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AMERICAN HERITAGE MAG-AUG 1964-THE PRESIDENCY-SPECIAL

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1964

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AMERICAN HERITAGE MAGAZINE AUGUST 1964, VOLUME XV, Number 5 THIS IS A HARDBACK ISSUE IN GOOD CONDITION (my issues of American Heritage have been previously enjoyed and are in fair to good condition. Some may have bumped corners or yellowing cover edges but all pages are intact and the binding is tight. On a few, the inside spine may show signs of separating. Some may have library barcodes on top left corner of cover but were used for reference (could be removed with Goo Gone or Sticky Out). I have 2-3 copies of each title. First bidder will get the best copy.) COVER PICTURE: THE NATIONAL COLORS AND THE FLAG OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES PHOTOGRAPHED BY HERBERT LOEBEL THROUGH THE COURTESY OF THE WHITE HOUSE. BACK COVER:TRADE CARD; HE MAY YET BECOME PRESIDENT Beautiful illustrations. CONTENTS: The Highest Office- The Man On Horseback ASK THE MAN WHO... The Loneliest Place in the World THE CAMERA COMES TO THE WHITE HOUSE The Moment of Decision THE PRESIDENT'S LADY HOW TO GET ELECTED A GALLERY OF THE VICE PRESIDENTS A HEARTBEAT AWAY The Tumult and the Shouting "MURDER MOST FOUL" BOOKS ABOUT THE PRESIDENT THE PRESIDENT'S DAY THE SPEECH THAT TOPPLED A PRESIDENT "IF IT WASN'T FOR THE HONOR OF THE THING..."- American Heritage, The Magazine of History, Aug 1964 THE HIGHEST OFFICE by D. W. Brogan. The Presidency has outlasted the thrones of emperors and kings, shoguns and czars, to become the world's principal place of power. The assassination of President Kennedy has brought out, in an agonizing : way, the realities of the American Presidency and has again demonstrated its unique function as a political organism. The first truth to be asserted about this great office is that the President of the United States is a monarch. The Constitution, in deliberately ambiguous terms, entrusts to him the whole executive power of the Union and in addition confers on him the separate ollice of Commander in Chief with complete control of the armed forces. This, of course, does not mean the President is an absolute monarch. He has to share power with Congress (as President Kennedy painfully discovered in his three years in the White House); and both he and Congress share power with the Supreme Court. Nevertheless, it is important again to insist on the monarchical character of the American Presidency. It is monarchical in two ways: monarchical because of the concentration of power in the hands of one man, monarchical because he, more than any other institution (and every President is an institution), embodies “We the People of the United States.” In the President, in any President, the American people see their embodied power and see their own driving force personified. In another sense, the President is a monarch. For he performs many of the ritual functions of a hereditary ruler. He is the universal patron of good causes, a role that the late President Kennedy took very seriously. His precedence is as automatic as that of the Queen. He lives in the most historic building in Washington, the only one that has an aura of majesty about it. American boys are continually told that they can, when they grow up, become President of the United States (girls are not yet told that they can). Under the easy and democratic exterior, the protocol of the White House is as severe as the protocol of Buckingham Palace. The presidential inauguration is a kind of quadrennial coronation. And even the President who has made an immense number of enemies remains President and is entitled, except amount the most pathologically minded, to respect and, indeed, for his office if not for himself, to reverence. THE MAN ON HORSEBACK by E. M. Halliday. War heroes have often made good presidential candidates. Sometimes they have even made good Presidents The eagle on the great seal of the United States holds both an olive branch and a rather uglylooking bunch of arrows—but the eagle’s head is turned toward the symbol of peace. This is fair enough: everything considered, our history warrants our reputation as a peace-loving nation. Yet ten of the thirty-six men we have chosen to be Chief Executive have been generals.? ?Washington, Jackson, William Henry Harrison, Taylor, Pierce, Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Benjamin Harrison, and Eisenhower. The proportion is surprising, especially when it is remembered that a genuine strain of antimilitarism runs deep in the American past. The Declaration of Independence complained against George III that “he has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.