 1860 election of Republican Abraham Lincoln, the state of Texas, with a population that was about 30 percent Blacks (predominantly slaves), seceded from the Union. In 1861, Texas joined the Confederate States of America.

The well-known slogan “Six Flags over Texas” refers to the nations that governed Texas: Spain, France, Mexico, the Republic of Texas, the United States and the Southern Confederacy. Some historians claim that the last battle of the Civil War was fought in Texas at the Battle of Palmito Ranch on May 12-13, 1865. This may be technically correct, but it was after General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox (April 9) and President Jefferson Finis Davis dissolved the Confederacy (May 9). They also point out that the battle was a Confederate victory, which seems irrelevant.

Today, Texas is the second-largest state by area (Alaska is No. 1) and second largest in population (No. 1 is California).

The annexation of Texas occurred during the time the United States was rapidly expanding into the geographic area that would become the “Lower 48,” but deeply divided over the slavery issue that would plague national politics. The two-party system was still in an embryonic stage and hybrid political affiliations would result in unusual national elections.

A prime example is Martin Van Buren, vice president for Andrew Jackson from 1833-37 and the eighth man to serve in that position. In the election of 1836, he became the eighth president of the United States and the first to have been born (1782) after the American Revolution.

The election of 1836 was unusual since the recently formed Whig party was still sufficiently disorganized to the point they couldn’t agree on a single candidate to oppose Van Buren. In a highly questionable gamble, they decided to run four strong regional candidates with the hope they could deny Van Buren the opportunity to win a majority of the electoral votes and force the election into the House of Representatives. Despite having to run against four strong regional candidates, Van Buren won a majority of the electoral votes after winning a majority of the popular votes in both the North and South.

However, in a twist of fate, Van Buren’s vice president running mate, Richard M. Johnson, fell one electoral vote short when 23 Unfaithful Electors from Virginia refused to vote for Johnson due to their objections over his biracial marriage. So, for the first and only time (up till now), the United States Senate was required to hold a special election for the vice president. Johnson finally prevailed and served his four years as vice president for President Martin Van Buren. One could hope that this was an unfortunate anomaly, but they would be wrong.

When the Democrats met in Baltimore four years later in 1840 for their nominating convention, the incumbent president, Martin Van Buren, was renominated as expected. But VP Johnson ran into another political issue: the Democratic Party now considered him to be dead weight that would drag down the entire ticket. Even ex-President Andrew Jackson agreed and suggested they drop Johnson and replace him with a younger man … James K. Polk – the Speaker of the House. After the normal wrangling, they were still unable to agree and Martin Van Buren ran without a vice president!

This is only one of two elections (until 2020) where a major party did not have a vice presidential candidate on Election Day. The other was in 1912, when Vice President James S. Sherman (Republican) died six days before the election. You will not be surprised to learn that Martin Van Buren did not win the election and was replaced by William Henry Harrison as president and John Tyler, a Senator from Virginia, as vice president. Tyler took his oath of office on March 4, 1841. However, 30 days later, he was president of the United States when Harrison became the first president to die in office. Tyler was only 51 years old and the youngest president till that time.

Now skip forward 20 years to see how this sage evolved:

“At 4:30 a.m. April 12, 1861, a 10-inch mortar from Fort Johnson, on James Island, South Carolina, fired the first shot of the Civil War. Upon that signal, Confederate batteries from Sullivan’s Island, across Charleston Harbor, joined in. These were soon followed by a battery located at Cummings Point, which dominated Fort Sumpter from a distance of only a mile. The Civil War had begun.”

Epilogue: The hot heads in South Carolina were delirious with joy! They would chase these Yankees back North and whup their behinds in the process. President Jefferson Davis called up 100,000 troops to end this quickly. The old veterans yawned and predicted these cotton states would not last 30 days. Bull Run would demonstrate just how powerful the North was as they crushed these Southern rebels.

Welcome to your new job and shiny new home, Mr. Lincoln.

Descent into vitriol began long before our lifetimes

A quarter-plate daguerreotype of President John Quincy Adams, taken at the Washington, D.C., studio of John Plumbe in 1846, sold for $31,250 at a December 2017 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

“The whole country is in a state of agitation upon the approaching presidential election such as was never before witnessed. … Not a week has passed within the last few months without a convocation of thousands of people to hear inflammatory harangues. Here is a revolution in the habits and manners of the people. Where will it end? These are party movements, and must in the natural progress of things become antagonistic … their manifest tendency is to civil war.”

