SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM MCKINLEY
_March 4, 1901, to September 14, 1901_
The second inauguration of President McKinley was a wretched day, and
sleet and snow beat upon him as he took the oath of office. On the
way to the Capitol, Senator Mark Hanna rode by the President’s side.
Theodore Roosevelt took the oath as Vice President in the Senate
Chamber and made a brief address. Mrs. Roosevelt and the children
were present, as was Mrs. McKinley, who was escorted and cared for by
General Corbin. In the parade from the Capitol to the White House there
was for the first time representation from an American dependency. This
was a battalion of dark-skinned Porto Rican soldiers in Uncle Sam’s
uniform.
The President’s mother had passed away in December of the first year
of his term, and the absence of her proud, happy face was noted with a
surge of sympathy for her son, whose domestic life carried so much of
anxiety.
The procession duplicated the previous one in size and variety. The
President reviewed this procession, from within a large plate-glass
case put up to protect him from the inclement weather.
Callers filled the afternoon, and the ball and fireworks occupied the
evening.
The great ballroom of the Pension Building was again a garden of
tropical beauty, and was crowded to its utmost capacity. Mrs. McKinley,
whose frailty had at first threatened to prevent her attendance at
any of the ceremonies, was eager to go, and despite the disagreeable
weather attended the ball; but her limited strength made it advisable
to omit the Grand March through the ballroom. The President and his
wife therefore remained in their box only a short while, much to the
disappointment of the eager throng, who had hoped for a closer view
of the First Lady and her handsome gown of white satin and jewels.
Everything her sisters, sisters-in-law, and nieces and the ladies of
the Cabinet could do to make things easy for her was done.
Mrs. McKinley loved to drive, but the President rarely permitted her
to drive without him. Her delight in knitting never waned. It is said
that her nimble fingers knitted nearly four thousand pieces of dainty
bits of wool and silk--socks, mitts, bags, ties--all of which were made
for charity or for friends. Never was a request for a gift of her own
handiwork refused for fairs and bazaars.
Mrs. McKinley loved her friends. She was the personification of
gentleness and sweetness unless some criticism of her beloved “Major”
came to her ears. Then she lacked neither force nor spirit in her
defense of him.
Both she and the President loved music, singing particularly, and
the unusual musical entertainments which they held were frequent and
delightful.
As the first summer of the second term advanced, Mrs. McKinley became
so frail that a rolling chair was obtained for her use; she had come
to the point where she had to be carried bodily up and down in the
elevator. Owing to her critical condition, a trip to the Pacific Coast
had to be curtailed. She was, however, able to be brought to Canton,
where she recovered sufficiently to go to Buffalo with her husband, he
having accepted an invitation to attend the Pan-American Exposition
there. “President’s Day,” which was to feature his address, was set
for September 5th. He spoke, and received one long, delightful
ovation, the assembled crowds exerting themselves to shower upon him
their enthusiastic appreciation. The glamour of the war victory was
still upon him.
On the afternoon of the sixth, after the party’s return from their
visit to Niagara Falls, the President sent Mrs. McKinley to the home of
Mr. John G. Milburn, president of the Exposition, their host, to rest
from the fatigue of the morning, while he went to the Temple of Music
on the Exposition Grounds, where he was to hold a public reception.
About four o’clock, one of the individuals of a great throng that
was passing approached with his hand wrapped in a handkerchief. Mr.
McKinley smiled in his usual friendly fashion, extending his hand to
the stranger. Instantly, two loud reports of a pistol sounded sharp and
clear above the buzz of voices. After an instant of complete stunned
silence, during which the President looked pained and bewildered, he
straightened up, threw his head back, and staggered into the arms of
his secretary, George B. Cortelyou. He was led to a chair, where he
bowed his head in his hands.
The crowds burst forth into cries and curses as the realization was
borne in upon them that the President had been shot. He remained calm,
and begged them not to be alarmed, assuring those around him he was not
badly hurt. He opened his waistcoat and drew forth his hand daubed with
blood.
The scene that followed was frightful. Several men threw the assassin,
a Polish anarchist, a follower of the teachings of Emma Goldman, to the
ground, snatched away his pistol, and would have taken justice in their
own hands and executed him but for the feeble words of command from the
stricken President, “Let no one harm him.” He was locked up under heavy
guard.
The President was at once taken on a stretcher to the Emergency
Hospital in the grounds, and the best surgeons were summoned. The
examination disclosed the fact that the two shots fired at close range
had both found their mark: one struck him on the breastbone, and
glancing, had penetrated the stomach; the other had entered the abdomen.
In reply to their announcement that an immediate operation was
necessary, he calmly replied, “Gentlemen, do what in your judgment you
think best.”