—He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power”; and the framers of the Constitution saw to it that there would be no more of that. An ingrained suspicion of the military seems to be inseparable from the texture of democracy. The heart of our system, after all, is government by consent of the governed—a poor way to run an army. Washington, struggling to weld an officer corps out of a hodgepodge of militiamen, was painfully irritated by the democratic custom in some states of letting the soldiers elect their officers. Yet it was also Washington who said, at the very beginning of his Revolutionary generalship, “When we assumed the soldier, we did not lay aside the citizen.” Throughout the long, exasperating years of the war, he meticulously consulted the Continental Congress on major decisions whenever that was possible. By the time victory came at Yorktown he had proved himself beyond any doubt the very model of a citizen-general, and he was the unanimous choice to be our first President. ASK THE MAN WHO by Robert Cowley. To endorse their products, early admen used even the President. Permission? They seldom bothered to Whenever and wherever possible, get a testimonial: so goes one of the time-tested canons of advertising. Any name will do, but it always helps to use a familiar one. As D. Jay Culver has discovered in gathering his notable collection of Americana, the admen of the late nineteenth century often invoked the dignity and prestige of that most familiar and perennial celebrity of all—the President of the United States. Why not? There was someone you could trust. But in those days of freewheeling business ethics nobody bothered to ask permission first. The result was that unwitting (and often posthumous) presidential endorsements were bestowed on everything from hot irons to hair renewers. A typical example is the 1870 barrel-top lithograph at left, which not only appropriated Thomas Jefferson’s name as a trademark for its pure rye whiskey but had the gall to install a still behind the familiar facade of Monticello. To prove that the souls of departed Chief Executives were not the exclusive property of the liquor interests, George Washington (upper right) stands in full general’s regalia before a hacked down cherry tree (Grant Wood take notice!) to announce that he “cannot tell a lie” about a certain popular milk biscuit. Below, the careworn face of U. S. Grant appears on a box label for a cigar called “Our Chieftain”—surely just the thing for smoke filled rooms. But for a devious appeal to manly ambition, nothing can match the teaser at bottom right. Oh well, promise him anything, but give him the White House. One is tempted to add that a good deal of effort and heartache could be spared simply by avoiding a razor. —Robert Cowley Trouille with Mexico? Don’t call the Marines— just send cigarettes (Duke’s Cameo, of course). The remarkable piece of diplomatic advice above appeared in an 1886 issue of Puck. Fortunately, Grover Cleveland never followed it. One imagines, too, that Mr. H a yes and his wife had better things to talk about than sadirons. And Cleveland and his two-time opponent Benjamin Harrison seem out of place playing checkers in formal attire (the kibitzers are politicians James G. Blaine and David B. Hill). The President really needed a hair renewcr, though whether Hall’s was his brand—or whether Chester Arthur dyed his whiskers—no one knows. Finally, Garfield (right) greets his Cabinet, all attired in suits by—who else?—A. J. Nutting. THE LONELIEST PLACE IN THE WORLD by Richard H. Rovere. The American Presidency is a formidable, exposed, and somewhat mysterious institution. —John F. Kennedy, 1963 The Presidency is mysterious because it is formidable; mystery is inherent in power. “All government is obscure and invisible,” Bacon wrote long ago. The machinery is now pretty much open to view; democracy and modern communications have “exposed” our governors in many ways, some of them dreadful. But the experience of power and many of its exercises continue to be obscure and invisible, and the ultimate in systems of temporal power—sovereigntyis the ultimate in temporal mystery. Sovereignty, moreover, is experience unshared and by its nature unsharable. It is something like death, unknowable to the sentient or by the modes of sentience. It seems to be the unsharable weight of this knowledge of sovereignty as much as the weight of specific responsibilities that Presidents have had in mind when they have spoken, as nearly all of them have, of the “burdens” of the office. Of all Presidents, James Buchanan assumed the fewest responsibilities and filed the most complaints about his aching shoulders. And it is, apparently, the inability to communicate the nature of the experience that has led so many Presidents to speak of “loneliness.” “This is the loneliest place in the world,” William Howard Taft, one of the most gregarious of Presidents, said as he was about to turn things over to Woodrow Wilson. THE CAMERA COMES TO THE WHITE HOUSE A portfolio of historic photographs with text by Roger Rutterfield. If, like the couple above, you were touring Washington in the