Review of William Henry Harrison by Gail Collins

If you ask 100 average Americans who William Henry Harrison was, it is likely that 98 or 99 will have no idea.  Even among historically-minded Americans, most remember Harrison primarily (if not exclusively) as the only president whose inaugural address was almost as long as his entire presidency.

In William Henry Harrison, historian Gail Collins gives a brief yet solid overview of the life of our ninth president.  Collins’ biography of Harrison is part of the “American Presidents” series, a collection of very brief overviews of the lives of each of our chief executives. 

Given that the book only encompasses 125 pages, Collins obviously has had to pick and choose which parts of Harrison’s 68-year life to highlight.  She focuses on three main themes: Harrison’s dealing with the Indians, the ironies in Harrison’s life and career, and the theatrical, dramatic extravaganza that was the 1840 presidential campaign.  Rather than being distinct, these three themes constantly intersect with each other.

In a key passage on Harrison’s interactions with Indians, Collins points out that

Harrison is famous for things he didn’t actually do. He didn’t win a big military victory at Tippecanoe—it was a minor fight against an outnumbered village of Indians, and because Harrison screwed up the defense of the camp the white Americans suffered most of the casualties…but his real impact on history arguably came from the work he did in the Grouseland years—acquiring several states’ worth of territory from the Indians in deals that cost the federal government only pennies per acre (4).

Collins is perhaps a bit too critical in her assessment of Harrison’s dealing with the Indians.  By the standards of the time, Harrison was actually relatively kind to Indians—much more so that many other nineteenth-century military leaders.

In addition to her account of Harrison’s military career, Collins presents a relatively lengthy and entertaining account of the “Log Cabin and Hard Cider” campaign of 1840, a masterpiece of political “spin” that would make modern-day campaign managers like James Carville and Karl Rove proud.  Despite Harrison’s being the scion of Virginia gentry, complete with a father who signed the Declaration of Independence and served as Governor of Virginia, his publicists transformed him into a rustic “man of the people” who lived in a log cabin in the woods and preferred hard cider over the effeminate beverages of his opponent Martin Van Buren.  The campaign was one of the first in American history to have a circus-like atmosphere, with songs, rallies, copious amounts of hard cider, and the rolling of giant paper mache balls from town to town.  It was a masterpiece of political theatre, and it worked.

Collins’ work has only one major downside: her extremely casual writing style.  She often resorts to slang terms (such as “screwed up”) that are not proper for a formal historical work.  I especially found her constant use of contractions to be annoying.  If she had submitted this work to me as an assignment in one of my classes, she would have lost points for this.  Despite this, Collins has done an excellent job (in a very small number of pages) of presenting an overview of the life of “Old Tippecanoe.” Readers who want a good introduction to Harrison will be satisfied.

Review of Martin Van Buren and the Emergence of American Popular Politics by Joel Silbey

When he became president, Martin Van Buren had everything going for him.  Like Taft in 1908 and Bush in 1988, Van Buren was the hand-picked successor of a popular outgoing president at a time when the economy was strong.  And yet, Martin Van Buren is never ranked among our greatest presidents among the few who can even remember his name.  Why is this?

Van Buren’s failure as an American chief executive lies in a combination of lack of a presidential “skill set” and sheer bad luck. Shortly after Van Buren took office, the US economy collapsed into a depression known most commonly as the Panic of 1837.  As a faithful Jeffersonian, committed to small government, Van Buren had neither the inclination nor the precedent to take strong action to combat the Panic.  While large numbers of Americans struggled just to feed themselves and their families, Van Buren’s fondness for fine food and clothing made him seem like an aristocrat who neither understood nor cared about the needs of the common people.  This, together with Van Buren’s near total lack of charisma, sealed his fate as a one-term president.

In Martin Van Buren and the Emergence of American Popular Politics, historian Joel H. Silbey presents a sympathetic, if conventional overview of the life of American’s eighth president.  Silbey takes issue with the common stereotype of “Old Kinderhook” as little more than a master behind-the-scenes manipulator and a man unwilling to commit to any positions on the key issues of the day.  For Silbey, Van Buren’s alleged disdain for taking positions was more a result of caution and prudence than anything else.

Whereas the first generation of America’s political leaders condemned political parties as harmful to America (even as they nevertheless divided into them), Van Buren was more realistic.  Silbey argues that Van Buren understood that political factionalism was inevitable, and rather than condemning it or trying to deny its existence, he embraced it.  Unlike most American leaders before him, Van Buren saw political parties as good for America; accordingly, he spent most of his political career creating and strengthening the first modern political party, the Democratic Party.  Clearly, Van Buren’s work in this regard must be judged as a success, given the Democrats’ domination of American politics from 1829-1861.

