The Health of the Presidents. No. IV

Title

The Health of the Presidents. No. IV

Creator

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

Identifier

WWP16617

Date

1927 August 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

IV

ZACHARY TAYLOR, the twelfth President, was the first regular Army man to be elected to that office. The only other was General Grant. While many of our Presidents have seen war service, it has been in the capacity of citizen soldiers rather than as members of the regular Army. Mr. Taylor entered the Army as a lieutenant at the age of twenty-three and remained in it for a period of over forty years, until he became President. He spent his boyhood days on a frontier farm in Kentucky, where he had few scholastic opportunities but much training in thrift, industry and self-denial. He lived in a border settlement where clashes with the Indians were frequent and where military force was constantly required for protection. General Taylor had planned to retire from the Army and again take up life on a stock farm. The fact that he had no desire for political office increased rather than diminished his popularity, as it has that of many other prospective occupants of the White House. General Taylor was at Baton Rouge at the time of his nomination and the Whigs waited in vain for the letter of acceptance. It appears that the general had not received the letter of notification, as the individual who posted it carelessly neglected to prepay the postage. In those days, mail lacking the necessary stamps was forwarded and the postage collected upon delivery; but as General Taylor refused to receive mail which had not been duly stamped, his letter of notification remained undelivered. Though he did it unwittingly, General Taylor is probably the only man in American history who refused to give the price of a stamp for the presidential nomination. His belated letter of acceptance finally allayed the fears of his party. President Taylor was sixty-four years of age at the time of his inauguration. William Henry Harrison and Zachary Taylor were the only two Whigs to be elected President. They were both soldiers and both died in the White House. Only two Presidents at the time of their inauguration were older than Zachary Taylor. They were William Henry Harrison and James Buchanan. The former was sixty-eight, and died a month following his inauguration as the oldest President. Mr. Buchanan was sixty-five at the time of his inauguration.ON JULY 4, 1850, only sixteen months after his inauguration, President Taylor fell ill; and he died five days afterward. He had attended the Independence Day exercises at Washington Monument, where Senator Foote, of Mississippi, delivered the oration. The following account appeared in the Philadelphia Public Ledger for July 12, 1850: On the morning of the fourth he was, to all appearances, sound in health and in excellent spirits…While on the ground [at Washington Monument] he partook freely of water, and then, after considerable exercise in walking, and exposure to the sun, he rode home. Arrived in the Mansion, he “felt,” as he expressed himself to Doctor Weatherspoon, “very hungry,” and without reflecting that he was in an unfit condition to indulge freely in fruits, and so on, he called for some refreshments and ate heartily of cherries and wild berries, which he washed down with copious draughts of iced milk and water… At dinner he applied himself again to the cherries against the remonstrance of Doctor Weatherspoon, and in an hour he was seized by cramps, which soon took the form of cholera morbus… Meanwhile there were other causes besides merely eating and drinking that operated fatally upon his system. To his medical attendant on the eighth he said, “I should not be surprised if this were to terminate in my death. I did not expect to encounter what has beset me since my elevation to the Presidency. God knows that I have endeavored to fulfill what I conceived to be an honest duty. My motives have been misonstrued and my feelings most grossly outraged.” He alluded doubtless to the slavery question, and the manner in which he had been variously assailed. Even the sanctity of his sick chamber was invaded by certain Southern ultraists, who came to warn him that unless he took some necessary step to protect the South, they would vote a resolution of censure on his conduct in the Galphin business. On the fifith, Messrs. Stephens and Coombs waited upon him as a committee appointed by an ultra caucus to remonstrate upon the same subject and, according