Major Butt

Archibald Willingham DeGraffenreid Clarendon Butt, known as Archie to his friends, in which number could be counted Big Ego Roosevelt and Big Bill Taft, was a Georgia boy who worked as a newspaperman and then joined the army volunteers during the Spanish-American War, serving mainly as a quartermaster and working his way up to major.

So yes, Major Butt is what I call him.

After getting to know both of them personally when he worked for the army in The Philippines, Major Butt served as military aide to both Big Ego and Big Bill. (I'm not sure what the role of military aide entailed, but during Taft's administration he became the president's closest adviser, friend, and confidante.)

This is obviously comical and somewhat sad — that the president who couldn't catch a break had a best friend named Major Butt — but ol' Butt over there was truly a swell guy.

Quartermasters are the unglamorous heroes of the military, enormously essential but rarely acknowledged for their work. (Ulysses S. Grant worked as a quartermaster so obviously I love them. It was kind of the secret to why he was a great general, but that's not what we're here to talk about). At one point he was in charge of transporting 500 mules from Hawaii to The Philippines. That all 500 survived the journey was what first made the higher-ups take notice.

He moved to Washington in 1908 to serve under TR and then Big Bill. He wrote daily letters to his sister Clara, which are enormously helpful to historians in understanding the two presidents and especially their relationship to each other. Being close to both of them, their eventual feud stressed him out, and Taft told him to go on vacation during the 1912 primaries so he wouldn't have to take sides. He spent 6 weeks in Europe with his "housemate and friend" Francis (they were gay), even traveling to the Vatican with a letter from Taft to Pope Pius X.

Major Butt boarded the HMS Titanic in April 1912. Taft spoke at memorial services for him both in Georgia and Washington, although his eulogy at the second service had to be cut short because Taft couldn't stop crying. (To be totally honest, Taft cried a lot in 1912.) A bridge commemorating his death, known by locals as Butt Bridge, was built in his hometown of August, GA in 1914, and escaped demolition by a memorable "Save Our Butt" campaign in 1994 and 1995.

John Hay

Abraham Lincoln, William Seward, John Hay

One of the things that make At Times Dull cozy for me is the secondary characters of American history that I get to follow through 3, 4, or in this case 7 biographies. John Hay is one of my favorites. John Hay was born in Indiana (woohoo!) in 1838, and after graduating from Brown found himself clerking at a law office in Springfield, Illinois, right next door to the law office of Abraham Lincoln.

Hay and Lincoln got to know each other via proximity and Hay's school friend John Nicolay, and after being elected president Lincoln took both of them to Washington with him as his personal secretaries. In Spielberg's Lincoln, Hay is shown as the sweet and slightly befuddled right-hand man to Lincoln (as pictured above), and while it's true that their relationship was very close and loving, Hay was more like the life of the party. He was smart, funny, and boyish — the Josh Lyman trifecta — and a big hit with men and women alike. (Notable exception: Mary Todd Lincoln.) He and Lincoln used to wake each other up in the middle of the night to hang out, and they went horseback riding in the summer. He might have been closer to Lincoln than anyone.

While his relationship with Lincoln is the first line of his obituary, he went on to have an illustrious career in public service. Under Johnson and then Grant he was a US diplomat to Paris, Madrid, and Vienna, before leaving politics for a few years to write and edit for the New York Tribune.

Hayes pulled him back in as Assistant Secretary of State for the last 2 years of his term, but then Hay sat out the next 5 administrations. He spent that time in part working on the 10-volume biography of Lincoln he co-wrote with Nicolay, which remains the bedrock and final word on Lincoln’s legacy.

Then in 1897 William McKinley asked him to be US Ambassador to the UK, and a year later named him Secretary of State. When McKinley was assassinated, Hay reluctantly stayed on at State under Roosevelt and held that position until his death in 1905, eventually coming to love and admire him.

Hay had learned almost as much from William Seward (Lincoln’s SoState) as he had from Lincoln, and was a remarkable statesman. He helped negotiate the end of the Spanish-American War, authored the treaty that would allow construction of the Panama Canal, wrote the Open Door policy in China, and settled the eastern border of Alaska. Despite how good he was at his job, it never hurt that people saw him as the surviving link to Abraham Lincoln, and as his biographer said, he mourned Lincoln for his entire life.

Shortly before his death he was returning to the US from abroad, and getting ready to report to Roosevelt. While on the ship, he dreamt that he reported to the White House and was greeted instead by Lincoln. It’s no surprise that he never got over Lincoln — nobody really has. A statesman whose career began at the right hand of Lincoln and ended at the right hand of Roosevelt, he understood better than anyone the rarity and impact of a great man in the presidency. On the occasion of Roosevelt’s second inauguration, aware that his own life was coming to a close, he gave the young president a ring that contained a hair from Lincoln’s head.

Fred Grant

Recognize this sad face?

This is Ulysses S. Grant's oldest son Fred, who inherited his father's puppy face but none of his talent.