If you guess this was 1964 when LBJ was set to defeat Barry Goldwater, you would be wrong. Or perhaps 1992 when Bill Clinton and Ross Perot were trying to unseat President George H.W. Bush? Sorry. You’re not even in the right century! We’re in a much earlier time, a time without 24/7 cable news and its insatiable appetite for divisive issues coupled with scores of political partisans eager to share their opinions. A time when you could not discern political bias by simply knowing the TV channel.

The year was 1840 when the Whigs were trying to oust President Martin Van Buren from the White House. It was a boisterous time and the speaker was ex-President John Quincy Adams (1767-1848). These words come from a concerned man, but then again, political speeches were more impassioned than we’ve ever heard in our lifetimes.

Eight years later, Congressman JQA, representing Massachusetts, rose in the House of Representatives to speak, but suddenly collapsed on his desk. He died two days later from the effects of a cerebral hemorrhage in the Speaker’s chambers. The public mourning that followed exceeded, by far, anything previously seen in America. Forgotten was his failed one-term presidency, routinely cold demeanor, cantankerous personality, and even the full extent of his remarkable public life.

For two days, the remains of our sixth president (and son of the second president) reposed in-state while an unprecedented line of thousands filed through the Capitol to view the bier. On Saturday, Feb. 25, funeral services began in the House. After all the speeches, and after a choir had sung, the body was escorted by a parade of public officials, military units and private citizens to the Congressional Cemetery. After the coffin remained in a temporary vault for several days, 30 members of Congress, one from each state, were ready to accompany it on the 500-mile railway journey to Boston. The train, with a black-draped special car, traveled for five days through a cloud of universal grief. The caravan stopped often to permit local ceremonies and citizens to stand in silent tribute.

Boston greeted his remains by exhibiting the insignia of mourning virtually everywhere. On March 12, every prominent politician in Massachusetts vied to join in escorting the casket to Quincy’s First Parish Church, where Pastor William Lunt delivered a moving sermon that ended with “Be thou faithful until death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” Later, Harvard President Edward Everett (of Gettysburg fame) eulogized JQA for two hours in the presence of the Massachusetts legislature, which had gathered in Faneuil Hall.

Only Abraham Lincoln’s death evoked a greater outpouring of national sorrow in the entire 19th century in America.

Eventually, JQA’s coffin was installed in a monumental enclosure with his mother Abigail to his right and his wife Louisa to his left. With the inclusion of his father, John Adams, it has become a national shrine; unique in America’s history since it marks the graves of two presidents of the United States and two First Ladies.

And what of the man who had been secretary of state and vice president for Andrew Jackson and was now trying to win another term as president? Martin Van Buren (1782-1862), the “Wizard of Kinderhook,” was surprisingly short at 5-6, and had been elected in 1836 when Jackson decided against a third term and threw his support to Van Buren.

The opposing Whigs were too divided to hold a national convention in 1836 since they couldn’t agree on a single candidate. Instead, they adopted a clever plan to support regional favorite sons with the hope they could deny Van Buren an electoral victory, force the election into the House of Representatives (as in 1824) and then unite behind a single Whig candidate to secede Jackson. The anti-Van Buren press was vitriolic and the New York American called him “illiterate, sycophant and politically corrupt.”

Van Buren remained implacable and on election day racked up 764,195 votes (50.9 percent) and his three Whig opponents were left to carve up the remainder. New York power broker and publisher Thurlow Weed summed it up succinctly: “We are to be cursed with Van Buren for president.”

However, on May 10, 1837 – only two months after the new president took office – prominent banks in New York started refusing to convert paper money into gold or silver. Other financial institutions, also running low on hard currency, followed suit. The financial crisis became the Panic of 1837. This was followed by a five-year depression that forced bank closures, economic malaise and record unemployment. Now flash forward to 1840, when Van Buren easily won re-nomination at the Democratic National Convention despite the economic woes. But the government was also mired down with major divisive issues: slavery, westward expansion, tension with Great Britain. Van Buren had not recognized what James Carville would memorialize 150 years later: “It’s the economy stupid!”

Other financial panics would continue to plague the country periodically until 1913, when President Woodrow Wilson signed the Federal Reserve Act. These wizards can create money out of thin air by using an electronic switch that coverts ions into gizmos that people will buy with money that is guaranteed by the federal government.

What’s in your wallet?