mid-1880’s, you could meet President Cleveland and shake his hand by simply walking into the White House. At one o’clock every day, a reporter explained, “The President goes downstairs to lunch, and on his way to the private dining-room passes through the East Room to see the sovereign people congregated there. … The President wastes no time, but goes along the line like an old-fashioned beau dancing the grand right and left figure of a cotillion, and then goes to his luncheon.” Such a zoolike existence was normal for Presidents during most of the nation’s first century; every American felt he had the right to enter the White House unannounced and verify with his own eyes that the President was on the job. Then came high-speed film photography, ushered in by George Eastman’s handborne Kodak camera; one of the first was owned by the White House visitor at right. Thereafter, monitoring presidential activity became the assignment of news photographers, newsreel cameramen, and eventually television crews. From the vast archive of eye- witness history that White House photographers have been building up during the past 115 years, some highlights are presented on the following pages. The first camera to enter the White House belonged to Mathew Brady, and he used it to make a rather grim portrait of President James K. Polk (left, center). The’date was February 14, 1849; three weeks later Polk would be out of office, and in June of that year he would be dead, his health broken by incessant hard work during the Mexican War. But while he was President he was still pursued by people demanding last-minute favors. In his diary for February 14 he wrote, “The number of persons, male and female, who called this morning was unusually great, and the importunate applications for office were exceedingly annoying.” Almost as an afterthought he added: ’II yielded to the request of an artist named Brady, of New York, by sitting for my daguerreotype likeness today. I sat in the large dining-room.” THE MOMENT OF DECISION by Bruce Catton. When Harry Truman was President of the United States he kept on his desk a little sign with the reminder: “The buck stops here.” This was his way of telling himself that when the responsibility for decision conies to a President, he has to meet it all alone. He can ask for all kinds of advice, and any amount of briefing, but he has to make up his mind by himself. Once in a generation or so his decisions send powerful echoes down the years. They may take the country along a path never before followed, enlarge the powers of the American government itself, or commit the whole nation to a policy or a program that will have permanent and vital effect. At such moments the President has to have vision, courage, and a sense of historic mission. To illustrate the matter, we consider below five moments in time in which a President made a decision whose consequences to the republic still endure. Consider, to begin with, the situation that confronted President Thomas Jefferson in 1803. The United States then was a very young country, of uncertain unity and with dubious prospects for survival, and it was trying to steer a middle course between the imperial rivalries of England and France. Most of its people lived east of the Alleghenies, but the westward movement had begun and the land beyond the mountains was being settled all the way to the Mississippi; by 1800 nearly a million Americans lived in that western country, and more were going there every year. Because it was so hard and costly to transport goods across the moun: tains, these settlers could not hope to prosper unless they could use the Mississippi River as their commercial highway to the outer world. For a time this was no problem. The immense area known as Louisiana, over 800,000 square miles of wilderness running westward from the river to the Rockies, was held by Spain, a weak and declining power, and Spain left the river open. The westerners could send their farm produce to New Orleans for export, importing manufactured goods in the same way, and all was well. Then, in 1802, it became known that Spain had secretly transferred all of Louisiana to France. Napoleon obviously wanted to re-create the New World empire France had lost a generation earlier. His grip on the Mississippi and its mouth was certain to be firmer and more aggressive than that of Spain had ever been. Once he took full possession, the American West would be entirely at his mercy. THE PRESIDENT’S LADY by Amy La Follette Jensen. As a national celebrity, only the Chief Executive himself outshines her. Within the awesome confines of the White House, some remarkable women have presided. “I stood for a moment over the great brass seal, J. bearing the national coat of arms, which is sunk in the floor in the middle of the entrance hall. ‘The Seal of the President of the United States,’ I read around the border, and now—that meant my husband!” Thus did Helen Herron TaIt describe