Fred was one of four Police Commissioners in New York City in the 1890s, alongside Theodore Roosevelt, who thought he was boring.

being friends with a presidential blogger can be wearisome

1876: Just vote as many times as you want there, sir.

Have you seen Spielberg's Lincoln? Do you remember the scene when Lincoln is convincing the Congressman from Kentucky to vote for the amendment, and Rep. Kentucky says "We're not ready for freed slaves" and Lincoln says "We're not ready for peace either" and everyone goes ah hahaha rhetorical genius.

They were both right. Man, the 1860s sucked. Also the 1870s. Johnson was an unmitigated disaster of a president, Grant was a competent leader but not forceful enough for the times. Hoogenboom keeps calling the Grant administration "rife with corruption," and that hurts my feelings, but it's true that it was not an opportune time to lead with quiet dignity and hope everyone noticed.

ANYWAY. The Republican party was fixing to split in two. The radical faction were eager for full civil rights for freed slaves, the moderate faction was not. The division was stark enough that no candidate for the 1876 election could satisfy both sides. Enter Rutherford B Hayes, who had been out of national government for 11 years. He had served two terms as Ohio's governor (his pet project? prison reform! full of surprises, was Rud) and then retired. After a few years of leisure, adding on to his house and serving on library boards, he ran for a third term at the urging of his political allies, who had the express goal of nominating him for a president once he was back in office. And he did in fact emerge as the nominee from the 9 original candidates, because he's Rud Hayes and everything is easy, but especially because he was moderate and had been away from the fray for 11 years, so no one had any beef with him (just like how James Buchanan got nominated, except different because Hayes wasn't a blowhard).

He ran in the general election against Democrat Samuel Tilden, and here's where the horror of the 1870s comes in. The Republican party in the South was almost entirely black, the Democratic party almost entirely white. There had, at one point, been white Republicans, but when all the blacks got the right to vote and became Republican they were like, bye! Because of racism. Southern Democrats were not in favor of "Republicans" voting, and tried to stop them from doing so with intimidation, violence, and trickery. Some Democratic ballots were printed with pictures of Abraham Lincoln's head at the top so that illiterate "Republicans" would think they were voting for Republican when they were not. In other cases, Democratic election workers would allow fellow whites "Democrats" to vote as many times as they pleased.

So, according to historical record, Tilden "won the popular vote," but the real story is complicated. Many of Tilden's votes were fraudulently obtained or duplicate. Many, many Republicans were prevented from voting. The election results in Florida, Louisiana, South Carolina, and Oregon were contested, leaving 20 electoral votes unassigned after the initial counts came in. (Oregon was disputed merely because one of its electors had a federal job, and therefore was ineligible to be an elector, but there was never any questions Oregon would go to Hayes.)

It was up to the president of the Senate, Senator Thomas Ferry, to decide which electoral votes to count (there was at that moment no vice president). Ferry was like, thanks but no thanks, so Congress formed an Electoral Commission made up of 5 Senators, 5 Representatives, and 5 Supreme Court justices. They heard arguments on the voting results in the 3 disputed states. Their decision boiled down to the fact that, while thousands of votes for each candidate were thrown out, more Democratic votes were thrown out than Republican votes, and they gave all 20 disputed electoral votes to Hayes, 2 days before inauguration.

A lot of attention is paid to the fact that Tilden won the popular vote but lost the election, but the popular vote he won is made of fictions. A just election of registered votes would probably have elected Hayes. A just election did not take place in 1876, but I'm convinced the people's preferred candidate got the job anyway. Hurray for the legislature!

This is an interesting recap of the election, if you like numbers.

Hey, Lincoln

This statue of Lincoln is a block away from my new apartment (finding that out was a great surprise). It's called "Young Lincoln," which I think is why he's so chesty (top 3 buttons!) and he's holding a book. I walk by it about thrice in a given week, and if there aren't skateboarders hanging around I always say hi.

It gives me a legitimate emotional boost to walk by and see young Lincoln. More than once it has noticeably lightened a dark mood. I don't know, seeing him there just makes me think that I should go about my day in an optimistic, productive, deliberate, and uncomplaining manner.

Now that I love Grant with all my heart and soul, I wonder what it would be like to walk by him every few days. He'd probably be pictured (carved? portrayed?) in a camp chair, in his messy uniform, looking kind of determined and unkempt. I don't think seeing him would giving me national anthem feelings, like young Abe up there, I think it would make me want to sit down beside him and be like "Duuuude, my Target card bill is insaaaane. But that ottoman is really essential to my living room, you know? I'll just have to pass on those herringbone Toms I guess."

This is the fundamental difference between Lincoln and Grant. Lincoln was and remains a man whose wisdom and vision existed above the fray. Even when the fray was his job. Grant's more of a fraymaster. He in fact floundered when not in the fray, when not dealing with a thousand tiny problems. In the classic comparison between the hedgehog and the fox, Lincoln is the hedgehog, Grant the fox. 

The introduction to Carl Sandburg's one-volume biography of Lincoln is a kind of recap of all the hagiography that sprang up in the early 20th century. He gets compared to mountains, to the sea, to the rulers of Rome. It's a little crazy. And yet, as the awesomely named Gamaliel Bradford puts it, "He still smiles, and remains impenetrable."

