Before McKinley, there were no White House press releases, the president did not sit down one-on-one with reporters to conduct in-depth interviews, and there were no policy-oriented presidential speaking tours. Cortelyou instituted as a standard practice the creation of daily “press clips” for the president to help give him a sense of public opinion around the country—a first.
Before Cortelyou, the press would show up at the White House only occasionally to gather information on a subject or to seek a quote. Cortelyou raised the importance of this practice by organizing a regular schedule for disseminating information to the press. This crucial change established the White House as a regular stop on newspaper reporters’ “beat.” Instead of going straight to Capitol Hill for comment on issues, reporters began to regularly and systematically seek the White House’s views on subjects. By making the White House a reliable and regular source of information for the press, Cortelyou raised the profile of the presidency in the eyes of newspaper editors and, thereby, the public. Through their partnership, McKinley and Cortelyou ushered the presidency into the modern age.
Before McKinley, the nation’s chief executive was seen as co-equal with the other branches of the government. Most Americans felt an emotional bond to their congressman, but their feelings did not extend to the president. As McKinley traveled the nation explaining why the US should go to war with Spain, Cortelyou’s skillful use of the media helped create a new way for the president to engage with the public.
Cortelyou was certainly a conscientious and devoted staffer, but he possessed no special gift for media management when McKinley first asked for his assistance. He could not know it at the time, but by helping McKinley create the modern White House press operation, Cortelyou would secure his rank among the most important right-hand men in history.
In the end, the Spanish-American War wasn’t much of a war. It was over in five months, and the winner was never really in doubt. But from all the excitement in the press at the time, you would think the entire Spanish Armada had dropped anchor in Boston Harbor. Media empires sprang up practically overnight, struggling to keep pace with the public’s insatiable appetite for news. McKinley and Cortelyou quickly recognized that the nation stood at the foot of a cresting wave of irreversible change. How they chose to react influenced how future presidents would govern and how Americans would view them.
Since the founding of the American republic, the right-hand man has filled a role as the closest adviser of the president, and, through time, it has evolved, adapting to the shifting authorities and needs of the office. Though many of the skills and duties of the role have changed since Alexander Hamilton’s day, these unique men and women continue to share three key characteristics.
First, right-hand men and women have a limitless portfolio. They may possess a defined and specific job function—White House counsel, for example—but the president is willing to assign them tasks outside of the scope of their official duties—even if those tasks enter into the portfolio of other officials. Hamilton, for example, was officially Washington’s treasury secretary, but the president often assigned him duties more befitting a secretary of war.
Second, right-hand men and women possess unequaled access to the president. George W. Bush’s right hand Dick Cheney, for example, had three avenues of influence with the president: through his staff, which he took pains to ensure mirrored Bush’s personal staff in number and responsibility; through open meetings, in which Cheney arranged to have access to any meeting Bush attended; and through closed meetings. Cheney’s schedule included a private weekly lunch with Bush during which no subject was off the table.
Lastly, each right-hand man or woman understands the president’s thinking as well as, if not better than, anyone else on staff. Each of President Franklin Roosevelt’s right-hand men and women (Howe, LeHand, Hopkins, Moley, Tugwell, Corcoran…Roosevelt went through right-hand men like tissue paper) was noted for his or her ability to read his thoughts. One, Harry Hopkins, was so successful that he once personally, and unsolicited by the president, reversed an important presidential directive because he suspected Roosevelt had made a mistake. After being informed of his error and Hopkins’s corrective action, Roosevelt thanked his loyal servant.
All the key advisers profiled in Partner to Power not only were remarkable individuals, but also filled a role that continues to be unique and contested as a special, necessary and underexplored element of presidential power. Their contributions to history highlight critical moments in the evolution of the president’s right hand.
As the partnership between McKinley and Cortelyou illustrates, external forces often influence who becomes the president’s right hand. Just as the exploding power of the media drove the subsequent need for advisers with the organizational skills of Cortelyou, shifts in the public’s mood may also impact the choice of person in the role.
There was a time when the idea of an African-American woman as the president’s chief adviser (as Valerie Jarrett was to Obama) was laughable, and it was only after the passage of the Twelfth Amendment that it became politically possible for the vice president to serve as the president’s right hand. These events, and their coming to pass, reflect some of the shifts in the ever-evolving definition—and question—of the “right-hand man.”
The profiles in Partner to Power trace the path of this unique and controversial role from its amorphous beginnings to the clear, more effective and more accountable contours of the vice presidency. As has often been the case with America’s most enduring political institutions, it all began with Alexander Hamilton.
THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME
Washington is often described by historians as the “Hidden Hand President” for how often he used others to execute his agenda. It may have been Washington’s hand behind the scenes, but more often than not the fingerprints left behind belonged to Hamilton. (Painting of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart; painting of Alexander Hamilton by John Trumbull)
Very few who are not philosophical Spectators can realize the difficulty and delicate part which a man in my situation has to act…I walk on untrodden ground…. There is scarcely any part of my conduct which may not hereafter be drawn into precedent.1
—President George Washington
On New Year’s Eve, 1793, as Americans lifted their glasses in joyous celebration of the coming year, Alexander Hamilton was imagining himself in another line of work. He had been at George Washington’s side, on and off, since he was in his early twenties, and now, facing middle age, he was considering a life without him. For a man of Hamilton’s mind and abilities, the future was limitless. He might run for governor of New York or for the US Senate or even for the presidency. But first, he would need to resign his post as treasury secretary and reestablish himself as a private citizen. Taking his glass in hand, Hamilton greeted the new year happily, secure in the thought that this year he might finally be able to free himself of Washington and move on. To his great disappointment, he soon discovered his plans to leave were a bit premature.
In 1794, the world’s two superpowers, Great Britain and France, went to war, forcing the United States to choose a side. Hoping to avoid inflaming tensions with the British that had been festering since the end of the Revolution, President Washington favored neutrality. But the British were not going to make it easy for him. They had acquired an annoying and dangerous new habit. To cut off French supply lines in the West Indies, the British forced into the nearest English port any American merchant vessel engaged in commerce there. The ship was emptied of its cargo, and its crew members were given the choice of joining the Royal Navy or finding their own way home.
Washington envisioned a treaty with the British that would keep America neutral while also giving American merchants the freedom to continue trading with the French. But a huge swath of the American public opposed his efforts. Accusing the legendary war hero of being unpatriotic for wanting to pursue a peace treaty with a nation still widely regarded as the enemy, s
ome longtime defenders of the president began to wonder aloud whether Mount Vernon was not a more fitting place for the aging president to spend his autumn years.
Further complicating matters, Washington faced this crisis without the help of his secretary of state Edmund Randolph, who was dealing with a crisis of his own--having recently been accused of treason. Randolph was not his first choice to lead the State Department, but Washington could find no one else willing to replace Thomas Jefferson when he resigned the previous year. A few poorly chosen words by Randolph, to the French ambassador did permanent damage to his relationship with the president. So, when he needed Randolph most, Washington had to look elsewhere for someone to shepherd his treaty with Great Britain. As he so often did in difficult times, he turned to Alexander Hamilton.
Despite years of close and successful collaboration, the partnership between Washington and Hamilton remained on shaky ground. Throughout much of their relationship, there was a tension between them not unlike that between an overly demanding father and a stridently defiant son. But they needed each other. Hamilton desperately needed Washington to support him as he advanced increasingly unpopular programs to strengthen the federal government, and Washington, ever mindful of his legacy, desperately needed Hamilton’s programs to succeed. Washington knew that even without Hamilton, he would still be remembered as an important man, but he might never be great.
Deeply self-conscious, sometimes to the point of paralysis, George Washington would become famous for his self-control, though Hamilton knew it was only an act designed to mask his nagging insecurities. Washington was an intelligent man who, surrounded by intellectuals, was keenly aware of his deficiencies. He often worried about being judged out of his depth and went to great lengths to conceal his self-doubts. Alexander Hamilton, a man of incandescent brilliance, was eager to serve Washington without judgment. By helping shape Washington’s ideas and then working to bring them to life, Hamilton enabled the president to establish the public image of himself as a man of vision and leadership. Theirs was a truly symbiotic collaboration—with each man needing the other to achieve the best version of himself.
As the crisis with the British unfolded, Hamilton and Washington worked together, in the public eye and in the shadows, to pull the country back from the brink of war. Their successful partnership endures as the most important in American presidential history, for the standards and traditions it set for all subsequent presidential partnerships and for what it did to establish the presidency itself. Had Washington not been in office during this crucial period, when every decision established a precedent, and had Hamilton not been his most trusted adviser, the United States might have developed into a distinctly different nation.
Throughout Washington’s presidency, as other men of consequence darted in and out of his life, Hamilton remained a constant. For almost a decade, they held the administration and the nation together through stormy seas, cutting a path for posterity and forever illuminating what it means to be a president and a president’s right hand.
I
An Indispensable Partnership
In 1777, Alexander Hamilton was barely twenty years old and not yet the type of man who yielded easily to authority. Most Revolutionary War soldiers would have thought service on the commanding general’s personal staff a great honor, but to Hamilton2—who had joined the military in search of personal glory—working for General Washington was a source of embarrassment. Instead of leading bayonet charges, Hamilton, a lieutenant colonel, was in charge of writing letters and keeping the general’s field journal. His irritation was exacerbated by Washington’s temper3—which was as fierce as it was unpredictable.
One day, General Washington and his staff were crammed into a small farmhouse in upstate New York after a string of embarrassing defeats by the British. Everyone was on edge—Washington especially, whose head swirled with a list of complaints from Congress about his lack of progress.