LBJ exhibited ambition, decisiveness, a strong work ethic … and fear of failure

Lyndon B. Johnson artifacts, including signed photographs and a Civil Rights Bill signing pen, sold for $15,000 at an October 2018 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

Lyndon Baines Johnson was born in August 1908 in the Texas Hill Country nearly 112 years ago. (Tempus does fugit!). He shined shoes and picked cotton for pocket money, graduating from high school at age 15. Both his parents were teachers and encouraged the reading habits that would benefit him greatly for the rest of his life.

Tired of both books and study, he bummed his way to Southern California, where he picked peaches, washed dishes and did other odd jobs like a common hobo. The deep farm recession forced him back to Texas, where he borrowed $75 to earn a teaching degree from a small state college. Working with poor, impoverished Mexican children gave him a unique insight into poverty. He loved to tell stories from that time in his life, especially when he was working on legislation that improved life for common people.

His real power was developed when he electrified the rural Hill Country by creating a pool of money from power companies that he doled out to politicians all over the country who needed campaign funds and were willing to barter their votes in Congress. The women and girls who lived in Texas were known as “bent women” from toting water – two buckets at a time from water wells – to their homes. Having electricity to draw the water eliminated a generation of women who were not hump-backed. They said of LBJ, “He brought us light.” This caught FDR’s attention and lead to important committee assignments.

He married 20-year-old Claudia Alta Taylor in 1934 (at birth, a nanny had exclaimed “She looks just like a “little lady bird”). A full-grown Lady Bird parlayed a small inheritance into an investment in an Austin radio station that grew into a multimillion-dollar fortune.

Robert Caro has written about LBJ’s ambition, decisiveness and willingness to work hard. But how does that explain the trepidation to run for president in 1960? He had been Senate Majorly Leader, accumulated lots of political support and had a growing reputation for his Civil Rights record. He even told his associates, “I am destined to be president. I was meant to be president. And I’m going to be president!” Yet in 1958, when he was almost perfectly positioned to make his move, he was silent.

His close friend, Texas Governor John Connally, had a theory: “He was afraid of failing.”

His father was a fair politician but failed, lost the family ranch, plunged into bankruptcy and was the butt of town jokes. In simple terms, LBJ was afraid to run for the candidacy and lose. That explains why he didn’t announce until it was too late and JFK had it sewed up.

Fear of failure.

After JFK won the 1960 nomination at the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles, he knew LBJ would be a valuable vice president on the Democratic ticket against Richard Nixon. Johnson’s Southwestern drawl expanded the base and the 50 electoral votes in Texas was too tempting to pass up. They were all staying at the Biltmore Hotel in L.A. and were a mere two floors away. Kennedy personally convinced LBJ to accept, despite brother Bobby’s three attempts to get him to decline (obviously unsuccessful).

The 1960 election was incredibly close with only 100,000 votes separating Kennedy and Nixon. Insiders were sure that a recount would uncover corruption in Illinois and Nixon would be declared the winner. But in a big surprise, RMN refused to demand a recount to avoid the massive disruption in the country. (Forty years later, Gore vs. Bush demonstrated the chaos in the 2000 Florida “hanging chads” debacle and the stain on SCOTUS by stopping just the Florida recount).

After the Kennedy assassination in November 1963, LBJ was despondent since he was sure he’d become the “accidental president.” But, when he demolished Barry Goldwater in 1968 the old Lyndon was back. The Johnson-Humphrey ticket won by of the greatest landslides in American history. LBJ got 61.1 percent of the popular vote and 486 electoral votes to Goldwater’s 52. More importantly, Democrats increased their majorities in both houses of Congress.

This level of domination provided LBJ with the leverage to implement his full Great Society agenda with the help of the 89th Congress, which approved multibillion-dollar budgets. After LBJ ramrodded through Congress his liberal legislative programs in 1965-66, it seemed that he might go down in history as one of the nation’s truly great presidents. But, his failure to bring Vietnam to a successful conclusion, the riots in scores of cities in 1967-68, and the spirit of discontent that descended on the country turned his administration into a disaster.

On Jan. 22, 1973, less than a month after President Truman died, the 64-year-old Johnson died of a heart attack. His fear of failure, a silent companion.

John and Jessie Frémont were among our first ‘power couples’

An 1856 presidential jugate ribbon shows John and Jessie Frémont, who is often recognized as the first wife of a presidential candidate to catch the public’s imagination.

