Secret Lives of the U.S. Presidents

by Cormac O'Brien

  TR would later marry Edith Kermit Carow, whom he had known from his childhood in New York City. They would have five children together. He never mentioned his first wife, Alice, again, even in his autobiography.

  PASS THE EGGS, PLEASE

  Roosevelt may have been a tireless, self-made athlete, but he loved to overeat. His muscular frame couldn’t hide a stomach born of massive meals. A typical TR breakfast, for example, included giant mugs full of coffee and twelve eggs. Yes, twelve. The result was the arteriosclerosis that probably killed him.

  Rough-Housing

  War was a preoccupation of TR’s, and he wanted desperately to get into one. Any one, he wasn’t picky. He would’ve preferred a fight against someone like Germany—or another great power. But when Spain became a possibility, he sank his teeth into the idea and never let go. As assistant secretary of the navy, TR was in his element. Because his boss, Secretary of the Navy John Long, was constantly sick or incapacitated, Roosevelt had the run of things and raised holy hell after the Maine exploded in Havana harbor. But once he got his way and Congress declared war, TR resigned. His chance at blood had come, and he wasn’t going to fritter it away in Washington.

  He’d never spent a day in uniform in his life, but it didn’t stop him from raising a regiment of volunteer soldiers. Quickly dubbed the Rough Riders by the press, the First Volunteer Cavalry was Roosevelt’s baby, and it reflected his own bizarre background: Western buckaroos rubbed shoulders with Ivy League athletes, and not one of them had any military experience whatsoever. TR had the sense to get career soldier Colonel Leonard Wood to train them and became a lieutenant-colonel himself. Interestingly, their famous moment in Cuba—the charge up Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill—was done without their horses, which had been left behind in Florida during the chaos of boarding troop transports. TR himself had a horse, but he dismounted to be with his boys and loved every blood-spattered minute of it. “The charge up the hill was great fun!” wrote an ebullient Roosevelt to a friend. “I killed a Spaniard with my bare hands like a jackrabbit.” Hey, neat!

  Along with a brief skirmish just days before, this one scrape—against a foe outnumbered fifteen to one, mind you—remains the extent of Theodore Roosevelt’s military experience. By the time the media got hold of it, however, you’d think he had seen more action than Ulysses Grant, George Washington, and Julius Caesar combined. Roosevelt, terribly pleased, did nothing to deflate the enormity of it all. While stumping for the governorship of New York, he toured with several of his fellow Rough Riders and announced every speech with a bugle call.

  BURSTING HIS BELLICOSE BUBBLE

  Roosevelt roundly criticized Woodrow Wilson for not trying to rush America into World War I. He even offered to lead a volunteer unit into Europe, but Wilson—to Roosevelt’s undying rage—would have none of it. “The problem with Mr. Wilson,” wrote the spurned warrior to French premier Georges Clemenceau, “is that he is merely a rhetorician, vindictive and yet not physically brave.” After years of hollering for military preparedness and intervention, TR had much of the war whoop taken out of him in 1918, when his youngest son, Quentin, died in a fighter plane over the Western Front. The whole business didn’t seem quite so glorious anymore.

  IT’S OFFICIAL

  Though the Executive Mansion had for years been commonly referred to as the White House, it was TR who first used the phrase on presidential stationery. The building has been known officially as such ever since.

  ACTION FIGURE (BATTERIES INCLUDED)

  Theodore Roosevelt wasn’t one to sit home and play cribbage. He was the first president to ride in an automobile, the first to fly in an airplane, the first to go diving in a submarine, and the first to travel outside of the United States while in office (to Panama, in 1906). But living like the inspiration for Jonny Quest comes at a price, and TR had more than his fair share of accidents. Consider:

  • During a collision between his vessel and another in the Gulf of Mexico, Roosevelt was hurled through a glass window.

  • While boxing in the White House with heavyweight champion John Sullivan, Roosevelt received a blow to his face that left him blind in his left eye (an injury that he kept secret for years).