After a particularly tense exchange with his senior staff, a still-irritated Washington, passing Hamilton on the stairs, asked for a word. Hamilton begged Washington’s patience as he excused himself to deliver an urgent message, promising he would then meet the general in that same spot. Depending on whom you ask, Hamilton was away for one minute or ten. However long Hamilton’s absence, Washington was not pleased about having to wait. When Hamilton returned, the general inquired heatedly what could have kept him for so long and whether he had forgotten that he had been waiting. Hamilton’s frustration with his position suddenly became too much to bear. This was the last straw. He had had enough of Washington’s little tantrums. If Washington was so offended, Hamilton responded, he would be glad to remove himself permanently from the general’s presence. Washington tried to ease the tension, but Hamilton would have none of it.
After giving Hamilton time to regain his composure, Washington sent an aide to convey his apologies, but the damage had been done. Hamilton sent back word that he would stay long enough to train his successor, after which he would be on his way.
The two men did not speak again until after the war. They might not have spoken even then, but, as was often the case in their relationship, Hamilton’s ambition would help him swallow his pride. When Hamilton realized Washington’s chances of becoming president and that the former general was his best shot at getting a cabinet appointment, he threw himself behind Washington’s candidacy. Though Washington’s election was never in doubt, the task proved more difficult than Hamilton expected.
First, Hamilton had to convince Washington to take the job. When he wrote the general at Mount Vernon to inform him that people were raising his name as a possible candidate for the office, Washington replied that he enjoyed his calm life in Virginia and was not interested. Hamilton knew Washington well enough to know he was only posturing and that if pressed hard enough he would accept. Hamilton influenced others to reach out to Washington as well, and, after only a little more prodding, Washington agreed to accept the office if it were offered.
Next, Hamilton had to clear the field of rivals. One might expect that with a man of Washington’s stature in the race, competition would shrink; however, more than ten people entered. Only two of them—John Adams of Massachusetts and George Clinton of New York—could conceivably muster the votes to defeat Washington. Adams had the greatest chance, but he had openly acknowledged his willingness to accept the office of vice president, which in those days was awarded to the presidential runner-up. Clinton could win only if Adams unexpectedly withdrew his name. Some urged Clinton to consider bowing out, to avoid any chance that Washington might not secure enough votes to win, but Clinton refused.
Hamilton disliked Clinton4 and was determined to prevent him from spoiling Washington’s chance of winning unanimous support. Doing so would require an elaborate series of maneuvers.
He needed to discourage electors from voting for Clinton, and, at the same time, he needed them not to vote for Adams. Electors were required to cast two votes; the person who got the most votes would be named president, while the person with the next most votes would become vice president. The problem for Hamilton was that if he convinced people not to vote for Clinton, and they cast their vote for Adams instead, Adams might get enough votes to win the presidency. So, Hamilton had to convince seven electors to cast their second votes for neither Adams nor Clinton. In the end, Washington won handily, and Adams came in a distant second. Adams was embarrassed by how few votes he actually received, and when he learned about Hamilton’s role in his defeat, he never forgave him.
As a reward for his support, Washington nominated Hamilton to be the first secretary of the treasury. It would be one of the most important decisions of his presidency.
II
The Psychology of Symbiosis
On the surface, it might appear as if Hamilton and Washington’s partnership was a mere consequence of professional expediency, but it had as much to do with the men’s psychology as it did with their ambition. They shared a strikingl
y similar personal history that must have influenced their understanding of each other. It may also account for why theirs was such a productive partnership.
A series of traumatic events in their childhoods threatened to break them as individuals. Nonetheless, they emerged from these experiences imbued with a fierce personal strength, a keen appreciation for the precariousness of life and an understanding of the uniqueness of the times in which they lived.
Washington and Hamilton were raised by strong mothers who instilled in them the dogged perseverance necessary to create their own luck. When Mary Washington and Rachel Hamilton were abandoned by their husbands, instead of seeking out new spouses to take care of them, they chose to take their fate into their own hands and raise their children alone. They were independent-minded risk-takers, and their sons would be too.
According to legend, Washington is said to have noticed Hamilton for the first time in late August 1776, while American forces were retreating from Brooklyn to Harlem Heights, New York. The Continental Army was on the run. Hamilton was a captain, in charge of an artillery unit that covered the Continentals’ rear as they withdrew. As the last of the exhausted and demoralized American troops crossed over into Harlem, Washington noticed how disciplined and energetic Hamilton’s men seemed in comparison to those around them. He was so impressed that he invited Hamilton to dine with him that evening. Whether this dinner did actually occur is lost to history, but it is clear that at some point Hamilton was introduced to General Washington, who was so taken with him that he invited him to join his staff. For Hamilton, joining Washington was not at first a compelling proposition.
Hamilton was in pursuit of military glory, and working as Washington’s administrative assistant seemed hardly the best path to that goal. But Hamilton was poor and unknown in the Summer of ’76, and he knew better than most how limited his prospects were. Washington offered him a battlefield promotion and a central role on his leadership staff. The forty-four-year-old Washington was commander in chief of American forces and at the height of his powers. To the young Hamilton, who was easily impressed by impressive men, the alluringly graceful and immaculately adorned Washington (who stood six foot three, at a time when the average adult stood a full foot shorter) must have been a sight to behold. To win him over, Washington gave Hamilton the “full treatment.” Hamilton never had a chance.
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