The Health of the Presidents. No. I

Title

The Health of the Presidents. No. I

Creator

Grayson, Cary T. (Cary Travers), 1878-1938

Identifier

WWP16613

Date

1927 April 1

Source

Cary T. Grayson Papers, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library, Staunton, Virginia

Language

English

Text

Surgeon of the President’s Yacht Mayflower During the Roosevelt and Taft Administrations and White House Physician During Both Terms of President Wilson

It has been the custom of the American people to elect men of mature years to fill the office of President of the United States, and there is no reason to believe that this custom will change in the immediate future. While the majority of our Presidents have enjoyed reasonably good health in the White House, they have been subjected, in many instances, to the wear and tear inseparable from long years of public service before taking up the duties of the presidency. They enter on larger duties and heavier responsibilities, rich in experience but frequently less well equipped physically as the price paid for such experience. Presidential statistics reveal some interesting points in this connection. The average age at inauguration of our Presidents has been fifty-four years. The oldest President at the time of his inauguration was William Henry Harrison, who had just passed his sixty-eighth birthday. While he appeared to be in good health at the time of assuming office on March 4, 1841, he had spent many years of public service in the Army, Diplomatic Corps, and as a member of Congress and of the Senate, and had just passed through a strenuous and fatiguing electoral campaign. His career as President lasted exactly one month, and his death, on April fourth, startled and depressed the entire country. He was the first President to die in office and there can be no doubt that his death was hastened by his utter disregard for his own personal health and the insistent demands of hordes of office seekers and exuberant friends. It has been said of him that he was “literally handshaken to death.” On reaching Washington he walked bareheaded from the station, bowing his acknowledgments to the people in the street. On the day of his inauguration he declined to ride to the capitol in the carriage provided and rode horseback, hat in hand, and without an overcoat. Following his inauguration he delivered a high-flown, lengthy address which Webster had in vain besought him to shorten. Mr. Harrison’s inaugural address was the longest delivered by any of our Presidents and contained 8578 words. The shortest is President Washington’s second address, which consisted of but 134 words. While all his hearers were closely muffled against the inclement weather he stood without gloves or overcoat and with bare head. Following this rash procedure he shook hands for three hours and then went, in succession, to three inaugural balls on the same evening. During the weeks that followed he stayed up late at night but, nevertheless, rose early and went to market daily. This fatiguing round of activity in an already old man so lowered his resistance that he became an easy victim of pneumonia following exposure during a rainstorm. In his last moments as he lay delirious, one of his frequent utterances was, “These applications—will they never cease?” A pathetic but timely commentary on the demands of the presidency! It need hardly be remarked that this is a startling illustration of rashness and imprudence in personal hygiene without justification. President Harrison was a soldier, used to the rigors and hardships of an Indian campaign. He delighted in making a fine military appearance and insisted on going through the whole performance correctly; but, in so doing, he overestimated his strength and undermined his constitution; and this, together with the tremendous burdens of office, made the end inevitable. The example of Mr. Harrison is cited at some length, as it is the most striking instance up to the time of Mr. Wilson where the election to the presidency was equivalent to the death sentence. There is this distinction, however, between Mr. Harrison’s and Mr. Wilson’s break in health—that, in the case of the former, there seemed to be no good reason for this extreme tax on physical resources. In the case of President Wilson, while he understood clearly the risk he ran and the disastrous effect of continuing his efforts for a principle, he decided, nevertheless, that his personal health was a minor consideration when weighed in the balance against a covenant which he felt should be carried out and which he firmly believed would allay in great measure the menace of another disastrous war. The youngest President at the time of his inauguration was Theodore Roosevelt, who assumed office at the age of forty-two years. He had led a colorful and vigorous life, served in the state legislature, been police commissioner of New York, and in 1897 had become Assistant Secretary of the Navy. He had served in the Spanish-American War with great distinction, and in 1899 became Governor of New York. He was a traveler, writer, reformer, soldier and statesman. In 1901 he became Vice President of the United States. Six months and ten days later, following the tragic death of President McKinley, Mr. Roosevelt assumed the office of presidency. He had gone for a tramp in the woods and was located with difficulty. He then covered five hundred miles by foot, horse and train in nineteen hours, and took the oath of office at Buffalo.Mr. Roosevelt’s career is an outstanding example of what may be done by developing a poor physique to a state of fitness for years of strenuous and exhausting mental and physical activities. He came of a wealthy family, but in his early youth was in such poor health that his chance of growing up and leading an active life did not appear good. The purchase of a ranch in the West and his subsequent life in the open, with long horseback rides and considerable physical exertion, developed a physique which later on withstood the hardships of strenuous military campaigns and equally strenuous White House activities. He developed a zest for life and for outdoor activities which remained with him to the time of his death. He became a famous hunter of big game, a skillful horseman and a good tennis player. He took regular exercise in the open air, which contributed much to his abounding vitality. He was fond of birds and provided shelter for them in the winter, feeding them every day. He was fond of dogs and horses. He was a great comrade to his children, and his letters abound in the spirit of good fellowship which he was able to maintain and cultivate toward his children. After entering the White House he continued to lead, as far as he could, an outdoor life with plenty of exercise, which he considered so necessary to maintain his health. He was particularly fond of riding, and had a great affection for his favorite horse, “Roswell.” On one of these rides a friend remarked to him, “Roswell is certainly a fine horse.” “Yes,” he replied; “he is a gentleman.” Mr. Roosevelt delighted in taking long tramps through the woods, and his companions were frequently hard-pressed to follow him. He thought nothing of wading through the creeks and swamps of Rock Creek Park and what is now Potomac Park, and the discomfiture of his followers was often in evidence. He was usually accompanied by some members of the White House staff and occasionally by some of the diplomats or dignitaries of the various governments represented in Washington. Unless these officials had taken the precaution to go prepared for such and adventure, it involved either turning back, which, of course, they were reluctant to do, or considerable wear and tear on patent-leather shoes and spats. The example of Mr. Roosevelt as the youngest President is cited as that of a man who had found it necessary to take particular care of his health and whose efforts in this direction had resulted in seemingly boundless vitality and energy. It is true that he used up his energy to ever increasing quantities and it is also, no doubt, true that he could have prolonged his life had he devoted his energies to this end.