Silbey’s portrait of Van Buren, like the man himself, is bland and uninspiring.  Van Buren lacked the charisma and/or the exciting life adventures that his predecessors all had.  To be sure, this is not Van Buren’s fault, but it does not make his story any less boring.  One would have hoped that Silbey would have told us more about Van Buren’s personal life, but he does not.  Silbey, however, like all Van Buren biographers, was limited by the fact that Van Buren burned nearly all of his personal correspondence late in his life.  Nevertheless, one walks away from this biography knowing much about Van Buren’s career, but little about the man himself.  Readers wanting to get to know Van Buren would do well to try another biography.

Review of The Life of Andrew Jackson by Robert Remini and American Lion by Jon Meacham

Without a doubt, the leading expert on Andrew Jackson among the World War II generation was Robert Remini.  Remini, Professor of History at the University of Illinois at Chicago and historian of the US House of Representatives from 2005-2010, published a three-volume biography of Jackson between 1977 and 1984.  This biographical series is considered by most historians to be the definitive modern work on Jackson.

In 1988, Remini published a one-volume abridgement of his earlier series entitled The Life of Andrew Jackson. This shorter biography of Old Hickory masterfully sums up the life of this complicated figure whose life and actions defined an age.  Remini takes a standard, mostly chronological approach to narrating Jackson’s life, at least until he reaches Jackson’s presidency.  Then he wisely shifts to a more topical approach, devoting a chapter to Jackson’s war on the Bank, another to his dealings with Indians, and so on.  This topical approach helps the reader best understand Jackson’s presidency by staying focused on one issue at a time.

Remini’s abridged life of Jackson is well-written and engaging. At times (for example, when he narrates the Battle of New Orleans) it even reads like a novel.  Remini’s portrayal of Jackson is also highly sympathetic.  He gives Jackson high praise for his foreign policy, his facilitating the paying off of the National Debt, and his concern for the common man (or at least the common white man).  At times his evaluation of Jackson borders on hagiography, as in the following passage:

Andrew Jackson was one of the few genuine heroes to grace the presidency. He was courageous and strong.  And he was indomitable.  The American people always believed that as long as General Andrew Jackson lived, the democracy was safe (326).

Still, Remini does not hesitate to take Jackson to task when he feels it to be necessary.  Remini justly criticizes Jackson’s Indian policy, which led to the disastrous “Trail of Tears.”  Also, Remini criticizes Jackson for killing the Second Bank of the United States, while at the same time praising his motivation for doing so (to check the influence of the nation’s rich and powerful over the working class).

Twenty years after Remini published The Life of Andrew Jackson, another influential Jackson biography emerged. In that year, popular biographer, journalist and former Newsweek editor Jon Meacham published American Lion: Andrew Jackson in the White House.  Meacham’s Pulitzer Prize-winning biography is about the same length as Remini’s abridgement, and like Remini, Meacham holds a generally favorable view of his subject.  There, however, the similarities end.

As the title of his work suggests, Meacham is primarily interested in Jackson’s presidency.  Accordingly, Meacham devotes very little space to Jackson’s life prior to and after his presidency.  This approach will appeal to readers who are mainly concerned with Jackson as president, but readers interested in Jackson the congressman, senator, general, and former president may feel a bit shortchanged. 

Without a doubt, the greatest difference between the two biographies is the amount of space the authors devote to the “Eaton Affair”, the conflict between Jackson, his Defense Secretary John Eaton and Eaton’s wife Peggy with the rest of Jackson’s cabinet over Mrs. Eaton’s reputation as a loose woman.  Remini devotes but a single chapter to the conflict, while Meacham devotes part or all of several chapters to it, making it one of his most emphasized aspects of Jackson’s presidency.  After listening to American Lion on audiobook twice and then reading a print copy, I could not escape the conclusion that Meacham devotes far too much time to the affair.  The portion of the book that deals with the Eaton affair reads very much like a soap opera.

Meacham’s writing style is crisp and engaging (which is not surprising, given his background as a journalist), and his life of Jackson is an excellent introduction to the subject. I liked it so much that I assigned it to my History 1301 (beginning to 1877) classes.  I made the assignment, however, prior to learning about Remini’s abridged biography. As good as American Lion is, I believe that The Life of Andrew Jackson is even better.  Next Fall semester, I plan to assign Remini instead of Meacham. Still, you will not regret reading either one.  If possible, read both.