to facts since developed, the interview concluded with a similar threat. The conversation between the President and those who waited upon him officially, including this ultra delegation, I am not prepared fully to repeat, but his physicians do not deny that it materially influenced his disease. Let conscience be their only punishment. President Taylor’s death may be attributed, no doubt, in part to the heavy burdens inflicted upon him as an occupant of the White House, which required him to expose himself during a torrid Washington midsummer day to the fatigue of lengthy public ceremony. Even during the summer vacation a President gets only partial relief from official obligations. Cabinet officers, members of Congress and political leaders come and go at all times. Conferences have to be held, reporters are indefatigable and ubiquitous, and the office-seeker has no conscience. Nothing but a serious illness procures immunity from intrusion, and illness is a dangerous and costly indulgence for our Presidents. It is presumed to be the duty, in fact, it should be the authority, of the President’s physician to see to it that the hours for meals, sleep and amusement are rigidly respected; and of the President’s secretary to save him from an unwelcome visitor, and to see that the twenty-minute interview does not run into an hour. The public inclines to attribute to the President almost miraculous powers of insight and memory as well as of physical endurance. However, these complimentary estimates are a poor return for the fatigue inflicted by the universal American passion for shaking hands with public men. It may yield huge satisfaction to the good Democrat or Republican to stand in a massed crowd for several hours, then to be marshaled into a single file merely for the sake of a quick grasp of the President’s hand. But for the President it is a severe ordeal. His recompense is the realization that he has given pleasure. Of course, innumerable public receptions make for wide popularity. IINCIDENTALLY, considerable entertainment is afforded the President by some of the remarks made on these occasions. As illustrative, at one reception an earnest handshaker remarked to the Presdient: “You will be glad to know that Mr. Morony is resting easier today.” It was the amelioration of her husband’s condition that enabled Mrs. Morony to leave him for this visit with the President. Doubtless her thoughts had been fixed on her husband during the tedious wait in line, and “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” “You probably remember me. I shook hands with you four years ago at the Syracuse Fair,” was the gretting of one handshaker as he hurriedly passed by. At one ceremony following a parade in which banners bearing the legend, “Susan B. Anthony,” were numerous and conspicuous, one of the reformers, as her turn came, remarked earnestly: “Don’t forget Susy!” Direct compliments are not uncommon. “Your picture does not begin to do you justice,” is a frequent remark. One of the old stories of a presidential reception is that of a worthy haberdasher who said to the President, when introducting himself, “Made-your-shirt, sir.” Believing that the speaker gave his title and name, the President replied: “Delighted to meet you, major.” More amusing is the story of a Mr. Decker, who was unfortunate enough at a presidential reception to be mistakenly addressed by different members of the receiving party in four names other than his own. The President remarked that he was glad to meet “Mr. Cracker.” The President’s wife greeted him as “Mr. Baker.” A Cabinet officer’s daughter called him “Mr. Sacker,” and the wife of another Cabinet officer called him “Mr. Barker.” This must have been a weary and fatigued receiving line. IF THE conviction were not ingrained in the American people—the greatest handshakers on earth—that it is the right of every free-born citizen to show his loyalty in this way; if we knew of it, for example, only as the native custom of some tribe in the heart of Africa, we would vote the practice a barbarous, subtle form of torture designed solely to sap the vigor of great men! When a man of fifty or sixty has devoted the greater part of the day to settling complicated points of finance, law, politics and diplomacy, and perhaps has been compelled to decide whether some poor individual condemned to die is to be reprieved or not, it can scarcely be the end of a perfect day for him to affect a pleasant look and shake hands several hundred times in succession before he can claim an earned repose.