her feelings as she entered the White House on Inauguration Day. Most presidential wives have shared her pride, but not all have experienced the same breathless anticipation of the lour years ahead. “I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of God, than live in that palace in Washington,” commented Rachel Jackson—who, as fate would have it, died of a heart attack shortly before her husband assumed office. To Lucrctia Gal field, the prospect seemed even frightening. “What a terrible responsibility to come to him—and to me,” she exclaimed on election night of 1880. Some have shrunk from that responsibility, others have endured it bravely, and a few have thoroughly enjoyed their brief celebrity. Like it or not, the President’s lady has become, over the years, a kind of unofficial officer of the government: presidential hostess, informal envoy, political campaigner. And wife, of course. Rutherford B. Hayes best expressed this aspect of her role. Referring to his wife, Lucy, he said, “Mrs. Hayes may not have much influence with Congress, but she has great influence with me.” Here and on the next pages is a gallery of some of the great ladies who have presided over the President’s House—“that palace in Washington.” Mrs. Jensen is the author of The White House and Its Thirty-Three Families. She and her husband, Howard, are preparing a TV film on the mansion’s paintings. HOW TO GET ELECTED by Bernard A. Weisberger. “Elections, my dear Sir,” wrote John Adams to Thomas Jefferson after perusing a copy of the new Constitution, “Elections to offices which are great objects of Ambition, I look at with terror.” One can imagine the shudder with which both men, could they stand amid the bustle of a modern presidential campaign, would regard that quadrennial “carnival of buncombe.” For the Framers of the Constitution saw the selective process as a dignified affair—a few respected electors, state by state, sifting the merits of the worthiest eligibles. Something like a church council naming a new pastor, or a faculty bestowing a professorship. But the march of democracy changed this planned, orderly process into an unbelievable national jamboree, reflecting the best and the worst in our kind of self-government. The first President was indeed chosen in the judicious manner planned, mainly because of unanimous consent as to the virtues of George Washington. But by the time of Jefferson’s election in 1800, political debate was already red-hot, from Vermont to Georgia. Forty years thereafter, in Van Buren’s day, the council or faculty theory was dead, for it was clear that the Electoral College merely ratified the will of the sovereign—and partisan—voters. The dignified scheme survived only as a shadow. From then on, presidential candidates and their managers have had to woo the voters regularly and unabashedly with every trick they know. This purposeful pursuit blossomed into a unique institution, the American presidential campaign. Time and technology have inflated it into fantastic shapes. Yet the oddest thing about the quadrennial Mardi gras is how often it has produced genuine leaders. A GALLERY OF THE VICE PRESIDENTS Their job, said John Adams, was nothing in esse but everything in posse. Each of them went to sleep every night and … A HEARTBEAT AWAY by Henry F. Graft. … each awoke next morning knowing that the Presidency was only... A few months ago, President Lyndon Johnson was showing Prime Minister Lester Pearson of Canada the handsome chandelier which, thanks to Mrs. Kennedy, again hangs in the Treaty Room of the White House. He explained where it had been in the meantime: ”… when President Theodore Roosevelt would have to open the windows in the evening to let the breeze in to keep cool … the chandelier would tinkle and keep him awake. So he told the butler one evening to get the chandelier out of here and take it down to the Capitol. The frustrated butler said, ‘Where do we take it?’ He said, ‘Take it to the Vice President, he needs something to keep him awake.’ ” The story is the newest repetition of the legend that the Vice President is generally a Throttlebottom who “sits around in the parks and feeds the pigeons, and takes walks and goes to the movies.” This classic formulation of the Vice President’s role broke into the national consciousness in 1931 in the glittering musical comedy Of Thee I Sing. But the idea had long smouldered close to the surface—possibly from the day John Adams, the first man to hold the office, lamented that he had not “the smallest degree of power to do any good either in the executive, legislative, judicial departments. A mere Doge of Venice … a mere mechanical tool to wind up the clock.” It did not help either John Adams or the reputation of the office that in trying out various titles for the principal officials of the new government, Senator Maclay of Pennsylvania had mischievously dubbed Adams “His Rotundity.” Yet the Vice President, as Adams saw quickly, was