After a half-hour operation the surgeons were unable to locate the
bullets. Preparations were made to take the mortally wounded man to the
Milburn home.
When it was long past the hour for the President to return, Mrs.
McKinley had grown anxious and nervous, for she feared some accident
had befallen him. While every effort had been made to keep her in
ignorance of the shooting, she had to be informed as the President was
being carried to the house. To everyone’s amazement, she took the news
quietly. Since her husband seemed uncomfortable at her absence from his
bedside, she was brought in.
Five days after the shooting, the physicians gave the impression that
he was out of danger and would probably recover. But all of the sixth
day he failed so perceptibly that Mrs. McKinley was led to his room
to take her farewell of the husband who for so many years had given
her the most constant, solicitous care. She kept calm and tearless
until she reached her own room, when her control gave way to grief,
heartrending, intense, and so absorbing that none could console her.
He grew weaker and repeated in his last period of consciousness words
from “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” then, a little later, “Good-bye,
all, good-bye. It is God’s way; His will be done.” The periods of
consciousness lapsed, and at two fifteen on September 14th he passed
away in a peaceful sleep.
The body of President McKinley was brought to Washington and placed in
the East Room of the White House, while a guard of honour maintained a
vigil until it was carried to the Capitol for the state funeral, after
which the funeral cortège started for Canton, where interment took
place on September 19, 1901.
The grief of the nation was universal, and from coast to coast, every
possible expression of love and honour and grief was given.
From out of the depths of the national sorrow came a resolve to pursue
a different course with this wretched murderer who felt proud of his
deed. It was determined that his punishment should be swift and sure
and that his act should be made hideous in the eyes of the world,
and robbed of the limelight and publicity that had gratified the
perverted vanity of his predecessors in presidential murder. His name
was to perish from the record of men. He was a Polish anarchist who
had no grievance whatsoever against the nation of our President save
that aroused by the destructive doctrines that he had imbibed. He was
promptly tried, condemned to death, and executed in the state prison at
Auburn, on October 29, 1901, within a few weeks after the commission of
his crime.
From the hand of Mark Hanna, McKinley’s closest personal friend,
political adviser, and campaign manager, came a remarkable tribute
to the character of the martyred President which sums up his public
and private life in a graphic and colourful picture and presents him
as only one so intimately associated with him could. Copied from the
Washington _Post_, it reads:
“The one absorbing purpose in William McKinley’s political career was
to keep closely in touch with the people, so that he might promote
their material and moral welfare.
“He seemed to study and watch current events as a barometer, gauging
the growth of public sentiment keenly and particularly watching the
development of the new industries and new resources. He accentuated
the American idea in everything he undertook.
“There was something sublime in the way in which he viewed his defeat
in the tariff reform cyclone of 1892. I often discussed the situation
with him--and then we talked of the ‘McKinley bill.’ I remember how
his eyes sparkled when it was suggested that his bill was the sole
cause of the Republican defeat, and how he deliberated a statement to
me with an air of prophecy:
“‘That may have been so, but the bill was passed so short a time
prior to election that it was easy for our opponents to make charges
and there was no time for us to combat them; but wait and see,
Mark--wait and see. The principles and policies of that bill will yet
win a greater victory for our party than we have ever had before.
This misunderstanding will yet contribute to overwhelming Republican
success.’
“The general conditions were such, however, that the party’s reverse
could not be attributed entirely to the McKinley bill. There were
other factors in the landslide of 1892.
“During the early part of the campaign of 1896, the charge was made
that McKinley voted for the free coinage of silver. And with his
usual candour he admitted that in the earlier stages of the agitation
of the money question it was to him then a proposition he had not
fully investigated; he did not pretend to be a doctor of finance and
had followed the popular trend of that time. After fuller discussion
and practical demonstration of facts; after observing the changing
conditions of the country and weighing the question in its various
relations to the fundamental laws of practical finance and the true
policy best for the country, his conclusions were voiced in the St.
Louis platform of 1896.
“The last discussion that I had with him upon the money question
before he was nominated was a few days before I left for St. Louis, at
my office in Cleveland.
“He turned to my desk, sat down, and wrote in lead pencil an article
which he handed me when finished, saying:
“‘There, Mark, are my ideas of what our platform should be on the
money question.’
“I carried the paper in my pocket to St. Louis some days before the
convention, and that declaration of William McKinley contained in
substance what was afterward drafted into the plank in the platform on
that question. I mention this because in subsequent discussion a great
deal has been said about the construction of that plank in the St.
Louis platform on the tariff and money question.