IT APPEARS, however, that this was not the objective he sought, but that he actually crowded into a shorter life much more in the way of endeavor and accomplishment than was good for even his wonderful physical attainments. His trip to South America, while full of adventure and no doubt looked forward to eagerly, took a further drain on his physical resources. Although he was advised against making this trip he never seemed to hesitate or to have the least doubt about his ability to go through with it. He died at the age of sixty-one. He had become ill on March 11, 1918, with inflammatory rheumatism and went to a hospital. He longed to return to his home and was allowed to do so, and for several days seemed to be improved. On January 6, 1919, after spending a quiet evening in writing and in talking with his wife, he quietly slipped away. Vice President Marshall said of him, “Death had to take him sleeping; for if RooseveltTheodore Roosevelt had been awake, there would have been a fight.” Five other Presidents—Polk, Pierce, Grant, Garfield, and Cleveland—were under fifty at the time of their inauguration; nineteen Presidents were between fifty and sixty if we include Mr. Cleveland who was fifty-five at the time of his second inauguration; and five Presidents—John Adams, Jackson, William Henry Harrison, Taylor and Buchanan—were all over sixty at the time they entered the White House. Twenty-four Presidents who died natural deaths attained the average age of seventy-one years. Three Presidents have been assassinated and therefore cannot be rightly included in the record of vital statistics so far as health is concerned. Of the twenty-four Presidents who died natural deaths, eleven were born in the nineteenth century, and their average longevity was sixty-six years. Thirteen Presidents who were born in the eighteenth century attained an average longevity of a little over seventy-four years. These figures indicate that Presidents born in the eighteenth century lived an average life eight years longer than those born in the nineteenth century and who supposedly had the advantages of living under improved hygienic conditions and with the services of better trained physicians. These figures are not particularly flattering to modern medicine. However, if we analyze the situation a little more carefully, we can set forth certain differences in the mode of life of these two groups which may have a bearing on longevity. There can be no doubt that men born in the eighteenth century lived simpler and slower lives than those of the nineteenth century. Furthermore, nine of these thirteen earlier Presidents were the sons of farmers or planters, which means that as lads they lived much out-of-doors, were occupied on farms, wielded axes—which are much better than dumb bells—rode horseback or walked miles to and from school, lived in houses which had natural ventilation with open fires instead of furnaces and steam heat, and an atmosphere cooler but healthier than we moderns like.