invested with “two separate powers—the one in esse and the other in posse.” In esse he was nothingAdams once complained that he was forbidden to speak in the Senate, over which he presided, even on subjects he could throw light upon. But in posse he could be everything. And the potential of going in a trice from nothing to everything has constituted fundamentally the fascination of the office. THE TUMULT AND THE SHOUTING The presidential campaign speech is, like jazz, one of the few truly American art forms. It is not, of course, unknown in other democratic countries, but nowhere else has it achieved the same degree of virtuosity; nowhere else is it so accurate a reflection of national character: by turns solemn or witty, pompous or deeply moving, full of sense or full of wind. The excerpts below have been selected from over a century and a half of successful—and unsuccessful—presidential politicking. Jefferson calls for unity: By 1800, with George Washington only a year in his grave, political infighting was already savage. Thomas Jefferson’s first inaugural address, on March 4, iSoi, was an attempt to salve the wounds opened in the bitter campaign of 1800 between the Federalists and members of his own Democratic-Republican party: Every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. We have called by different names brethren of the same principle. We are all Republicans; we are all Federalists. If there be any among us who would wish to dissolve the Union or to change its Republican form, let them stand undisturbed as monuments of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is left free to combat it. I know, indeed, that some honest men fear that a Republican government cannot be strong; that this government is not strong enough. … I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest government on earth. Lincoln condemns slavery: On February 27, 1860, seeking the support of eastern Republicans, Abraham Lincoln spoke at Cooper Union in New York. The speech, which dealt with the burning issue of the day, helped win him his party’s nomination over betterknown candidates at Chicago in May: If slavery is right … we cannot justly object to its nationality—its universality; if it is wrong, they cannot justly insist upon its extension—its enlargement. All they ask, we would readily grant, if we thought slavery right; all we ask, they would as readily grant, if they thought it wrong. … Let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and belabored—contrivances such as groping for some middle ground between the right and wrong .… Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the Government nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that Right makes Might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it. “MURDER MOST FOUL” by Archie Robertson. Two shots rang out in the railroad station, and the President of the United States slumped to the floor, mortally wounded. Early on the morning of July 2, 1881, President James A. Garfield was awakened in the White House by his two older sons, Harry, seventeen, and James, fifteen. Their mood was sportive, for they were all about to leave on a vacation together. They challenged their father to jump over the bed. Garfield, whom Thomas Wolfe included in that procession of “gravely vacant and bewhiskered faces” between Lincoln and McKinley, was indeed bewhiskered. But he was not a stuffed shirt: he jumped over the bed. Others of the President’s five children were with their mother at Elberon, New Jersey. Here Lucretia Garfield, to whom he had been happily married for almost a quarter of a century, was recuperating by the seashore from a month-long siege of malaria that had proved nearly fatal. Her recovery was yet another reason for rejoicing in the prospect of this happy day. First, the family planned to do a little yachting at a millionaire’s estate on the Hudson; then they would proceed to Williamstown, Massachusetts, where Garfield was to speak at the commencement exercises of his alma mater, Williams College. It would be the twenty-fifth reunion of the President’s class. Best of all, his old friend and personal hero, Mark Hopkins, who was still teaching at Williams, would go with them afterward into the White Mountains for some climbing. Garfield, who had taught school himself, liked to say that his idea of a college education was “Mark Hopkins on one end of a log and a student on the other.” He wanted his two boys to meet Hopkins. Now, after breakfast at the White House, the door was opened for them by Thomas Pendel, a curly-headed, stately Negro who often recalled that he had opened the door on an April night in 1865, when Abraham and Mary Lincoln had left for an evening at the theatre. On this July morning the presidential party, including several members of the Cabinet who were to see the Garfields off, travelled briskly to the railroad depot, at the site now occupied by the National Gallery of Art. At 9:20 A.M. a policeman