“This absolute declaration was given me by Maj. McKinley as embracing
his ideas, and while the language may have been changed somewhat,
the meaning of the article he wrote weeks before the convention was
absolutely followed in the platform of 1896.
“As to the quality of his courage--I never knew a man more fearless.
In the dark days of the Ohio gerrymander, when, as author of the
McKinley bill, he lost his seat in Congress, he was cheerful, in a
defeat that had cut a Democratic majority of 2,000 down to 300. He had
fought an uphill fight, and, although defeated, was elated over the
confidence which his home people expressed in the principles which
he represented. The defeat had no depressing effect on his mind and
energies, but spurred him to greater effort. And in every serious
emergency that confronted him he was prepared for the event--always
calm and courageous. Even amid the onslaughts of campaign abuse, he
never uttered in my presence one retaliatory word, but always referred
to the enemy as ‘our opponents,’ while I must confess I used stronger
adjectives at times.
“There was nothing that he enjoyed more than a social time with
friends at dinner. He always entered into the spirit of the occasion
and contributed his full share of merriment. And once aroused he
showed a side of his character that few were acquainted with. He
enjoyed jokes to the full measure, and was a pleasant tease. When he
once had a joke on me he rung all the changes; and no one enjoyed a
joke on himself more thoroughly than he did.
“In 1897, when I was a tenderfoot, recently arrived in Washington, he
asked me to give up a dinner engagement with some gentlemen to fill
up the table as an emergency man at a dinner to be given at the White
House that night. I declined, saying I had a better thing--not knowing
that an invitation from the White House was equivalent to a social
command. This joke on me was a delight to him.
“When he was a guest at my house for several days, or a member of
a house party, his flow of genial spirits began at the breakfast
table and continued uninterrupted all day. He seemed to feel as if
he were on a vacation, and had the joyous spirit of a big boy home
from school, always looking after the comfort of others, with never,
apparently, a thought for himself. An ideal home body was William
McKinley, and the American fireside was a shrine of worship with him.
“At one of our house parties we had a flashlight photograph taken of
the dinner guests. He was particularly fond of this dinner picture
because it contained a splendid likeness of Mrs. McKinley.
“When McKinley laughed, he laughed heartily all over, and was a
perfect boy in his enjoyment. In all the social visits to my home it
was an inspiration to me to see the way he could throw off the cares
of the day. It always made me feel twenty years younger to spend a
social evening with him, and I cannot begin to measure the depth and
value of this friendship, to me, entirely aside from his public career.
“He was never much inclined, I believe, to take an active part in
athletics, though his simple, normal habits of life kept him always in
excellent condition physically and mentally. He proved the enduring
sturdiness of his frame by his hard service in the Civil War and by
the tremendous amount of labour which he afterward put into the study
and presentation of public questions. He was, of course, interested
in the notable athletic contests that the college boys held, but it
was as late as 1894 that he and I witnessed together our first game of
football--a Princeton-Yale game at New York.
“It was a drizzling, cold day, but he watched every movement of the
game from the clubhouse with as keen an interest as he gave to a
debate in Congress.
“When some mysterious movement in a ‘pile up’ was made, he would turn
and ask me about it, but I had to shake my head and confess it was my
first game and that it was all Greek to me.
“He told me how he felt like the country boy who went to a college
football game for the first time, to see the ‘real thing.’ When asked
how he liked it, the country boy naïvely replied:
“‘They didn’t have no game; they got into a scrap and kept fightin’
all the time when they ought to have been playin ball.’
“At this football game there was little to foreshadow what was written
on the political horizon two years later, but I do recall that he
seemed to be especially popular with the sturdy young collegians, one
of whom remarked to his companion as they passed by us:
“‘Who is that distinguished-looking man--the one that looks like
Napoleon?’
“The late President was particularly fond of a good play, and when he
would come to stay with me at Cleveland overnight, he would always
inquire:
“‘Is there anything good at your opera house to-night, Mark?’
“We enjoyed many pleasant evenings together. He delighted in meeting
the prominent actors and was very fond of Joseph Jefferson. Many an
hour have they chatted together, and Jefferson never failed to call
and see him when in Washington. Sol Smith Russell was another friend.
The drama of high standard was to him a relief from worriments of the
day and thoroughly enjoyed as a relaxation. He delighted to discuss
with these play folks their art, and how actors, like men in public
life, had to cater to public wishes, and how much their influence
meant in producing plays of healthful purpose and moral teaching. Mrs.
McKinley was also very fond of the theatre; he always delighted to
indulge her, and they spent many happy evenings together witnessing
the best plays that were on the boards.
“He never tired of seeing Jefferson in ‘Rip Van Winkle’ and ‘The
Cricket on the Hearth,’ which were undoubtedly his favourite plays.