Review of John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, a Private Life

John Quincy Adams is usually remembered more for his service outside of the presidency than for his presidency itself.  In John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, a Private Life, historian Paul Nagel builds upon this commonly-held view.  In well-crafted prose, Nagel highlights Adams’ long service as a diplomat, a career that culminated in an outstanding eight-year tenure as Secretary of State.  He also chronicles Adams’ post-presidency as an abolitionist congressman, during which Adams tirelessly sought to stymie southern slaveholding interests in the Congress and to promote the antislavery cause.

Nagel affirms the lack of impact of JQA’s presidency most significantly by devoting only a single chapter (out of fifteen) to it.  From its very beginning, Adams’ presidency was overshadowed by the larger-than-life figure of Andrew Jackson, whose claim that Adams had made a “corrupt bargain” in 1824 to steal the presidency from Jackson made Adams seem like an illegitimate president.  In addition to being hampered by Jackson’s shadow, Adams simply did not possess the correct “skill set” (to use a modern term) to be an effective president.  He was insecure and could be exceedingly irritable, lacking charisma and effective people skills.  These issues, much more than anything he did wrong as president, set him up for a crushing loss in his rematch against Jackson in 1828.

Nagel’s telling of Adams’ life is highly psychological, relying heavily on Adams’ copious diary entries to dig deep into his inner thought life.  For the remainder of this review, I will focus on two very interesting things about JQA that I learned.

The first major thing I learned involves JQA’s relationship with his parents, especially his mother Abigail.  I knew from reading David McCullough’s biography of John Adams and from watching the miniseries based on the book that John was a highly demanding father.  The senior Adams was a loving and dedicated father who did everything he could to help his eldest son.  But he often went beyond this, attempting to impose his own desires for his son’s education, career, and marriage upon JQA. In short, he often tried to micromanage JQA’s life, to the latter’s continual annoyance.

As Nagel points out (and this is something of which I was previously unaware), Abigail Adams was even more heavy-handed with her son, at times even crossing the line into manipulation.  Even after JQA reached adulthood, Abigail never hesitated to upbraid him for poor (in her opinion) choices and to tell him what she thought he should do. JQA finally became so irritated with his mother’s constant guilt trips that he quit responding to her letters for lengthy periods of time. Nagel’s portrait of Abigail as a nagging, manipulative mother contrasts greatly with David McCullough’s portrayal of her as a near-saintly wife and mother.

Another key aspect of JQA that I gleaned from Nagel’s portrait is the sixth president’s great insecurity. Despite his many great achievements (serving frequently in the diplomatic corps from age 14 until age 50, mastering several languages, writing several books, serving in the US Senate, teaching at Harvard, being Secretary of State, being elected as US President, and later serving as an influential Congressman), JQA was plagued by constant doubts about his own achievements and a lifelong fear he was wasting time and being lazy.  Seldom if ever have I read of someone who did so much yet felt he did so little.  This constant self-doubt was aggravated by a tendency toward depression, which seems to have been worse when Adams was not in politics.  Adams always claimed he would have been happier as a scholar and writer, and yet he was happiest when he was fighting political battles.

In summary, John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, a Private Life is a fascinating glimpse of one of the most brilliant men who has ever occupied the White House. I thoroughly recommend it to anyone who is interested in the early history of our nation.

Review: The Last Founding Father: James Monroe and a Nation's Call to Greatness

In 1800, the writer Mason (sometimes also called Parson) Weems published the highly influential A History of the Life and Death, Virtues and Exploits of General George Washington.  Weems’ biography of our first president was one of the first biographies of an American hero to follow the venerable tradition of “hagiography.”  In its literal sense, the term hagiography refers simply to telling the life stories of Christian saints.  In a more extended, secular sense, however, hagiography refers to writing idealized biographies of any historical figure.  In these biographies, the subject’s virtues are emphasized to the near or total exclusion of their vices.  In short, the subject of a “hagiographical” biography comes across like a near-perfect saint or even a demigod.

The Last Founding Father: James Monroe and a Nation’s Call to Greatness by Harlow Giles Unger is at least as much hagiography as it is biography.  Unger writes in a clear and concise style that keeps the reader engaged, but his constant over-the-top praise of Monroe will grate on the reader, especially one well-versed in early U. S. history.  Unger does not merely overpraise Monroe, however; he goes a step further by often belittling other key American figures to make Monroe look good by comparison.  Three examples of this will suffice.