By Jim O’Neal

An old adage claims that “behind every great man stands a great woman.” There are several variations of this theme and the feminist movement of the 1970s offered a clever alternative: “Alongside every great man is a great woman.”

In political terms, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and wife Eleanor Roosevelt (her actual maiden name) probably epitomize this concept … he with his New Deal and historic four terms as president and she with her four terms as First Lady, first delegate to the United Nations, a monthly magazine column, a weekly radio host and a civic activist. Or as Harry Truman dubbed her, “First Lady of the World.”

Pierre and Marie Curie represent another pair of great side-by-side couples, although in this case, the “great woman” probably eclipsed her husband’s accomplishments. Born in 1867, Marie Curie was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize in 1903 (which she shared with Pierre and a colleague). Then she became the first person – man or woman – to win this prestigious award twice, the second time in 1911 for her personal work in chemistry. She died on July 4, 1934, from aplastic anemia, almost certainly due to her habit of carrying test tubes of radium in her lab coat pockets. Pierre was killed when he was struck by a carriage crossing a street … probably deep in thought. It is likely he would have eventually died as Marie did since he shared her lab-exposure habits. Ironically, both are credited with the first use of the term “radioactive.”

Another category for your consideration is “Invisible Women.” Two who easily qualify are Katherine Johnson and Dorothy Vaughan, generally unknown outside a small group of space pioneers. President Obama awarded Johnson the Presidential Medal of Freedom and NASA dedicated an entire building in her honor. Vaughan was the first African-American supervisor at the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA).

They were portrayed as unsung heroes in the 2016 movie Hidden Figures, which snagged three Oscar nominations, including Best Picture. It was the little-known story of a team of female African-American mathematicians (“human computers”) who played a vital role at NASA during the early years of the space program. Their contributions or even existence easily qualify them as prime “Invisible Women,” at least to the American public.

Another perfect example is Jessie Ann Benton Frémont, the wife of John C. Frémont. She was the daughter of prominent Missouri politician Thomas Hart Benton (1782-1858), who became a state senator when the Compromise of 1820 allowed Missouri (slave) and Maine (free) to enter the Union. He would go on to become the first U.S. senator to serve five terms. Benton had been a slave owner who later recognized the injustice of the cruel practice, putting him against his party and popular opinion in his state.

John F. Kennedy included Benton in his Pulitzer Prize-winning book Profiles in Courage as an example of a senator who lost his office over a matter of principle. Future President Teddy Roosevelt wrote a full biography of Benton focusing on his support for westward expansion. Historians credit Benton with sparking TRs interest in Manifest Destiny.

Benton’s daughter was a talented young lady who was fluent in French and Spanish and fascinated with her father’s political and western expansion activities. However, gender played a role at the time and stifled her ambitions. She eventually became involved with a youthful John C. Frémont, whose expeditions into the uncharted west would earn him the nickname “the Pathfinder.” Frémont’s activities attracted the attention of Senator Benton and, almost inevitably, of Jessie.

When they met in 1840, Jessie was a mere 16 years old – 11 years younger than John. They ended up eloping since John’s pedigree was too thin for the Benton family. It proved to be a perfect match, with Jessie creating the narrative and public relations to hype her new husband’s exploits. One of the leading explorers of Western North America, Frémont was not well known when he commanded the first of his exploits, but within a short time he became one of the most famous wilderness explorers. He was known as a gallant Army officer, highly publicized author and semi-conquistador. His timing was exquisite and Americans started naming mountains and towns in his honor before his 40th birthday.

One particular trek in 1842 included Kit Carson; they crossed the Continental Divide at a new gap in the Rockies near Wyoming. Jessie’s detailed rendition of the excursion became a sensational publication that was used as a quasi-travel guide for thousands of pioneers eager to go west! However, it was an 1845 expedition that changed the Frémonts’ life. Supposedly organized to chart a faster route to Oregon, it was really a trip to survey California should President Polk negotiate the land away from Mexico. When this occurred, they headed to San Francisco. When John spotted the bay, he gave the strait its name: the Golden Gate.

John C. Frémont would become a senator when California was admitted to the Union and in 1856 he become the first Republican candidate for president (losing to James Buchanan), but not before leaving behind another adage: “Every great man needs a woman behind him taking notes.”

