U.S. presidents owed their day of recognition
President's Day 2024 is behind us, but not too far. While touring Andrew Jackson's Hermitage last fall in Nashville, I picked up a gift shop book titled, “Lives of the Presidents: Fame, Shame (and What the Neighbors Thought)." To my credit, or discredit, I bought it.
James Madison (1809-17) weighed only 100 pounds — was “sickly, nervous, and shy” — and described as “the most unsociable creature in existence.” But he was smart — finishing school at what is now Princeton in two years. He wore black and became the first president to wear long pants, rather than knickers.
His son, John Quincy Adams (1825-29), was disliked — even saying, “I am certainly not intentionally repulsive.” He kept a pet alligator and jumped nude in the Potomac River most mornings, no matter the season.
Andrew Jackson (1829-37) survived the first assassination attempt on a president. He killed a man in a duel — over his wife's honor — they'd married before her divorce from an abusive husband was final. He lived with two bullets embedded in him; one taken out with no anesthesia after 20 years. The other was too near his heart, causing chronic pain.
Martin Van Buren (1837-41) put up a fight to keep two tiger cubs he'd been gifted; however, they eventually ended up at the zoo. James Polk (1845-49) didn't trust banks. He kept bags of money stashed around the house. He had eight children with his first wife. When she died, he added seven more after marrying his wife's niece.
Franklin Pierce (1853-57) suffered from depression — and had a lifelong struggle with alcoholism. He and Jane lost all three sons — the last an 11-year-old who fell from a runaway railroad car and was killed before their eyes.
Andrew Johnson (1865-69) — the man who took office after President Lincoln was assassinated — did not attend school. He was indentured as a tailor's apprentice at age 14. He could quilt, and sew his own suits. His 16-year-old wife taught him to read and write.
James Garfield (1881) greeted people with a bark just like his dog, Veto. He campaigned for the presidency in English and Spanish. He died of blood poisoning at 49 years, from an assassin's gunshot wound. Benjamin Harrison (1889-93), the “Human Iceberg,” had electric lights installed in the White House, but his family never turned them off, being afraid of electric shocks.
William Taft (1909-13), who weighed over 300 pounds, was the first president to play golf and was a good tennis player. After getting stuck in his bathtub, he had plumbers replace it with a larger tub.
Dwight Eisenhower (1953-61) didn't drive or handle money. He received demerits at West Point for smoking — four packs a day before quitting 30 years later. He told his wife she came second; his country would always be first.
Reading these stories about past presidents' foibles has helped me see them as men who, while they attained our nation's highest office, were human beings with quirks and personal challenges like we all face. They took on the gigantic embrace of country, besides. They rightfully have their own day.