W
HEN these lads grew into manhood they continued for the most part their leisurely outdoor habits. They rode horseback, not merely for recreation but also to get where business called them; or they journeyed slowly in coaches in a more or less leisurely fashion and were not subjected to the constant bustle, hurry and impatient urge which seem to pervade the daily routine of the average individual of today. Steam, electricity and gasoline are modern conveniences with which we can scarcely dispense at present, yet they produce conditions which are frequently trying on nerves, and we must admit that the human organism is often hard-pressed to adjust itself to this modern environment. The sense of hearing of the average individual of today appears to be less acute than that of his forbears, and decidedly less acute than that of the savage, whose preservation not infrequently depended on the keenness of this sense to warn of approaching danger. It does not appear unlikely that future generations will have even less sensibility to noise, less keenness of hearing, as a result of Nature’s adaptation to the din and confusion of the modern city.Andrew Jackson’s trip from Nashville to Washington by stagecoach, and General Washington’s trip from Mount Vernon to New York, were matters of days or weeks, involving frequent stops, rests, and an opportunity for some relaxation en route. At present such trips are matters of only hours, but involve a rush to catch trains and considerable dodging of trolley cars and automobiles. While we have gained in the matter of rapidity of transportation, we have paid a certain toll in nervous energy and increasing strain on heart and blood vessels which is reflected in our mortality statistics in no uncertain manner. Among our earlier Presidents particularly, love of the country and the farm appeared to be an inborn trait. It was said of President Washington that his chief ambition was to be known as the best farmer in Virginia.

