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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466890213 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 01/27/2015 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 208 |
| File size: | 378 KB |
About the Author
Max J. Skidmore is author of several books, including Legacy to the World: A Study of America's Political Ideas and Social Security and its Enemies. He has published scores of articles on varied topics such as politics, American culture, and the presidency including major studies of Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln. He is University of Missouri Curators' Professor of Political Science, University of Missouri-Kansas City.
Read an Excerpt
After the White House
Former Presidents as Private Citizens
By Max J. Skidmore
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2004 Max J. SkidmoreAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-9021-3
CHAPTER 1
GEORGE WASHINGTON
The First President, the First Former President
The first President of the United States, George Washington of Virginia, finally left office on March 4, 1797, at the age of 65. He was eager to retire—as he had been after having led the Continental Army to victory in the Revolution. He had in fact hoped to leave after his first term, but agreed reluctantly to stay for a second. Efforts to persuade him to run for a third time failed. His desire to return to his home, Mount Vernon, was too strong.
Washington's retirement itself influenced the course of American politics. The effect was immediate. It "eased somewhat the Jeffersonians' concerns about the dangerous aggrandizement of executive power. In fact, as scholar Leonard White noted, Washington's example converted Jefferson from his original belief that the president should serve only one term."
Ironically, though, there is no evidence that the "Father of Our Country" intended his tenure in the presidency to set a two-term limit; quite the contrary, in fact. As he indicated in a letter to the Marquis de Lafayette, he saw no wisdom "in precluding ourselves from the services of any man who on some emergency shall be deemed universally most capable of serving the public." He opposed a limit. Modern advocates of term limits should pay heed to Washington's thoughts on the matter, as term limits are now beginning to cause mischief in states around the country. Legislature after legislature is now finding its seasoned members forced into retirement, to be replaced by enthusiastic but inexperienced people who—however well-meaning—have none of the skills or prudence required to produce sound public policy. Only in America, and only in politics, is inexperience considered to be a qualification. Washington's successors nevertheless followed his lead, rather than his ideas. As a result, the two-term limit became the custom if not the law until 1940 when Franklin D. Roosevelt won election to a third term, and then went on to win a fourth.
Washington was bothered in his life as a farmer with some of the same demands upon his time that had caused him to be strict in regulating visitors when he was president. People constantly came to "pay their respects." Some no doubt genuinely wished to praise the former president, but others surely imposed upon him simply to satisfy their curiosity. There was no Secret Service in those days, and thus no agents to protect even sitting presidents, let alone those who had left the office.
Still, he threw himself into his agricultural tasks, and into restoring Mount Vernon. His managers had performed poorly, and the estate had deteriorated greatly in his absence, sorely needing his attention. Washington remarked in exasperation that there was "scarcely anything," including all buildings and his fields as well, "that does not require considerable repairs." One example of the disrepair he discovered "more by accident than by design" was that the main supporting girder of his banquet hall had deteriorated so much that "a company only moderately large would have sunk altogether into the cellar." Historian James T. Flexner noted that Mount Vernon, so long forsaken, was "dilapidated everywhere." Washington immediately ordered so many repairs that he complained of having "scarcely a room to put a friend into or set in myself without the music of hammers or the odoriferous smell of paint." The former president spent hours each day overseeing his crops. Although he grew corn and wheat, Mount Vernon was essentially a tobacco plantation. His "farms were in an even worse situation than his buildings." When he obtained Mount Vernon, its lands already had been depleted. He had worked diligently "to enrich the land with crop rotation and fertilizers," he had installed drainage ditches to guard against erosion, but he found that it all had become "a shambles." Despite the attention that Mount Vernon required and his desire for retirement, it would have been too much to expect the father of our country to abandon public affairs altogether.