  • Roosevelt twice suffered a broken arm: one from a spill during a fox hunt and the other from a bout of “stick-fighting” with his old comrade in arms, Colonel Leonard Wood.

  TR’s worst injury resulted from a collision near Pittsfield, Massachusetts, between his carriage and a trolley. Everyone in the carriage went flying, including the president, his secretary, the governor of Massachusetts, and a Secret Service agent, who was killed. Roosevelt, who landed on his face, received a large bruise on his leg—which proceeded to swell painfully until doctors cut all the way down to the bone in an effort to remove the dying tissue. The president was confined to a wheelchair for weeks.

  BEAR HUG

  In 1902, while on a hunting trip in Mississippi, TR found—and took mercy on—a bear cub. The press lapped it up like honey, giving a toy designer the idea for a stuffed bear, and the “Teddy Bear” was born. The kicker? TR himself hated being called Teddy.

  Panama Hack

  Always a fan of flexing American muscle, TR did his part to strengthen the military and show it off. He even sent the navy’s new fleet of battleships on a trip around the world to impress and intimidate anyone who might have forgotten who wore the pants in the Western Hemisphere. Intent on providing a means for American warships to steam quickly between oceans, he decided to get serious about creating a canal through Central America. Panama, a province of Colombia, was the ideal spot—but the Colombian government rejected America’s offer of money in exchange for digging rights. So TR did what any self-respecting imperialist would do: He promised Panama that, should they decide to, oh, say, revolt against their government and become independent, why, America would just love to do business with them instead of Colombia. Not surprisingly, a Panamanian revolution ensued—TR even aided his new business partners with a navy cruiser.

  Roosevelt had nagging doubts about the legality of it all (gee, can’t imagine why) but defended himself adamantly when those in government and the press cried foul. Secretary of War Elihu Root didn’t make him feel any better when he told him, “You have shown that you were accused of seduction and you have conclusively proved that you were guilty of rape.”

  THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COIN

  Even though Roosevelt became one of the most popular presidents of his age, not all of his initiatives met with approval. In fact, a couple nearly got him laughed out of office. He believed that “In God We Trust” should be removed from American currency—it was blasphemous, he insisted, to have such a conviction stamped on the coins with which people bought their booze or brassieres.

  He also fought to have the spelling of American English overhauled to make it more phonetic. A group of academics calling themselves the Simplified Spelling Board provided new spelling guidelines that the president instructed the government printing office to adopt, inciting a veritable hurricane of ridicule. As the Louisville Courier-Journal wrote, “Nuthing escapes Mr. Rucevelt. No subject is tu hi fr him to takl, nor tu lo for him tu notis.” Roosevelt came around (though never repented), and the matter was put mercifully to rest.

  BULL ROAR

  Having thrown his hat back into the ring on the Progressive ticket in 1912, TR was making a stop in Milwaukee to give a speech when an unknown man shot him. The bullet went through Roosevelt’s eyeglasses case before hitting flesh, where it lodged in some muscle tissue. It was clearly not fatal, but a gunshot wound is a gunshot wound, and his aides were preparing to get him to the hospital. The stricken candidate, however, got up on the podium and gave his speech anyway. “I don’t know whether you fully understand that I have been shot,” he told the stunned audience, “but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose.”

  What some folks will do for votes!

  27 WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT

  September 15, 1857–March 8, 1
930

  ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Virgo

  TERM OF PRESIDENCY: 1909–1913

  PARTY: Republican

  AGE UPON TAKING OFFICE: 51

  VICE PRESIDENT: James S. Sherman

  RAN AGAINST: William Jennings Bryan

  HEIGHT: 6′2″

  NICKNAME: “Big Bill”

  SOUND BITE: “What’s the use of being president if you can’t have a train with a diner on it?”