If one desires to convince himself of the strain these large receptions impose upon the President and his official family, let him carefully note, when it is his turn to be greeted, the peculiar form of handshake he gets from at least some members of the receiving party, if not from the chief personage himself. He will observe that all in the receiving line, in some degree, experience the devitalizing effect of the ordeal. Though the weary host may hold the hand of the guest for but a second he will impart to it a peculiar impulse, a sort of pull which may be regarded as an unconscious, automatic, unintentional urge for him to move on. This wholly involuntary expression of weariness and tension is similar to those bodily movements we make when an automobile is laboring to negotiate an unusually steep hill; or like the impulse to lean back when a cog-wheel railway is going down some steep grade at a fast pace. In very much the same manner the people in the waiting line, through a combination of excitement and fatigue, are inclined to forge ahead as they see the long line stretching both before and behind them. In other words, the momentum thus given by the individual himself places him in a receptive attitude for this presidential “pull.” At a recent meeting of the Southern Medical Society held in Washington, the members went on record as being opposed to this handshaking practice. They felt that the President should be spared the necessity of having in this physical way to meet members of societies and delegates to conventions who so frequently select Washington as their place of meeting. The view thus expressed is one which might well be followed. The comfort, happiness, health, and even the very life of the President depend in considerable measure on the intelligence and fidelity of his entire entourage. In these days of cranks and paranoiacs, of infernal machines, of those who are intentionally criminal or criminally careless, conscientious attention to the seemingly trivial is required of all who serve in any capacity in the White House. IT HAS been rare indeed for a President not to be popular, at least with his own party. Parcels of every description arrive daily by mail and express. Boxes, hampers and crates come from every section of the country and contain an endless variety of gifts. While the great majority of these presents, of course, are meant to give the President pleasure, nevertheless the attachés of the White House must be constantly on the alert to prevent harm coming to the chief executive through the medium of the mail or express. Some ill-advised or ill-disposed individual might seize on this means of harming the President. The White House staff works in conjunction with the secret-service officers in making certain that everything received and used at the White House is innocuous.Major Arthur Brooks, a colored man, who served for many years as custodian of the White House property, and whose ability, fidelity and trustworthiness were proved by long years of service with four Presidents, exercised great care with all articles intended for the chief executive. If, for instance, the sender was a relative or intimate friend, Major Brooks simply passed the article of food on to the kitchen. If he did not know the sender he made the necessary inquiries, and in case there was the least shadow of doubt the matter was reported to the President’s physician and the article of food did not reach the President’s table. The recent death of Major Brooks removed from the White House one of the most dependable and loyal attendants who ever served a President. The same close protection of the President is applied to his visitors. Cranks of various sorts occasionally attempt to see the President or write letters to the White House which excite suspicion and lead to investigation. It is rare indeed for a President to escape constant surveillance. The President of the United States, in more ways than one, lives a public life. If he desires to take a walk, secret-service men, even though it should be against his wish, follow him as inevitably as his shadow. When he retires at night there is a watchman in the hall upon which his door opens. Furthermore, there are watchmen on all floors and also around the White House grounds. All capitals are distributing centers for news. We might also add that all capitals are distributing centers for gossip. The number of unfounded stories put into circulation concerning notable people of Washington is legion. This was true in the days of Washington and Lincoln, and no more worthy public servants were more maligned. Even to this day our first President is thus maligned. An anecdote about a senator or a foreign diplomat has a certain charm but it fades into insignificance beside some story about a dweller in the White House. Usually the more startling the news, the less substantial the foundation for it. While some of the gossip is malign, much of it is merely careless and thoughtless, and is due to the failure of the people to realize how helpless the Presdients and their families are in the face of gossip, how cruelly it hurts, and how persistently a false story continues to be believed for years after the President and his family have left the White House. The impossibility of killing libel is well illustrated in the case of President Roosevelt. All people who were in close contact with him know that he was temperate. However, as will be remembered, scandalous rumors were circulated about his excessive drinking habits, and he was even accused of being a drunkard. After he retired from office, Mr. Roosevelt saw his opportunity to bring this gossip into the open, entered suit for libel, and won his case. Nevertheless, we must keep in mind that even the acquittal of a jury does not always relieve a man from suspicion and from libelous stories which have been put into circulation. While these stories were unfounded in the case of Mr. Roosevelt, they are still repeated and are no doubt believed by some. A pathetic exeample of the way in which libelous stories persist and wound was in the case of Ruth Cleveland. She was the first baby born at the White House and naturally the center of general interest, particularly as her father was a man of unusual force and her mother a woman of rare grace and charm. Visitors to the capital were eager for an opportunity to see the White House baby. Some of the more intrepid spirits even sought to acquire a brief notoriety by reporting that they had kissed little Ruth. Not wishing to give offense to the public, but objecting seriously to having the child kissed by any and everybody, the President directed that the grounds to the south of the White House be closed to the public. By way of return for this considerate way of meeting the situation, a report gained circulation that the Cleveland baby was being relegated to the remotest and darkest corner of the lot because she was a deaf mute. STORIES of Ruth’s abnormality followed her to Princeton and persisted to the end of her life. Princeton people recall that in her lifetime they would frequently be asked about that “poor afflicted child.” When they would reply that she was a little girl of unusual intelligence and charm, they would be met with incredulity. The full pathos of all this was summed up in a simple remark by Mr. Cleveland following her death by diphtheria. Almost heartbroken by the loss of Ruth, the day after she had been buried in the Princeton Cemetery, he said, “However, it may be all for the best, for if she had lived these stories would have followed her to the end.” Andrew Johnson, who was most abstemious in his habits, was convalescing from typhoid fever when he took the oath of office as Vice President. He was so weak that he could not walk about his sick room without tottering and his physician protested in vain against his making the attempt. He appeared somwhat unsteady during the inauguration, and later on, in the days of his unpopularity, the incident was frequently used against him. No doubt Mr. Johnson regretted that he had not heeded his physician’s advice and saved himself from the accusations of intemperance which were frequently made. Mr. Lincoln knew the true state of affairs and once assured a mortified partisan that “Andy” was not a drunkard. President Garfield, during his few months’ occupancy of the White House, was also a victim of much idle rumor and gossip. He was a genial, kindly man, whose early life had been spent on a Middle West frontier. He is sometimes referred to as the last of the log-cabin Presidents. When but two years old, his father died fighting a forest fire, leaving his mother, with four small children, alone on a frontier farm and with little in the way of wordly goods. Perhaps no other occupant of the White House owed more to his mother than James A. Garfield and no other made more strenuous efforts to repay this debt. He put himself through academy and college by hard work. Chopping wood at seventy-five cents a cord, serving as deck hand on a boat, driving mules, harvesting, carpentering and teaching school are all listed amoung the tasks of his younger days. His road to education was a long and rough one, but as a result of his insatiable thirst for knowledge he is numbered among the thoroughly scholarly occupants of the White House. He became principal of his academic school at Hiram, Ohio, and occasionally preached at the local church. He was elected to the State Senate and at the outbreak of the Civil War led a regiment against the Confederates in the Kentucky mountains.