He was of course grateful to have achieved the retirement that he had so long sought. Settling passively into the life of the landed gentry might have seemed attractive to him at the outset, but did not suit his active nature. He found himself not only turning his attention to his plantation, and dealing with the constant stream of visitors and guests—Mount Vernon had become "so inundated with guests that Washington complained that his home was more like a public inn than a private residence"—but also continuing to keep a keen interest in affairs of state.
Before he left the capital, Washington had asked Secretary of War James McHenry to keep him well informed, and McHenry did so. Washington biographer Douglas Southall Freeman noted that McHenry did so "within, of course, the bounds of official propriety." Among those affairs was increasing friction with France, leading to the "quasi war" on the high seas. President Adams was concerned that full-fledged war might result, and moved to establish an effective national defense for the unprepared country. Washington applauded Adams's concern for the country's protection, and took issue with the Republicans who thought that any concern for military preparation on Adams's part meant that his administration was seeking war.
The worse the international situation became, the more restless the former president became. Gone were the attractions of simply turning to the land and relaxing. As ship after ship fell victim to French seizure in the Caribbean, Washington informed McHenry that he might accept command of a "New Army." In a crisis, he indicated, a "sense of duty" would leave him no choice. He did insist, though, that he be allowed to choose his top officers—and therein lay trouble for President Adams.
Congress authorized Adams to raise an army—in fact it gave him much more than he had asked for or wanted—and the president without consulting Washington submitted his name to the Senate. Within 24 hours, the Senate "unanimously designated him lieutenant general and commander in chief of all armies to be raised within the United States." Washington agreed to accept the renewed commission, and to raise and command the forces. Thus he not only had been the first president, but after leaving office he regained active command of the military, the only former president ever to do so.
Secretary of War McHenry delivered the commission personally to Washington at Mount Vernon. He also delivered something else: "a letter from Hamilton about which Adams was told nothing." One wonders how this might come within Freeman's category of "official propriety." Here was a member of John Adams's own cabinet secretly carrying word to his new military commander urging that he make his own decisions about the army rather than deferring to his superior, the duly-elected president. Washington read that "the judgment of the President ought not to be a consideration" in regard to the army, because Adams was not competent to decide on matters of national defense.
Washington's new duties required him to leave Mount Vernon, which he regretted, in order to spend some time at the capital in Philadelphia. He arrived there on November 10, 1798, "with full military flare, on horseback and in uniform, and accompanied by cavalry." Following his dramatic entry, though, Washington
was rarely seen. He was working seven days a week with Hamilton drawing up plans for the army, reviewing applications, and choosing qualified officers for twelve new regiments that were all still largely on paper. Satisfied with what had been accomplished, Washington departed the city for the last time on December 14.
Fortunately—owing in large part to the actions Adams had taken (he had adhered strictly to neutrality and had patiently employed diplomatic means)—the threat passed with no requirement for Washington actually to lead troops. In the meantime, however, there had been action aplenty—political action. Washington had chafed at the politics involved in selecting the general staff, but to his relief he had been able to conduct most of his duties from Mount Vernon.
This did not necessarily make it easy for him. When Washington had said that he insisted upon the authority to select his top officers, the communication had not been made clear to President Adams. Taking the Constitution seriously, Adams had every intention of making the selections himself.
He would be happy to take Washington's preferences into consideration, of course, but as president of the United States the choices would be his—and they would not include putting the scheming Alexander Hamilton into the top position under Washington, as the new commander wished.
There was to be much huffing and puffing on all sides, if such terms can be applied to our august Founders, but sentiment favored Washington. Adams could not bear up under the weight of the former president's prestige, to which was added vast pressure from Hamilton's Federalist supporters. Even more powerful was a threat from Washington to resign if his wishes were not heeded. Adams's resistance crumbled, and he agreed to let Washington order the rank of his top subordinates. Washington then gave precedence to Hamilton over the others.