  Of all the people Theodore Roosevelt could’ve picked as his preferred successor, he chose a guy who shared virtually nothing in common with him. William Howard Taft was lethargic, unsure of himself, retiring, unimaginative, and grossly overweight—a far cry from the tireless, overconfident powerhouse who preceded him. The mistake would become all too obvious: By the time Taft’s term as president was drawing to a close, Roosevelt—and virtually every other American—couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

  At 325 pounds, Taft often found himself stuck in the White House bathtub. His advisors sometimes helped pull him out.

  In fact, Taft had racked up an impressive record of public service by the time he’d become TR’s beloved pal and protégé. He had been an assistant county prosecutor, collector of internal revenue, and state superior court judge in his home state of Ohio, as well as solicitor general of the United States and a federal judge. McKinley made him governor of the Philippines, in which capacity he helped the newly acquired islands make the transformation from martial to civil law. But it was the appointment as secretary of war in Roosevelt’s administration that changed his life. He would become bosom buddies with the most charismatic man in the nation and allow himself to be convinced that he could carry TR’s torch.

  He actually never wanted to be president. But Taft’s wife, Nellie, had married him for his presidential potential; she’d dreamed of being first lady ever since she spent a few months in the White House during the Hayes administration. And who was he to disappoint Nellie? Or Theodore Roosevelt? After all, Taft coveted affirmation, and he found it in TR (who, for that matter, basked in Taft’s obsequiousness), which goes a long way toward explaining the odd couple’s relationship.

  And Roosevelt wasn’t the only one who liked Big Bill. In the election of 1908, seemingly everyone was taken by the affable Taft: Roosevelt supporters, because he was the chosen one; imperialists, because of Taft’s extensive travels and stint in the Philippines; and conservatives, who thought the legalistic Taft would put an end to TR’s law-stretching progressivism. But there would soon be more than enough disappointment to go around, for the presidency fit Taft about as well as a pair of Speedos.

  He promised to pursue the Progressive-backed lower tariff but ended up signing into law one that actually raised rates on numerous items (and called it a victory). His lackluster foreign policy failed to make a dent in the European control over Chinese markets and created animosity in Latin America through sloppy interventionism, especially in Nicaragua. And, though a self-proclaimed conservationist, his strict judicial approach prohibited the sort of dramatic accomplishments that Roosevelt had been able to make through sheer force of will.

  Despite taking a much harder stance on big business than his “trust-buster” predecessor, Taft couldn’t escape the derision of Roosevelt and the Progressives. To them, he’d thrown away all the hard work of the previous administration. Nevertheless, the Republicans nominated him for another term, which infuriated Roosevelt, who had reentered politics to save the country from his erstwhile friend. He and his supporters broke away into the Bull Moose party, creating a three-way race that sent Woodrow Wilson to Washington. Taft received an abysmal 23 percent of the popular vote in 1912—the lowest of any presidential incumbent in American history.

  But if the nation was happy to seem him go, Taft himself was born anew by his defeat. “Politics makes me sick,” he’d once said, and his judicial dreams could now be realized. In 1921, he was appointed to the Supreme Court. For the record, he made a much better judge than he did a president.

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  WHAT’S FOR DINNER?

  While governor of the Philippines, Taft once wired Washington, “Took long horseback ride today; feeling fine.” Secretary of War Elihu Root shot back, “How’s the horse?” At a whopping 325 pounds, William Howard Taft was the largest president in American history. During a visit to the czar of Russia, Taft’s pants split up the seam while getting out of his carriage; he had to back his way out of the czar’s presence to avoid exposing his backside. This was a man whose girth prevented him from tying his own shoes—his valet had to do it. The president installed banisters in executive buildings to help him support his weight while ascending stairs. He even had trouble getting out of the bathtub. After getting stuck a few times, he had a new one installed in the White House. It was seven feet long, weighed about a ton, and accommodated four average-sized men.