First, in the introduction, Unger provocatively calls John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison “mere caretaker presidents.”  Perhaps I do not understand what a “caretaker president” is, but I would think it is a president who attempts to merely carry on the policies of his predecessor(s), showing little initiative of his own.  I completely fail to understand how this description could apply to Adams, Jefferson, or Madison.  Monroe, Unger further claims, “took office determined to lead the nation to greatness…” (here he implies that other than George Washington, no president had).  Is that not what his three predecessors also wanted to do?

Second, Unger states that James Madison was “barely five feet tall”, in contrast to the six-foot-tall Monroe. Nearly every other source that I have read describes James Madison as taller than five feet tall, usually 5’ 4.”  Here Unger seems to be literally shrinking Madison in order to make Monroe seem much more impressive than his predecessor. 

Third, Unger claims that Monroe’s Secretary of State John Quincy Adams had absolutely nothing to do with writing the Monroe Doctrine.  It would be bad enough if this merely contradicted the views of most historians (which is true).  However, in his own biography of John Quincy Adams, Unger writes that Adams indeed played a major role in the crafting of the Doctrine.  In other words, Unger does not merely disagree with the majority of historians…he also seems to disagree with himself!

To be sure, Unger has done a service by presenting a generally compelling portrait of a mostly-forgotten yet key figure in early American history.  It seems certain that the overwhelming majority of Americans know absolutely nothing about Monroe, and the few who do probably do not know much beyond the fact that he published the Monroe Doctrine.  Unger fleshes out this forgotten man well, pointing out his service as a soldier in the Revolutionary War, as a governor, a senator, a talented diplomat, a Secretary of State (and, briefly, of War), and as a popular president.  But, to paraphrase Shakespeare, Unger doth praise too much.

The Last Founding Father is an acceptable introduction to James Monroe, as long as the reader is willing to set aside some of Unger’s excessive praise of Monroe and his denigration of other presidents.  If, however, a potential reader desires a more neutral and in-depth biography of Monroe, he or she will have to look elsewhere.

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James Madison: A Life Reconsidered by Lynne Cheney

James Madison is more famous for his role in developing the U. S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights than for his accomplishments as our fourth president. in James Madison: A Life Reconsidered, historian Lynne Cheney presents a compelling and sympathetic portrait of Madison, arguing that his greatness lies in more than just his “fatherhood” of the Constitution, but also in his roles as congressman, co-founder of the Democratic-Republican Party, Secretary of State, and, of course, as President.

Cheney’s book is well-written and enjoyable to read. Rather than give a full overview of the book, I thought I would point out a few things I learned and conclude with some thoughts of my own on Madison’s presidency.

One thing I learned from reading Lynne Cheney’s biography of James Madison is that Madison suffered from a mild form of epilepsy all his life. This makes his accomplishments all the more impressive, especially considering the primitive state of medicine at the time and the social stigma associated with the disease.

Another interesting tidbit I picked up concerns Madison’s personal courage. When the British invaded Washington DC, rather than simply flee and go into hiding, Madison stayed with the American forces that were stationed outside Washington to prevent further British advances. His presence there provided encouragement for his fellow countrymen in a time when it was desperately needed.

As a whole, however, Madison’s presidency does not compare well with those of his three predecessors, for at least one reason. All four of our first presidents were continually vexed by pressure from the warring nations of Great Britain and France to help them against their enemy. But whereas Washington, Adams, and Jefferson used diplomacy to keep the US out of war, Madison failed in this regard. Instead, Madison gave into the pressure exerted by members of his party to declare war against Britain. He led the US into a senseless war that devastated the US economy and many of its cities (particularly Washington, DC) and that in the end accomplished very little. For this reason, if not for others, Madison fails to make the top tier of US presidents.

Despite this, Madison deserves to be ranked among the greatest of American leaders because of his leading role in producing and then fighting for adoption of the masterpiece that is the US Constitution.

Thomas Jeffferson: The Art of Power by Jon Meacham

I recently finished reading/listening to Jon Meacham's Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power. I'm not going to write a full review of it, but let me briefly say that it was excellent. It is a quick and easy read, thanks to Meacham's excellent writing style. Meacham writes very differently from David McCullough. McCullough's books (at least those I have read) read like novels, whereas Meacham's read like a series of newspaper or magazine articles (not surprising, since Meacham's background is in journalism).