For all his humanitarian work, Hoover remembered for one, crucial moment

A vibrant from-life oil on canvas portrait of Herbert Hoover, autographed, realized $5,250 at a December 2017 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

With the specter of another depression on America’s horizon, my mind flashes back to the past and sad irony of Herbert Hoover. He was born in 1874 in West Branch, Iowa – the first president born west of the Mississippi River. An orphan at the tender age of 9, he was taken in, luckily, by relatives in Oregon. The Minthorns were Quakers like his parents and they taught him the value of community service and hard work.

In 1891, he enrolled at Stanford University, the first year that classes were open. He was a geology major and after graduation ended up in London with a company investigating gold deposits in Western Australia. While at Stanford, Hoover dated Lou Henry, a fellow geology major and the first female to earn a degree. Hoover proposed to her in a telegraph from Australia and they were married in California in February 1899 – two mining engineers … both intrepid travelers.

Together they set off for China, where Herbert discovered coal deposits. The hard work earned him a junior partnership with his London-based employer. This was followed by a stint in Tientsin just in time for the Boxer Rebellion in 1900 when Chinese rebels rose up against colonial powers. The couple became fluent in Mandarin, a skill they would use later in the White House to communicate in private without the WH staff listening in.

Next was a series of trips starting in Burma (silver, lead and zinc), copper and oil in Russia, and then back to Australia in a quest for more zinc. After forming his own company in 1908, their fortunes began to accumulate and by 1913 exceeded $4 million. After the United States entered World War I in 1917, President Wilson asked Hoover to manage America’s domestic food supplies. In Washington, D.C., he was successful in establishing programs to control prices, eliminate waste and promote conservation by the public. His managerial reputation was beginning to grow and his ability to cut through government bureaucracy produced results almost unprecedented in American history.

After flirting with the presidency in 1920, the ultimate winner, Warren Harding, selected Hoover to become the third Secretary of Commerce. When Harding died unexpectedly in 1923, President Calvin Coolidge retained Secretary Hoover in the Cabinet. Coolidge had observed Hoover’s work and decided to expand his formal duties. He put him in charge of the American Relief Administration to assist the recovery of post-war Europe. Hoover was more than qualified and had played a role in assisting thousands of Americans get back home when the war exploded in 1914. In addition, he had helped Belgium and France from starvation after the German invasions.

He soon became universally recognized as the greatest humanitarian alive in the world. In addition to being widely admired, he had the distinction of having an orbiting asteroid, Hooveria, named in his honor. Earlier, Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt had proclaimed, “Hoover is certainly a wonder and I wish we could make him president of the United States! There could not be a better one.”

By 1928, Coolidge had tired of Washington and chose not to run for reelection. The 54-year-old Herbert Hoover was certainly not tired and was eager to demonstrate his extensive experience by expanding America’s fortunes even further. He easily defeated Al Smith, the governor of New York, with help from anti-Catholic voters and the burden of corruption associated with the infamous Tammany Hall group. The newspapers excitedly touted Hoover as an innovator and set high expectations for his administration. In his inaugural address, the new president confidently declared, “I have no fears for the future of our country. It is bright with hope!” The joy of his Inauguration day, March 4, 1929, seems totally incongruous with the events of the next four years.

Just seven months after he entered the White House, economic trouble trashed his campaign prediction about “being near the final triumph over poverty.” On Oct. 24, 1929, panic enveloped the New York Stock Exchange when almost 13 million shares changed hands. There was a short respite, but on Tuesday, Oct. 29, the market basically collapsed, heralding the beginning of the Great Depression. No one expected the Depression would last a full decade, including the American Economic Association. Virtually all the experts assumed it would be a matter of months until the normal business cycle resumed. Scholars are still debating the cause of the Depression and the stock market crash is only one of the contributing factors.

Just as it was one of the factors that cost Hoover his job. He didn’t cause the crash, but an episode in 1932 certainly contributed. In 1924, President Coolidge vetoed a bill to pay war veterans a bonus to compensate them for loss of income during their military service. However, Congress overrode his veto and the money was to be paid in 1945. In 1932, 20,000 veterans marched on Washington hoping to get an advance payment to alleviate Depression hardships. Congress was considering a Bonus Bill, but President Hoover opposed it and the Senate rejected it. Veterans turned their sights on the Capitol Building, marching for three days and four nights in a “Death March.”