COLONEL GARFIELD rose rapidly in spite of the fact that military art was a new undertaking for him. His lifelong habit of hard study stood him in good stead. At the age of thirty he was the youngest brigadier general in the Union Army. Later he became Chief of Staff to General Rosecrans, and after the battle of Chickamauga became a major general. He was sent to Congress in 1863. While there, he served as aide to James G. Blaine, who was then the leader of the House. He was a member of Congress when Lincoln was assassinated and following this tragic event made one of his most memorable speeches. Mr. Garfield was a delegate to the remarkable national convention which met in Chicago in 1880. The struggle for the nomination was bitter. James G. Blaine, John Sherman and General Grant, who could not overcome the prejudice against a third term in the White House, were unable to secure sufficient votes. It became apparent that a compromise candidate was necessary but the break to Mr. Garfield was entirely unexpected. His nomination and election were attributed to his own personal qualities; and his “front porch” method of campaigning won him much popularity and many votes. Perhaps no President has entered the White House with a larger measure of good will and friendly feeling on the part of the populace. President Garfield was in his fiftieth year at the time of his inauguration on March 4, 1881, and presented a striking figure. He was six feet tall, broad shouldered, strongly built, erect and with a fine carriage. He had light brown hair and beard, light blue eyes, prominent nose and full cheeks. He had been hardened by a strenuous frontier life and yet withal was a genial, kindly and lovable man. He dressed plainly and wore broad-brimmed slouch hats and stout boots. He was a hearty eater but cared nothing for luxurious living and was thoroughly temperate in his habits. Like many another occupant of the White House, he had not striven for this goal. On the evening of March third, preceding his inauguration, his classmates tendered him a reception at Wormley’s Hotel in Washington. In response to a toast on that occasion, General Garfield said, “This honor comes to me unsought. I have never had the presidential fever…even for a day; nor have I yet tonight. I have no feeling of elation in view of the position I am called upon to fill. I would thank God were I today a free lance in the House or the Senate.” The people were well aware of Mr. Garfield’s brilliant record in public life. The remarkable story of his youth and early manhood was familiar to every schoolboy throughout the country. However, the storm of political strife broke very shortly after his inauguration. James G. Blaine became Secretary of State and also the power behind the throne. President Garfield in his vain attempt to satisfy political factions and office seekers, created such bitter political strife as seemed impossible a few months before. Only a few months after his inauguration, President Garfield remarked bitterly, “What is there in this place that a man should ever want to get into it?” While this factional strife was at its height, Charles J. Guiteau, a disappointed office seeker, conceived the mad idea that he could correct the situation with a pistol. He posted himself at the railway station where the President was to take a train for Massachusetts on Saturday morning, July second, 1881, and, as the President entered the waiting room with Mr. Blaine, fired two shots in quick succession. The first bullet penetrated the upper part of the right arm, making a harmless wound. The second shot struck the President in the back, as he had turned slightly. He sank to the floor, bleeding profusely, but did not lose consciousness; and later dictated a telegram to be sent to Mrs. Garfield, who was at Long Branch, New Jersey. A mattress was secured and the wounded President was carried upstairs and placed upon a bed. Several surgeons were immediately summoned and pronounced the injury most serious. It was decided that the President could be removed to the White House and an Army ambulance was called and the President placed in this vehicle. AT ABOUT twenty minutes after nine, the people of Pennsylvania Avenue were startled by the sight of this ambulance and a team of powerful horses driven at top speed toward the White House. Following the ambulance came the President’s empty carriage with the driver on the box, at the same breakneck pace. The ambulance was driven to the south entrance of the White House and the President was lifted out and taken to his room overlooking the Potomac. Two attempts were made to locate the bullet, one at the station and another at the White House; but without result. Later in the