After reading McCullough's John Adams, I felt like I knew Adams quite well. After reading Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power, however, I feel like I still barely know Jefferson. It is as if I have merely peeled away one layer of an onion. In all likelihood, this says more about the immense complexity of Jefferson's character than any deficiencies of Meacham's writing. I feel like if I am to truly understand Jefferson (to the extent that he even CAN be understood), I am going to have to read AT LEAST one more book about him. I plan to ready Joseph Ellis' American Sphinx: The Character of Thomas Jefferson, but probably not until after I have gone through all the presidents.

If I could change one thing about this book, I would have Meacham focus more space on Jefferson's two terms as US president. Nevertheless, I highly recommend this book as a very good introduction to Jefferson.

Here is a passage from the book that well sums up Jefferson's presidency:

"{Jefferson] endures because we can see in him all the varied and wondrous possibilities of human experience--the thirst for knowledge, the capacity to create, the love of family and of friends, the hunger for accomplishment, the applause of the world, the marshaling of power, the bending of others to one's own vision. His genius lay in his versatility; his larger political legacy in his leadership of thought and of men.

"With his brilliance and his accomplishment and his fame he is immortal. Yet because of his flaws and his failures he strikes us as mortal, too--a man of achievement who was nonetheless susceptible to the temptations and compromises that ensnare all of us. He was not all he could be. But no politician--no human being--ever is.

"We sense his greatness because we know that perfection in politics is not possible but that Jefferson passed the fundamental test of leadership. Despite his shortcomings and all the inevitable disappointments and mistakes and dreams deferred, he left America, and the world, in a better place than it had been when he first entered the arena of public life."

John Adams by David McCullough

Six weeks after starting it, I have finished McCullough's John Adams. I will probably not attempt to write a full review, but let me simply say that it is MAGNIFICENT. After reading, you feel like you know Adams personally. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

In case anyone is interested in reading a full review, here is a link to one. I disagree with the reviewer's contention that the book is "good, not great", but otherwise I think he has done a good job.

https://bestpresidentialbios.com/2013/02/09/review-of-john-adams-by-david-mccullough/

Review of His Excellency: George Washington

More than any United States president, George Washington comes across as much more than human.  To many, our first Chief Executive is an unapproachable icon, a semi-divine figure in the pantheon of American civil religion.  We see him in portraits, busts, and statues, but do we really know him?  In His Excellency: George Washington, Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Joseph Ellis helps readers to understand the human side of Washington, who, like all of us, was a fully human person with flaws and insecurities. Despite these flaws, however, Washington’s many positive character qualities made him the ideal first president.

To the extent that anyone can understand the thoughts and motivations of a highly private and reserved person like Washington, Ellis succeeds admirably.  Ellis makes a convincing case that despite his negative characteristics (which were few), Washington was indeed a great man, fully worthy of the adulation of generations of Americans right down to the present.  As Ellis argues, however, Washington’s greatness lies as much in what he did NOT do as in what he DID do.  Three examples will illustrate this underappreciated truth.

First, Washington’s greatness can be seen in the fact that he did not lose the Revolutionary War.  Washington was not the greatest military tactician in US history by a long shot.  In the whole of the war, he only fought nine major battles, and he lost six of them.  Washington’s greatness as a commander lies in his ability to save the Continental Army from near destruction time and again, and to keep the army together in the face of multiple adversities.  By preventing the army’s destruction from without or within, Washington wore down British patience to the point where Parliament decided to cut their losses and end the war.

Second, after the conclusion of the Revolutionary War, Washington was twice offered the opportunity to seize absolute power.  Unlike Caesar and Cromwell before him, and Napoleon after him, however, Washington refused this temptation, opting for retirement instead (a retirement that, of course, would not last long).  Washington set an important precedent of the military submitting itself to civilian control and thus avoided establishing a tradition of military coups that have plagued nearly every other nation of the world.

Having shown greatness by not seizing absolute power, Washington later added to his greatness by not attempting to hold on to power for life.  In voluntarily stepping down from power, Washington set another precedent, one that would last until 1940 and would later be codified in 1951 in the form of the Twenty-Second Amendment to the US Constitution.  Washington could easily had held on to the presidency until his death, but he chose to hand off the office to someone else and seek retirement instead.

Consisting only of 277 pages, His Excellency is not the most in-depth biography of our first president.  If you want a more comprehensive story of Washington’s life, you will want to read Ron Chernow’s Washington: A Life or perhaps even James Thomas Flexner’s four-volume series.  But if you want a brief and engaging introduction to the life of the “Father of Our Country,” you can do no better than this outstanding book.