President Hoover ordered General Douglas MacArthur to force them back into temporary camps. MacArthur overreacted, using cavalrymen with drawn sabers and an infantry with tear gas. Six tanks joined the fray under Major George Patton. The soldiers attacked the camps and the angry veterans set their own huts on fire in protest. Colonel Dwight Eisenhower was shocked at MacArthur’s treatment and later said, “It was a pitiful scene, ragged, discouraged people burning their own little things.” The excessive use of force, especially against veterans, disgusted most Americans. Then Hoover made it worse by deriding the bonus marchers as rabble and refusing to criticize MacArthur.

When Democratic presidential candidate FDR heard about the fiasco, he simply said, “This will elect me.”

Fortunately for America, the primary issue in 1940 was staying out of war

A 1940 Wendell Willkie anti-FDR cartoon pin, featuring an image of the boy who would become Alfred E. Neuman, sold for $1,625 at a February 2020 auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In September 1940, The New York Times surprised many readers when it announced it would support Wendell Willkie for president. It was a critical time for America as Nazi Germany had swept across the democratic nations of Europe and soon would threaten England’s weak defenses. Once that domino fell, the United States would be exposed to direct attacks via the eastern routes of the northern Atlantic Ocean. It would also dispel the long-standing fallacy that our two great oceans provided insurmountable defenses.

While conceding that both presidential candidates were experienced leaders who recognized the magnitude of the threat and, short of direct intervention, clearly understood the major role America must ultimately be forced to play, Willkie was favored over FDR since his extensive business experience would make him better prepared to provide a more robust defense of America. His production experience would be invaluable to gear up the industrial base that would be required. In this role, Willkie was the professional and Roosevelt clearly the amateur.

There was also an almost unspoken concern about the next president being tough enough to defeat an enemy that had demonstrated a level of ruthlessness and cold-blooded efficiency rarely seen in modern times. Maybe it was the wheelchair that was discreetly hidden or the soft, cozy fireside chats to bolster morale during seven years of hard economic times. But FDR’s smiling, cheerleading style faded in comparison to Willkie’s tough talk about “sweat and toil,” the emphasis on self-sacrifice and the radiant confidence to rebuild our earlier superiority.

The Times had supported FDR in 1932 and 1936, but the fiscal policies of the New Deal had failed disastrously and the national debt had more than doubled in seven years. A continuation would lead the country to the precipice of bankruptcy. Looking back, it is now obvious that these concerns were totally misjudged. FDR turned out to be a wily, tough executive who managed Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin with superior strategic skills with the courage to hammer out agreements without blinking. The United States war machine cranked out planes, tanks and military men at a remarkable rate. The public support was overwhelming as the entire nation joined in. American tobacco dropped a color and advertised “Lucky Strike Green Has Gone to War.” In the process, a new era of fiscal strength evolved and the gloom of the Great Depression faded in the glare of Rosie the Riveter’s sparks. War bond parades blossomed and my family stored bacon fat in coffee cans without really knowing why. I traded comic books for butter coupons and we started eating something called “oleomargarine.”

But in 1940, breaking the precedent of no third term established by George Washington in 1796 was viewed as duplicitous. Earlier, FDR had declared, “Last September, it was my intention to announce clearly and simply at an early date that under no conditions would I accept re-election.” Now, this had morphed into merely: “He had no wish to be a candidate again.” Clearly, it was a bit of political spin that fit the revised situation. In the defeat of FDR and election of Mr. Willkie, there was an opportunity to safeguard a tradition with the wisdom of long experience behind it.

Fortunately for America, the primary issue in the campaign was staying out of war and the isolationist crusade lead by the America First Committee was having a dramatic effect on the nation. Many leading figures across a broad political spectrum vehemently demanded that America stay out. Famous aviator Charles Lindbergh was perhaps the most influential voice heard. FDR was again his usual cunning political self and promised the American people that American boys would not be fighting in any “foreign wars.” That was enough to allow him to win a substantial victory in 1940 and a coveted third term. Naturally, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, that eliminated the FOREIGN war angle commitment and Americans were eager to seek retribution against all enemies.

An interesting epilogue to 1940, when FDR defeated the only presidential candidate with no government experience, was the death of Wendell Willkie in 1944 at age 52. He had poor health as a result of a poor diet, incessant smoking and hard drinking. Had he defeated FDR in 1940, he would have died right after D-Day but before the heavy fighting in the Battle of the Bulge, when victory was not yet assured. However, his VP running mate, Senator Charles McNary of Oregon, had died eight months earlier and for the only time in history, we would have been forced to elevate the secretary of state to president!