MR. JEFFERSON was what might be called a “progressive farmer”—constantly experimenting with new products and new methods of cultivation. He delighted in gardening, and it was said that “he domesticated almost every tree and shrub, native and foreign, that could survive the severe Virginia winter.” General Jackson developed a great farm in Tennessee; Presidents Madison, Monroe and Tyler also retired to country homes at the expiration of their terms of office, although they seem to have given more attention to literary work than actual farming following their retirement. It does not appear likely that the average age at inauguration will change materially in years to come. At fifty-four a normal man should be physically sound, in full mental vigor and ripe in experience. Some playful remarks by Sir William Osler, a few years ago, to the effect that a man has completed his best work at forty and after that begins to decline, have been so frequently repeated and distorted by repetition that the original remarks today would hardly be recognized by this eminent medical authority. To these remarks have been added the assertion that at sixty a man should be quietly and painlessly eliminated by chloroform. Although Osler did not make any such statement seriously, the report has gained wide circulation and he is frequently quoted to this effect. He himself was a living example of the fact that a man may do excellent work when he is well past the age of three score years. He lived to be seventy years old. Of course, if one applies this doctrine to athletes, professional baseball players or pugilists, it contains a considerable element of truth. Occasionally, however, a Bob Fitzsimmons or a “Pop” Anson may continue his career beyond forty, but these individuals are the exception. Most athletes are at their best between twenty-five and thirty-five. A large amount of the world’s immortal poetry has been written by men under forty, and the youthfulness of many great generals is frequently a matter of surprise. Shelley died when not quite thirty, but Tennyson was still writing when he was considerably over seventy. Alexander the Great completed his military career when he was thirty-two, but Marshall Foch was just beginning the greatest period of his career when he was sixty-seven years of age. Laennec began to study medicine when he was fourteen and a half years old. At the age of thirty-five he was appointed chief physician to the Necker Hospital, and a the age of thirty-seven he made his notable contribution of the stethoscope to medical science. He died at the age of forty-five, leaving a name that will live forever in the annals of medicine, although he himself took even greater pride in his horsemanship than in his professional attainments. Koch, at the age of sixty-three, was sent by the German Government to West Africa to investigate sleeping sickness, having previously discovered the tubercle bacillus and the spirillum of cholera. When well past sixty he contributed some of his best work to medical science. It is clear, however, that where ripeness and maturity of judgement must count for so much, as in the case of the presidency, middle age seems more desirable than youth. The Constitution of the United States permits a man to become President at thirty-five, but the youngest President to be elected by the people was Theodore Roosevelt, who was forty-six at the time of his inauguration in 1905. Roosevelt’s occupancy of the White House at forty-two was an unexpected turn of fate. Of twenty-nine men who have filled the presidency, six died in office, three of disease and three by assassination. Of the twenty-four Presidents who died, as we say, natural deaths, it is impossible to speak with absolute confidence of the cause of death. The differences in nomenclature and diagnosis among the older and the modern physicians make such a classification difficult, but the outstanding fact seems to be that the greater number of Presidents have died of “old age.” This is a term often given as the cause of death on many of the older death certificates, and even today is met with not infrequently. We would infer that such a death was due to the gradual slowing down of the body mechanism, worn out by age and use. Frequently it is difficult to assign the immediate cause of death to any particular organ, as many or all of the vital structures may show degeneration and loss of functional capacity. Another term frequently used to describe this condition was “debility.” Washington died at the age of sixty-seven, of pneumonia contracted while riding over his farms to give directions to managers. He was overtaken by showers of rain and sleet and returned home wet and chilled. Following this exposure he developed a sore throat with some hoarseness and a severe chill. He was attended by Dr. James Craik, who was an old and constant friend, and he testified to his affectionate regard by willing to the doctor a very handsome product of the cabinetmaker’s art, a tambour secretary. THE term “bilious attack” or “bilious fever” seems to have been a favorite among the earlier physicians. The cause of death of William Henry Harrison in 1841 at the age of sixty-eight was given as “bilious pleurisy.” President Tyler’s death, which occurred in 1862, at the age of seventy-one, was also ascribed to a “bilious attack.” Mr. Taylor’s death in 1850, at the age of sixty-five, was given as “bilious fever.” These terms are certainly vague and would hardly be acceptable as a cause of death at the present time. Andrew Jackson’s death was ascribed to “dropsy,” and there is a very complete record of his last illness. He died in 1845 at the age of seventy-eight after a life full of arduous duties and with much streunous military service to his credit. His election to the presidency following the administration of John Quincy Adams served to emphasize the sharp contrast between his cultured predecessor and himself. While no college could claim that honor of having President Jackson as an alumnus, and while it appears that he had some difficulty in writing and speaking correct English, his quickness and readiness for action had placed him in the front rank among the military chiefs of his day and, when the occasion demanded, he could be as gracious and courtly a gentleman as any of his critics. His physical and moral courage was never questioned. He was extremely fond of horses and delighted in the sport of racing. It would appear from the record of his illness that his death was due in great measure to gradual weakening of the heart or cardiac failure, which resulted in this extreme degree of dropsy. His mind retained its vigor to the last and in his dying moments he said, “Do not grieve that I am about to leave you, for I shall be better off. I have fulfilled my destiny on the earth, and it is better that this worn-out frame should go to rest.” The story is related of an admirer of Andrew Jackson who journeyed to “The Hermitage” in Tennessee to pay his respects at the grave of his friend. He walked out in the garden and stood by the grave. Turning to President Jackson’s faithful old colored servant who had been with him for many years, he said, “Do you suppose the general went to heaven?” The old man hesitated a few seconds and finally replied, “Well, I just couldn’t exactly answer that, sir, but I will say this, that if the general wanted to go to heaven, all hell couldn’t have stopped him.” President Arthur died in 1886 at the age of fifty-six, from Bright’s disease. He loved company, late suppers, good food and wine—and while these are often delightful qualities in our friends, they are not conducive to longevity. Three of our Presidents or 10 per cent, have met death by assassination—a frightful mortality rate. No European nation has such a rate of mortality for this cause among its executive chiefs as the United States. Attempts on the lives of Queen Victoria and Napoleon III were unsuccessful. President Carnot of France and King Humbert of Italy met death at the hands of assassins, and some of the various Balkan rulers and Russian autocrats have been killed. The assassination of Edward of England on the eighteenth of March, 978, has been called the blackest spot in English history. He was personally popular and history still refers to him as “The Martyr.” The crime appears, however, to have been inspired by intrigues in the court itself and not by the populace. Of course the assassins of our three Presidents have been regarded as fanatics, either political or religious, or as misguided individuals who perhaps did not realize the seriousness of their crimes. Nevertheless, our record of crime in the United States is not one conducive to pride, and the safety of our Presidents is constantly a matter of serious concern to the country. The attitude of the average British subject towards his ruler differes strikingly from that of the American citizen toward his President. The Englishman regards his king with some degree of pride and takes almost a paternal interest in his personal welfare. He regards him as a national institution and delights in catching a glimpse of the king on state or public occassions, when the royal presence never fails to arouse enthusiasm. He delights in sports in which the royal household may be interested. The sport of racing, which is one of the great national pastimes of the British, has usually been well patronized by members of the royal family. For years the king has attended regularly the running of the Derby at Epsom Downs. This event draws patrons from the far corners of the empire and is a unique and interesting spectacle to witness. The attitude of the British subject toward his sovereign seemed to be well illustrated in the excited observation of a bystander, who, as the king rode by during a state function, pointed eagerly toward him and exclaimed, “There goes Garge! ’E’s lookin’ fine. ’Is trip to Epsom done ’im good.” This observation was made in no spirit of disrespect but on the contrary expressed the deepest concern and personal satisfaction in the appearance of the king. Such an attitude does not call for repressive measures and strong guards for the personal safety of the ruler, and there appeared to be no special measures taken to insure the safety of the king during this public appearance. To be sure, the everpresent London “bobby” was always in evidence, but it is a well-known fact that the London policeman carries no arms and is merely provided with a night stick. This, and his air of authority, self confidence and infallibility appear quite adequate to inspire respect for the law. The American citizen’s attitude toward his President differs quite radically from this picture. True, he is interested in the welfare of the President, but his interest is more apt to assume the form of curiosity; and, once having satisfied this curiosity, and obtained all the facts, his interest is apt to wane. To see how the individual who occupies the presidency appears; how he acts under certain circumstances; what he says, and the manner in which he conducts himself, are matters which interest the average citizen. Having satisfied this curiosity, he not infrequently favors a change and he begins to wonder how certain other individuals might look, act and conduct themselves in the White House. This trait appears to be particularly well developed in this country, and may have accounted, in some measure at least, for changes in the incumbency of the White House, which political leaders attributed to more serious political likes and dislikes on the part of the voters.The demands on the President’s time and energies are tremendous and appear to be constantly increasing. In this day and age when physical fitness is receiving such constant attention, and when periodic health examinations are being urged as an important measure in conserving health and promoting longevity, it does not appear unreasonable to predict that the time will come when one of the requisites for holding public office will be the ability to pass a careful physical examination. The voter may reasonably request to be informed as to the physical status of the candidate as well as to his mental attainments and fitness.

