“One of the logical inferences from the successful career of
Roosevelt,” said Dr. Hillis, “is that even the richest man’s son
can succeed in this republic. In the republic, for some strange
reason, a prejudice has grown up in favor of the poor boy and
against the son of the palace and the private car. Little by
little, extreme wealth has become a handicap, and the child of the
millionaire is out of the race before he enters it. It is a real
obstacle for a man who aspires to political office and honor to
fall heir to enormous wealth. The favorites of fortune are those
who drive the mule along the canal path or in their teens support a
widowed mother, or come from a log cabin to the great city.
“Now and then, however, there is a youth who uses his wealth
instead of abusing it. Mr. Roosevelt’s entire career is an
incentive to rich men’s sons. Born in a great house; a graduate
of Harvard--rich man’s college; traveled abroad; a Civil Service
Commissioner with George William Curtis, an intellectual
aristocrat; Police Commissioner of New York; a cattle man on the
plains of Montana; leader of the Rough Riders in Cuba; Governor of
New York; Vice-President and President of the United States--all
this represents a long and brilliant career. But Lincoln did not
work harder; Garfield was not more industrious; McKinley was not
as close a student; Henry Clay was not more democratic; and among
Mr. Roosevelt’s closest friends were untaught men, illiterate
ranchers, who were full of latent intellect and sound sense. His
capacity for friendship was one of the ex-President’s most striking
characteristics. By his patience, his industry, his hunger for
knowledge, his mingling with all sorts and conditions of men, his
incessant travel, Mr. Roosevelt overcame every handicap imposed by
wealth and became a hero to the rich and poor, the cultivated and
the untaught, and a guide and friend and standard for all classes,
in all countries.”
* * * * *
On January 8, 1919, Theodore Roosevelt was buried on the hillside of
the Oyster Bay Cemetery, near the blue waters of the Sound he loved
so dearly and close to the trees and hills he had roamed among from
boyhood. On his grave was dropped a wreath from an aviator who had been
a friend of “Quentin, the eagle”--the hero son who had died in France.
Two months later, “Bill” Sewall came down from the Maine woods to
visit the resting place of the man who had been his companion on many
a journey into the wilderness. “It’s just the kind of place Theodore
would like to be buried!” he said.