“‘Mark, you meet as many distinguished men as owner of an opera
house as you do as Senator,’ he would jokingly remark after a chat
with an actor. He always seemed to have a keen scent for talent in
any profession and was quick to recognize genius. The psychological
study the actor made in portraying human nature before the footlights
was to him fascinating. The personality of these men on the stage he
believed had a potent influence on the public mind. He never tired of
high-class dramas; he was especially fond of Shakespeare’s plays, and
always attended thoroughly ‘read up.’ He would often chide me for not
being more thoroughly posted on the original Shakespearean text, but I
was more concerned in the play as staged.
“How well I remember how he enjoyed witnessing the play entitled
‘The Politician’ during his second campaign for Governor of Ohio. We
sat together in a box. Roland Reed, who played the ‘Politician,’ and
who is now dead, directed his remarks straight at us, and McKinley
enjoyed his hits immensely. The actor brought in impromptu points and
so generously improvised the speaking part that it seemed as if the
actors and audience were having an ‘aside’ all to themselves at our
expense.
“A man of more generous impulses than William McKinley never lived.
When cases were presented to him for relief that were beyond his
ability to meet, he would apply to me or some of his friends for
assistance in aiding worthy persons, and his friends were always
glad to respond to these appeals. He was liberal without stint. It
gave him actual pain to see anyone suffering or in distress, and on
such occasions showed his great faith in friendship, never hesitating
to go to any bounds in an appeal for others. Whatever he had in his
pocket, whether it was 10 cents or $10, he was always ready to give it
to relieve distress. If the applicant only required 50 cents and the
Major had $10 in his pocket, the applicant would get the $10. He did
not know such a thing as taking change from charity.
“Though he had no especial training in music, no person was more
partial to it than William McKinley. And his tastes were as catholic
as a child’s. Anything, from a hurdy-gurdy to a grand opera, pleased
him. He would keep his hands or feet beating time whenever there was
music about him. I recall many Sunday evening home concerts. Everyone
was singing, and he would call for ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee,’ and
‘Lead, Kindly Light.’ The radiance of his face when he sang those old
favourite hymns, as if his whole soul was in it, is to me a sacred
memory picture of William McKinley.
“He would urge me to try to sing, and insisted I had a sweet tenor
voice, but the pleasant charm of the happy occasions was never marred
by my vocal efforts.
“I knew I could not sing, but I listened; the echoes of those happy
hours will linger with me as long as I live. The little singing
parties in our parlour after dinner were always his delight.
“I got the closest revelations of William McKinley’s character, I
think, in our quiet hours of smoking and chatting, when all the
rest had retired. Far past midnight we have sat many times talking
over those matters which friends always discuss--and the closer
I came to the man the more lovable his character appeared. Every
time we met there was revealed the gentle, growing greatness of
a man who knew men, respected them, and loved them. Never was it
the personal interests of William McKinley that he discussed, but
those of friends, or his party, and above all, of the people. His
clear-cut conscientiousness was pronounced. In these heart-to-heart
talks--friend to friend--in the calm serenity of the night’s quiet
hours, we felt the ties of our life’s friendship growing stronger as
we simply sat and puffed and looked in each other’s faces. These home
smoke chats are the treasured memories of a man who loved mankind
much more than he did himself, and who had consecrated his career
to the people. He always was interested in business and industrial
affairs, and understood them as few men did in their relation to the
home comforts and happiness of the American people. It was in these
quiet hours together that the splendid devotion of the man to high
and noble ideals showed clearest. I think that a reminiscent glance
at our smoke-chat meetings night after night, wherever we chanced to
be, reveals to me most freely the great qualities in the man which the
world had so profoundly honoured. I can see that kindly, quizzical
look in his deep blue eyes under his bushy eyebrows, when he broke the
silence after meditating:
“‘Mark, this seems to be right and fair and just. I think so, don’t
you?’ His ‘don’t you?’ or, ‘did you?’ always had a tone that invited
candid confidence, and this is a peculiarity that brings back to my
memory some incidents of our acquaintanceship in early years and
seemed to foreshadow his future.
“Looking back over the long years of association with William
McKinley, nothing seems to stand out more prominently than the hearty
and sunny way in which he always enjoyed the friendly hours of
recreation. These pleasant episodes of a purely personal nature are
emphasized more and more as I think of him, and it is these that I
most cherish in the memory of the man. His greatness as a statesman
was but the reflection of his greatness as a man.
“William McKinley was faultless in his friendships.”
Mrs. McKinley survived her husband several years. She died at her
Canton, Ohio, home in 1907.