Historians Stanley Elkins and Eric McKitrick have noted, perceptively, that "many historians, beginning with Charles Francis Adams, have wanted to believe that Washington was not primarily responsible for Adams's humiliation, and have ascribed it instead to the plotting of Adams's cabinet." (That cabinet, which was the same as it had been under Washington, by and large was loyal to Hamilton, not Adams.) If this is literally true, they wrote, it was only literally. "Just about everyone ganged up on Adams, Washington among them, and had it not been for Washington's influence—direct, indirect, and hanging in the very air—the order of the Major-Generals, and probably even their names, would have been quite different."
Much of Washington's attitude had been shaped by his increasing alarm at what—under Hamilton's urging—he perceived to be the inability of the Adams administration to deal with France, and by his own increasing partisanship. He had held himself above party politics until the last year of his life, "but by April of 1799 he finally emerged as a Federalist." The Jeffersonians in Virginia had so grown in power that "by late summer, Washington was helping to scour the state for Federalist candidates. He was working to persuade talented men who eschewed public life to run for office." He even donned his military uniform to meet with John Marshall and cajole him into running for a seat in Congress.
To his considerable relief, the military action turned out to be limited to naval engagements. It could hardly have been otherwise. Britain and France were at war, and Britain controlled the seas. It would have been highly unlikely that the French could have landed troops in America—which was why Adams threw his support behind the creation of an effective American navy, and why he was lukewarm regarding an army. The crisis soon passed, and Washington returned to his retirement, this time permanently. As the crisis subsided, Washington withdrew from public life. He drew up a will that ultimately would free his slaves, and one that he hoped would encourage the creation of a national university. He believed that such a university would help foster a spirit of national unity.
So the first president came out of retirement to provide unique service—once again—to his country. In the end, that service had not actually been needed. In fact, its effect if any was considerably more negative than positive.
Nevertheless, while the experience no doubt reflected Washington's concern for his own image, it also reflected his willingness to sacrifice his own comfort for what he perceived to be the public good. That devotion to the public good characterized his entire career, and was as important as any of the many legacies he left to his country. He died on December 14, 1799, of a severe throat infection.
* * *
Washington's significance is enormous. As the first president of the United States, everything he did established a precedent. The presidency, and in fact, the entire U.S. government came to function as it did to a considerable extent because of the practices he initiated. That means that the country as it developed owed much to the foundation that his presidency provided. The importance of his reputation for honor and integrity cannot be overestimated. It is doubtful that any other figure could have had the prestige or the ability to hold together the infant nation, consisting as it did initially of 13 (and soon more) disputatious states that could have broken apart at any time. Even the manner in which he left the presidency set the tone for the future. He voluntarily relinquished power and returned to private life—something few, if any, rulers in world history had done before him. His example became the pattern, not only for the United States, but for much of the rest of the world as well.
CHAPTER 2JOHN ADAMS AND THOMAS JEFFERSON
Friends, Enemies, and Ultimately Friends
JOHN ADAMS
John Adams, the second president of the United States, was the first president to be defeated when he ran for re-election. He was bitter at his defeat, and the election that he lost was equally bitter. It was a strange election in many ways, one of only two in American history that required the House of Representatives to choose the winner—and John Adams at that point was no longer among those being considered. Tongues wagged when he failed to attend the inauguration of his successor—his friend turned political enemy and also his vice president—Thomas Jefferson.
Tongues still wag figuratively among certain historians—pens anyway—at his lack of sportsmanship, having slipped away at four in the morning. Indeed Washington had stayed to participate in Adams's own inauguration. Even historian David McCullough, Adams's very friendly biographer, wrote:
To his political rivals and enemies Adams's predawn departure was another ill-advised act of a petulant old man. But admirers, too, expressed disappointment.... By his presence at the ceremony Adams could have set an example of grace in defeat, while at the same time paying homage to a system whereby power, according to a written constitution, is transferred peacefully. After so vicious a contest for the highest office, with party hatreds so near to igniting in violence, a peaceful transfer of power seemed little short of a miracle.