I
MMEDIATELY following election the President is confronted with the tasks of selecting a cabinet, rewarding political supporters, outlining policies, and settling up private business and personal affairs preparatory to journeying to Washington to assume the Presidency. Even before he takes up his official residence at the White House, the president-elect becomes the target for those vast hordes of sharp-shooters known as office seekers. Scarcely has the President set up his household gods in the new abode before lengthy ceremonies and functions begin. Innumerable are the occasions when he is called on to lay corner stones, dedicate buildings, address public bodies, attend official and semi-official banquets and meetings entirely apart from his regular duties. Every college and every society, every business concern, sends letters or personal representatives requesting that the President honor the institution or the society by his presence. To attend these meetings or functions usually means, of course, to “say a few words.” The thousands of such applicants for favors are insistent in their demands. Many of them are backed by recommendations and testimonials from influential men and their demands cannot lightly be disposed of. Then come the independent American citizens—millions of them, with their wives and children, their relations and connections—who consider the President’s time their own and want to meet and shake hands with him. With the least encouragement they would, without any compunction whatever, bring their knitting and sit down and pass the time of day—preferably in the state dining room. Finally, there are the cranks and criminals whose menace to life is a real and ever-present one and against whose approach the President must be constantly guarded. Under the circumstances it is not to be wondered at that an adviser, helper, protector, a guide in matters of health—from the sanitation of his house to the minutest detail of food, exercise, recreation, clothing, sleep and personal hygiene—has become a necessity for the President. Usually, civilian physicians are not in a position to devote their entire time and attention to a single patient, however exalted his station and valuable his life, so the practice has grown up of detailing a medical officer from the Army or Navy for this important task. Such physicians are accustomed to being sent from one station to another and have no local practice to detain them. They can be in constant attendance and accompany their charges wherever they go. ONE of my early experiences during Mr. Roosevelt’s administration was in my connection with the proposed physical tests for officers of the Army and Navy. As everyone knows, Theodore Roosevelt was an intensely active man and a strong believer in physical exercise for himself as well as for others. Having been rather delicate as a lad, he doubtless owed his abundant energy and subsequent physical prowess to the thoroughgoing health culture he began to practice in early youth. Convinced that during times of peace many officers, especially those in the higher ranks, doing administrative work, were inclined and even forced to lead sedentary lives and perhaps become unfitted for active military service, President Roosevelt desired to institute certain physical tests, not only to promote exercise but to eliminate the unfit. On January 4, 1909, he signed Navy General Order, Number Six. This famous order reads, in part, as follows: “To cultivate and inculcate the habit of frequent daily exercise on the part of all officers, especially those of middle life and beyond, in order to maintain a physical condition that will conduce to the highest service efficiency and enable them to be always fitted for the maximum service they may be called upon to perform, the President of the Unted States has directed that all officers on the active list shall undergo an annual physical test. . . . Before taking the physical test all officers will be examined by a board of medical officers to determine whether the test may be taken without damage to the officer. Immediately after the completion of the test, or within three hours thereafter, if practicable, the same board of officers will examine the officer to see what may be the result.” A similar order was issued by President Roosevelt for the Army. The physical test consisted of either a walk of fifty miles, a horseback ride of ninety miles, or a bicycle ride of one hundred miles, during three consecutive days. Before actually promulgating the order the President resolved to try out the proposed test himself. This was typical of Mr. Roosevelt. He believed in exercise, and he exercised. The party to undergo the test consisted of the President, Surgeon-General Rixey, Captain Archibald Butt, the military aide (who later lost his life in the Titanic disaster) and myself. We had breakfast together at 3:40 o’clock at the White House on a bleak, snowy morning in January.