 

I do love Grant more, because I feel that I know him better. A mysterious man he was not, but he was such a good man. The two main issues of his presidency were Reconstruction and the western war with the Native Americans, and he approached both situations with as much magnanimity and grace as anyone in the country could have done. (Watching him try so earnestly to reform white/Indian relations when it was far too late was the most bittersweet reading experience of this project so far.) I will miss them both, as I reluctantly leave the Civil War era behind for the Rutherford B. Hayes era.

historical bromances delight me

My love for USG continues unchecked. Actually, as many history buffs know, he was born Hiram Ulysses Grant, and his name was accidentally changed for him when he enrolled at West Point. So we'll call him HUG, because those are his initials, and because that's what I want to do to him.

Also in love with HUG? Abe Lincoln. Lincoln was crazy about HUG, and told him so as often as possible. All his previous generals, he said, had wanted him to make the large tactical decisions, which he felt unqualified to do, being a lawyer from Springfield. Grant wanted nothing from him but a free rein, which he was happy to give to the man who finally wanted the Union to fight the war. Lincoln used to visit Grant at the front to get away from the pressures of Washington. A curious mini-break, but one I would have loved to tag along on. Not since Adams and Jefferson have two presidents been more enamored with each other.

One of my favorite stories about HUG happened right after he got a promotion and had a new crop of underlings to meet. When he went to meet George Thomas, who was commanding the Army of the Cumberland, they had dinner together and then sat by the fireside. Neither of them spoke for about 30 minutes, and Thomas' staff was afraid that they were in a fight. In fact, they were kindred stoic spirits, and were enjoying sitting in silence.

Also in love with HUG? Everybody who ever served under him. He was the everyman's general. He was usually wearing a soldier's pants and shirt, "tucked into muddy boots," with his officer's insignia pinned to his shirt. He liked to walk around and talk to the men, or ride around the camp on horseback inspecting preparations. His hero was Zachary Taylor, who also dressed down, and interacted with his troops as often as possible, and was similarly unfussy about battle. It may be said that Zachary Taylor's influence on Grant was his greatest contribution to American history, far outshining his time as president. Men who served with both of them were stunned by how closely HUG modeled himself after Old Rough and Ready.

At this point in my reading of the biography, the war is over and Grant is aiding in Reconstruction when necessary (which is a lot). I feel that the second half won't contain as much guts and glory, but I also wish I could read about Grant forever.

"I can't spare this man; he fights."

I love Ulysses S. Grant. I love him. I've loved and admired many presidents in the past 3 years, but not since John Adams has a president seemed so eminently huggable. As with Adams, I suspect this fondness has everything to do with the biographer. David McCullough and Jean Edward Smith put less stock in "balanced impartiality" than more academic biographers, openly taking sides with their subject in conflict and skewering their enemies.

But beyond that, USG is just so loveable. I recently loved Lincoln, but of course he is larger than life, a majestic enigma. USG is smaller than life, frequently defeated by it. He's the first president I remember being described as "tender-hearted." He has these Charlie Brown moments where he's treated horribly and he's just like awww geeeez, somebody swindled me out of all my money again. But then he presses on with his faith in humanity intact.

Did he have a drinking problem? Yes, to an extent. After the Mexican War ended he had a horrible time trying to find work. He left his family (somewhere in the Midwest) and went to California, planning to send for them when he had raised enough money. But he couldn't do it. Plan after plan failed, and partner after partner stole from him, so years passed and he was all alone. Seven years! And he missed his wife. So he started drinking, and it got him fired from his military post, and he returned to Illinois to work for his father.

Reunited with his wife and kids, and with a small but steady income, he was determined to control his drinking. (He didn't quit drinking entirely, but he rarely had more than one drink a night.) Unfortunately, rumors will be rumors, and too many people in the war department knew the reason he had "resigned." When he was commissioned in the Civil War, he was a habitually excellent commander, but his higher-ups were often reluctant to promote him because of his rep. THEN, his lamebag superior, General Halitosis Halleck, ever trying to advance his own career prospects by degrading the people around him, wrote to Washington that he was "afraid Grant might be drinking again." This had no basis, because Halleck was in St. Louis and Grant was in wilds of Tennessee or something and Halleck had no idea whether or not he was drinking, but he thought he was go ahead and WRITE SUCH A THING TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR. BECAUSE FEDERAL CORRESPONDENCE IS A GREAT PLACE FOR WILD CONJECTURE. What a butthead.

Grant managed to keep winning battle after battle, however, so no matter how the rumors swirled in Washington, Lincoln refused to demote or fire him. "I can't spare this man; he fights." (This in stark contrast to the commander of all the Eastern forces, George McClellan, who avoided battle like it was a rectal thermometer.) HISTORICAL TIP: If you want to secure your legacy, get on the good side of one of the most eloquent men of all time. There will be all these pithy, elegant compliments about you on record.

presidential fact #18

Ulysses S. Grant was a horse whisperer.