McCullough proceeded to add that in fairness, despite appearances, we should concede that we do not know the real reason for Adams's absence from Jefferson's inauguration. Perhaps, as many have concluded, it really was bitterness—pique—that kept him away. But there are other possible explanations. Washington, it is true, attended Adams's inauguration, but then Washington had expressed a strong desire to retire. Possibly Adams had been made to feel that as a defeated president who was the political enemy of the new President Jefferson, he would not have been welcome. "There was no tradition of a defeated president appearing at the installation of a winner." Moreover, after Adams became aware that he had been defeated he and Abigail had invited Jefferson to dinner. "Jefferson had responded graciously," and they had a cordial evening.
Possibly, also, it was simply a matter of scheduling. In order to get to Baltimore that day, he had to take the stage that left at four o'clock in the morning. Of course, one may wonder why he had to leave that day, but fairness again requires that one note that the departure was not a sudden flight from the District of Columbia. He had planned his departure for more than a week.
According to legend, Adams spent his final night as president "furiously signing appointment letters for Federalist friends and cronies, thereby defying the will of the electorate and the wishes of Thomas Jefferson, his former friend and successor to the presidency." His biographer Joseph Ellis concedes that this "unflattering picture of Adams contains some accurate features," but points out that "like all legendary renderings, and more especially like all attempts to fit the boisterously unorthodox character of Adams into the conventional categories of democratic politics and popular psychology, it misses the essential truths." Such a description, he says, "even at the mundane level of factual accuracy ... distorts more than it describes," because the evening before he left office, the only official business that Adams conducted was to appoint three lower court judges in the District of Columbia and two minor officials in Pennsylvania. His key appointments, including that of John Marshall as chief justice, took place "soon after the passage of the Judiciary Act in February of 1801," and his last night in office was two months later, on March 3.
One thing about which it seems we can be reasonably confident is that Adams was indeed bitter at his loss. McCullough seems to doubt this. "Downcast, bitter, Adams may have been," he wrote, "but there is no evidence to support such a description. Adams loved the start of a new day, loved being on the move. Conceivably he felt immense relief to be homeward bound."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from After the White House by Max J. Skidmore. Copyright © 2004 Max J. Skidmore. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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Table of Contents
Introduction * Early Years: Washington and Adams * More Virginians-and Another New Englander: Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and J.Q. Adams * The Jacksonian Age: Jackson and Van Buren * Whigs and Democrats: W. H. Harrison, Tyler, Polk, Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, and Buchanan* Reconstruction Presidents: Lincoln, A. Johnson, Grant, and Hayes * Toward a New Century: Garfield, Arthur, Cleveland (once and again), B. Harrison, and McKinley * The Progressive Years: T. Roosevelt, Taft, and Wilson * The Jazz Age: Harding, Coolidge, and Hoover * The New Deal and Beyond: F. D. Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, and L.B. Johnson * Toward Another New Century: Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, G.H.W. Bush, and Clinton * The Vice PresidentsRecipe
"After the White House, is chock full of interesting anecdotes, useful facts, and groundbreaking analysis on the lives of former presidents. Skidmore is to be commended for producing a highly readable, entertaining, and important book on a topic that, surprisingly, has been largely overlooked by scholars of the U.S. presidency. This is a welcome addition to the literature on the presidency, and one that every student of the presidency will want to read. Indeed, in a rarity for works on the topic, the book is appropriate for the presidential scholar – both political scientists and historians – as well as the general reader."
--Robert P. Watson, Department of Political Science, Florida Atlantic University
"In 1787, Alexander Hamilton predicted that former presidents would wander about 'like discontented ghosts.' But as Max J. Skidmore shows us in his captivating narrative, former presidents have vigorously engaged in a wide variety of roles from advisor to philanthropist to memoirist to office-holder (including one who served in the Confederacy). After the White House is a masterful review of how men learn to cope with the loss of power by maintaining influence."--Philip Abbott, Wayne State University