afternoon several attempts were made to probe for the bullet, but they were all unsuccessful. Immediately after the shooting the President’s pulse dropped to fifty-three and his face, as he was moved, was of an ashen color, due to shock and loss of blood. Doctor Bliss seemed to be the most sanguine of the attending physicians. For seventy-nine days the struggle continued, President Garfield bearing his suffering without a murmur. The wound in the side was infected and the President later developed jaundice, which pointed to some injury of the liver. It was felt that the intense midsummer heat was hindering his chance of recovery. On the morning of September fifth, preparations were made to move him to Long Branch, New Jersey, on the following day. He seemed to improve for a few days following this move, but soon had a relapse. On September sixteenth there was a marked change for the worse. The following day he had a severe chill with a high fever and increased respiration, and became wildly delirious. On Monday, September nineteenth, he had another severe chill, followed by profuse sweating and a high fever, and at 10:35 that evening death brought the uneven struggle to a sudden end. It is interesting to note that an autopsy was performed on the following day by Doctor Lamb and it was found that the bullet, after fracturing the right eleventh rib, had passed through the spinal column in front of the spinal canal, fracturing the body of the first lumbar vertebra and driving a number of small fragments of bone into the adjacent soft parts. The ball lodged below the pancreas about two and a half inches to the left of the spine and behind the peritoneum, where it had become completely encysted. The immediate cause of death was secondary hermorrhage from one of the abdominal arteries close to the track of the ball. There was a large abscess found just below the liver, and the path of the bullet was a long suppurating channel. THE fact that a post-mortem was agreed to and was carried out with such thoroughness is highly commendable and is an example which might well be followed. Perhaps no one procedure has contributed more to our knowledge of disease than the practice than performing careful and thorough post-mortem examinations. It is the one infallible test which confirms or modifies the diagnosis, and there is no procedure which so sharpens the skill of the medical man or so greatly enhances his knowledge of disease . Careful routine post-mortem examinations enable the medical man to practice his profession with increased confidence and decidedly increased efficiency. In reviewing the history of President Garfield’s injury and death, there can be no doubt that he had the attention of the most skillful and scientific surgeons of his day, and that their efforts were untiring. At the present time a similar situation would no doubt be treated somewhat differently, due to the further progress of medical science. The frequent probing for the bullet—which, after all, was not doing a great deal of harm—would be eliminated. It was not the presence of this foreign body, perhaps, but the fact that infective organisms were carried along with it into the body, which created the septic poisoning from which the President suffered.President Garfield died in his fiftieth year, on the seventy-ninth day following his wound—only six and a half months after his inaguration. He had been in public service almost twenty years, and with the meager pay which he had received, left his wife and children in almost as straitened financial circumstances as his father had left his mother before him. The public welcomed the opportunity to provide a fund for the President’s widow, who survived him by almost forty years. The sturdy character of President Garfield, built up by the peculiar struggle and honest endeavor of his boyhood, was a finer legacy to his heirs than any material fortune would have been. He is survived by three sons. James R. Garfield, the lawyer, was a member of President Roosevelt’s cabinet. Harry A. Garfield, the educator, was a National Field administrator during the World War under President Wilson, and later became president of Williams College. The third son, Abram Garfield, the architect, has an honored place in his profession and is a member of the National Commission of Fine Arts.

EDITOR’S NOTE—The next article in this series will appear in an early issue.

Files

http://resources.presidentwilson.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/LHJ192708.pdf

Citation

Grayson, Cary T. (Cary Travers), 1878-1938, “The Health of the Presidents. No. IV,” 1927 August 1, WWP16617, Cary T. Grayson Papers, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, Staunton, Virginia.