  Dozing Off

  Perhaps because of his weight, William Taft had the alarming habit of dozing off at the drop of a hat. And nothing was so important that it couldn’t be slept through—including cabinet meetings, funerals (he was in the front row of one when a catnap came over him), and campaign engagements. He once slept through a campaign motorcade in New York City—his open car cruised the streets, the great man snoring for all the city to see. His military aide, Archie Butt, made it his responsibility to clear his throat whenever he saw his boss nodding off, but he didn’t always catch him in time.

  HITTING THE LINKS

  William Taft was the first to embark upon that presidential pastime we all take for granted today: golf. Though he had never played before being elected, he soon became an avid (if mediocre) player, and the burdens of the White House always seemed much smaller from the vantage point of the links. In fact, his habit of ducking out for a game only further worried those who thought Taft took his responsibilities too lightly. During the ceremonial signing of one of his administration’s most important achievements, the General Arbitration Treaty with Great Britain (which provided for the peaceful settlement of whatever disagreement might arise between the powers), the president was conspicuously absent; he’d noticed a break in the clouds and had actually snuck out for a game of golf. Archie Butt was left to feed the British ambassador a line about Taft’s having been called to the White House for a matter of grave importance.

  DRIVING IN STYLE

  William Taft was the first president to make automobiles his primary means of getting around. Thanks to a $12,000 appropriation from Congress, he bought four of them—including a giant, steam-driven monstrosity manufactured by the White Sewing Machine Company. Called the White Steamer, it could seat seven people, but Taft liked to have the back seat to himself, where he could doze during drives with his chauffeur.

  28 WOODROW WILSON

  December 28, 1856–February 3, 1924

  ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Capricorn

  TERM OF PRESIDENCY: 1913–1921

  PARTY: Democratic

  AGE UPON TAKING OFFICE: 56

  VICE PRESIDENT: Thomas R. Marshall

  RAN AGAINST: William Taft, Theodore Roosevelt (first term); Charles Hughes (second term)

  HEIGHT: 5′11″

  NICKNAMES: “The Schoolmaster,” “Big One of the Peace Conference”

  SOUND BITE: “The use of a university is to make young gentlemen as unlike their fathers as possible.”

  Woodrow Wilson was the best-educated president in American history. But the most important lesson, in the end, was his to learn: After years of brilliantly lecturing the world on how to govern itself, he was forced to realize that the most important students in his classroom weren’t listening.

  Though born in Virginia and raised in Georgia, it was in New Jersey that Thomas Woodrow Wilson first made his mark. Being made president of Princeton University was the capstone of a teaching career that had spanned Bryn Mawr and Wesleyan colleges, and he proved an able and dedicated administrator. It wasn’t long before he was governor of New Jersey an
d attracting the attention of a Democratic party intent on ending the Republican domination of the White House. Thanks to the three-way race with Roosevelt and Taft in 1912, that’s exactly what happened.

  Wilson had a Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins, authored several impressive books on American history and politics, and had a lot of experience as a progressive reformer. But his most important asset as president was the Democratic majority in Congress, which helped him pass one of the most impressive legislative programs in history. It included a lower tariff, antitrust legislation, the Federal Trade Commission Act, and the Federal Reserve Act, which stabilized the country’s finances through the creation of twelve Federal Reserve Banks and a board to oversee them. Another wave of reform in 1916 took on child labor and other progressive agendas.

  But while the schoolmaster’s curriculum at home was making impressive strides, it was running into serious trouble abroad. He was so determined to keep his country out of World War I that he didn’t even let such disasters as the sinking of the Lusitania by a German U-boat (which claimed more than 120 American lives) make a dent in America’s neutrality. But more unrestricted German submarine warfare, along with the interception of a telegram in which Germany attempted to instigate a Mexican invasion of Texas, proved too much to bear. Wilson reluctantly asked Congress for a declaration of war in 1917. He had been imploring the European powers for years to stop killing one another—now it seemed the only way he was going to create an idyllic world order was by resorting to the one thing he wanted most to destroy: war.