opened the carriage door; when the President asked how much time they had, he answered, “About ten minutes, sir.” So Garfield sat chatting sociably with Secretary of State James G. Blaine. BOOKS ABOUT THE PRESIDENCY THE PRESIDENT’S DAY In studying the growing complexity of the Presidency in its 175-year history, it occurred to us that simply contrasting an ordinary day in Washington’s administration with one in Lyndon Johnson’s might tell far more than a lengthy article. Consequently we took the average day in 1790, which is described directly below in Washington’s own words and annotated at right. We then sent this material to the press secretary at the White House, asking him to match it with the schedule of an equally ordinary day of President Johnson’s. The schedule he was kind enough to provide is printed at far right exactly as we received it, but the annotation beside it is that of the Editors. THE SPEECH THAT TOPPLED A PRESIDENT by Gerald Carson. How a Pennsylvania congressman dug Martin Van Buren’s political grave with a golden spoon. Below appears in shortened form the text of a rough-and-tumble, wickedly clever speech delivered in the House of Representatives against the candidacy of Martin Van Buren to succeed himself as President of the United States. It fixed the image of the urbane President as a social swell, a British toady with monarchical longings, a man who had lost touch with the American people, who ate foods with Frenchified names out of gold spoons, and was so effeminate that he used the same toiletries as Queen Victoria. This classic hatchet job was the work of Charles Ogle of Somerset, Pennsylvania, the second of three generations of Ogles to represent their district in Congress. Delivered on April 14, 1840, and widely circulated in pamphlet form during the “log cabin and hard cider” campaign, the harangue became in fact the keynote of the Whig campaign. Van Buren, a Democrat, was snowed under by the conservative candidate, General William Henry Harrison (“Old Tippecanoe”), a soi-disant hero of Indian fighting in the old Northwest. The immediate occasion for the speech was Ogle’s proposal to strike out of the general appropriations bill a small item—3,665—for landscaping the grounds and repairing the furniture of the President’s House. Little was heard in the circusy atmosphere of 1840 about serious public issues. The Whigs aimed shrewdly and successfully at the emotions and prejudices of the rising class of frontiersmen and small farmers, and beguiled them with slogans, frontier folklore, songs, floats, coonskin caps, kegs of hard cider, and replicas of the western log cabin, which in this year began its long run as the political symbol of the incorruptible man of the people who providentially appeared when needed to turn the rascals out. In vain the Democratic side dissected the “Gold Spoon” speech as an “omnibus of lies” and accused the Pennsylvania representative of snooping below stairs in the home of the President. The voters believed Ogle. The text is taken from the pamphlet. The worst errors have been corrected, but the spirit of the old typography has been retained. One or two references should perhaps be explained. “Locofoco” was a tag applied to the radical wing of Jacksonian Democracy and later to Democrats in general. The “plateau” which Ogle lingered over in his imaginary stroll through the White House was a handsome thirteen-and-ahalf-foot centerpiece purchased in Paris for the State Dining Room by President Monroe, a fellow Whig, some thirty-three years before, at a cost of about 6,000 francs (1,125). What Ogle objected to was the 75 President Van Buren spent in regilding the bronze band which surrounded the mirrored sections of the centerpiece. Millions of Americans saw it two years ago during Mrs. John F. Kennedy’s televised tour of the White House. Here, then, is the oratorical extravaganza which retired a President to private life. “IF IT WASN’T FOR THE HONOR OF THE THING…” This hardcover book is in good condition, some shelf wear (spine and edges of cover have yellowed). Pages are complete and in excellent condition. PICTURES and PORTRAITS AND MUCH MUCH MORE Check out my other HISTORY items! Be sure to add me to your favorites list! My books have Tight bindings with Clean pages and Glossy covers. They are in good condition from my Smoke-free home. I Ship fast using Low shipping costs. Save time and money. Have your book delivered to your door! My store Paper and Rags Galore has books Galore!! I have adult and children's, fiction and nonfiction, hardcover and soft cover. I also have many educational books appropriate for homeschooling. If you are looking for a particular title or author, let me know because chances are that I have it! I have promotions every month. Check them out! See this month's items. Powered by Turbo Lister On Aug-20-07 at 20:00:59 PDT, seller added the following information:
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