The President seemed particualarly enthusiastic about the ride and stated that as there had been some protest against the proposed orders, he would take the test himself but instead of riding the ninety miles in three days he proposed to do it in one day.President Roosevelt rode his favorite horse, “Roswell,” a fine type of hunter for whom he had an affectionate regard, on the first lap of the journey to Fairfax Court House, a distance of about twenty miles. The President was in high spirits and as we rode out of the White House grounds, remarked: “Let old Foraker and old Tillman rage, and, notwithstanding the resentment of Congress, we are going to have a bully day.” At Fairfax we shifted to horses which had been sent on the day before, and continued without delay to Bull Run, where another change was made and the ride continued to Warrenton, a distance of fifty-two miles from Washington.The President had planned to arrive at Warrenton at eleven A.M., and as we rode down the main street the clock in the Court House struck eleven. President Roosevelt remarked, “The Southern Railroad could not have beaten this schedule.” He had taken no rest or refreshment en route to Warrenton and proceeded to the Warren Green Inn for lunch. The people of Warrenton were totally unaware that the President of the United States had planned a trip to their city. The news, however, was quickly heralded around the town that President Roosevelt was there, and the public schools adjourned in order to give the children an opportunity to see the President. Mr. Roosevelt spoke to them from horseback as he prepared to make the return trip. For lunch the President was served fried chicken, corn bread, toast and tea of which he was very fond and of which he drank several cups. He ate sparingly, however, remarking, “We cannot afford to eat heavily on such a trip as this.”

ON THE return trip it began to snow and sleet alternately, and the horses frequently slipped badly. I carried a first-aid outfit which contained some brandy, and remarked to the President that it was available. He replied, “I don’t need it, and think we will get along perhaps better without it.” All the members of the party followed his example in this respect. At Fairfax the President mounted “Roswell” for the return trip to Washington. By this time the road had become very slippery from the falling sleet and snow which was freezing as it fell, and there was considerable difficulty keeping our horses on the road. As darkness fell this difficulty increased, and on one occasion the President’s horse got off the road into a ditch and fell. He did not appear disturbed by this accident and as neither horse nor rider appeared injured, he mounted and proceeded again without comment. At this point his glasses became covered with sleet and ice, and he remarked, “I cannot see any more than if I had two shutters over my eyes.” Following this I rode close to him and held on to his horse’s reins in order to keep him in the road. My horse was smooth-shod and was a rather nervous thoroughbred. He frequently slipped to his knees, and the President kept cautioning me repeatedly not to let my horse fall upon me. We arrived in Washington between seven and eight o’clock in the evening and when we took off our slouch hats at the White House they were completely frozen, leaving an absolute replica in ice.The President keenly enjoyed the trip and considered it excellent sport. He remarked repeatedly about the bad roads of Virginia. I can add, however, that these roads are all paved at present and in excellent condition. The trip had been begun with the greatest secrecy, and it was the only time that the Secret Service men were completely unaware of the fact that the President had left the White House. James Sloan, Chief of the White House Secret Service remarked, “This is the only time that the President ever got away from me.” It would have been a difficult trip for a man unaccustomed to horseback, and no doubt the President had this fact in mind when he quitely slipped away in the early morning. The trip was quite a lark for Mr. Roosevelt, and he enjoyed it immensely. He remarked as we entered the White House, “Now an old retiring President, the Surgeon-General of the Navy, a Captain in the Army and a young Naval doctor have clearly demonstrated that a ninety-mile ride in three days is not a severe test, and any man who cannot do it is not fit to be on the active list.” We all arrived back in good condition but, nevertheless, well aware of the fact that we had covered one hundred and four miles in the worst kind of weather. I saw the President the following day and, in commenting on the trip, he said “I feel as fit as a fiddle.”

PRESIDENT TAFT also enjoyed horseback riding and indulged in this form of exercise and recreation very frequently, although he was of such weight and girth that particularly large horses had to be selected for him. The story is related that, following one of Mr. Taft’s long rides, word was sent to Mr. Roosevelt that the trip had been completed and that Mr. Taft had arrived in good condition, whereupon he replied, “Wire back and inquire about the horse.”

President Wilson was a good horseback rider but rode infrequently and took his exercise principally by walking and playing golf. When I first attended him, soon after his inauguration, he commented on the fact that I had also been with Presidents Roosevelt and Taft. At our first professional meeting in his bedroom at the White House he got the drop on me by telling a medical story of his own. It seems that shortly before one of the Princeton-Yale games, one of the Orange and Black players, feeling indisposed, consulted Doctor Delafield, of New York, from whom he received a prescription written in Latin. The player showed it to the captain of his eleven, who scanned the prescription closely and was able to make out only the word “strychnine”—which suggested to him all sorts of dire possibilities. “Don’t take that stuff,” he said, “until after the game. Delafield is a Yale man.” The President delighted in reciting this instance of extreme precaution on the part of the captain and on more than one occasion recalled the story with great relish. However, I am glad to say that he trusted me and took my prescriptions and sometimes simple homely remedies during the subsequent eight years while he was a most important player in one of the biggest games in the history of the world, without questioning the “Latin in the prescription.”

EDITOR’S NOTE—This is the first of four articles by Admiral Grayson. The next will appear in an early issue.

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Grayson, Cary T. (Cary Travers), 1878-1938, “The Health of the Presidents. No. I,” 1927 April 1, WWP16613, Cary T. Grayson Papers, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, Staunton, Virginia.