CHAPTER XV
FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF
WOODROW WILSON
March 4, 1913, to March 4, 1917
AFTER sixteen years of Republican domination, the Federal government passed into the hands of Democratic rule on March 4, 1913, with the inauguration of Woodrow Wilson of New Jersey and Thomas Riley Marshall of Indiana, after one of the most stormy and eventful of the nation’s thirty-two presidential elections, which left in its wake a trail of bitterness, disappointment, and broken friendships, never entirely forgotten or forgiven by those vitally concerned.
The Wilson family party arrived at Washington in the mid afternoon of March 3d, going to the Shoreham, where an entire floor had been reserved for them. Later, they called upon President and Mrs. Taft at the White House. That evening, they all assembled at the Shoreham for a family dinner which Mr. Joseph Wilson of Chicago gave in honour of his brother, President-elect Wilson, and Mrs. Wilson.
On the same day, the first great Suffrage pageant took place. In parade, it told the story of the long struggle of that party. Led by Mrs. Richard Coke Burleson, the modern crusaders for “Votes for Women” marched up Pennsylvania Avenue five thousand strong, with wonderful floats and bands of stirring music to emphasize their demand for suffrage through constitutional amendment. The signal for the procession to start was given by Miss Inez Milholland, the beautiful young herald, who, astride her handsome horse, wore the yellow of the heralds of mediæval days.
Her associates like to remember her as she appeared that day, for her untimely death followed soon after.
To join the gigantic demonstration came “General” Rosalie Jones with her two hundred weary, footsore pilgrims, who had hiked through mud, rain, snow, and ridicule from New York. In their drab cloaks and hoods, carrying their staves, they created much comment.
The cavalry was, perhaps, one of the smartest, most attractive sections in the procession, mostly young society women who were superbly mounted.
The floats, particularly significant, showed the progress of the suffrage movement since its beginning in 1840. Later, tableaux and allegorical dances were given upon the steps of the Treasury, interpreting the dreams and ambitions of modern womanhood. Many distinguished and prominent women participated, while hundreds of others were interested spectators. The demonstration called forth unstinted praise from every intelligent source. Unfortunate indeed was the outrageous lack of police protection given the marching women; they suffered insults and physical injury at the hands of hoodlums. Their flags and banners were spat upon, lighted cigars and cigarettes were thrown upon them, and the crowding in upon the line here and there caused more than a hundred persons to be so trampled and bruised as to require hospital treatment. The contrast between the calm orderliness of March 4th and the extreme disorder of the day previous was so marked that the matter became subject for presidential appeal.
The heads of the various suffrage organizations returned to New York at once, and the next morning, the following telegram was sent to Mr. Wilson so that he should receive it before leaving for the Capitol:
President-elect Wilson
The Shoreham, Washington, D. C.
As you ride to-day in comfort and safety to the Capitol to be inaugurated President of the United States, we beg that you will not be unmindful that yesterday the government which is supposed to exist for the good of all, left women, while passing in peaceful procession in their demand for political freedom, at the mercy of a howling mob on the very streets which are this very moment being so efficiently officered for the protection of men.
Harriet Stanton Blatch,
For the Women’s Political Union.
Promptly at ten-fifty on the morning of March 4th, Woodrow Wilson and Thomas Marshall, President-elect and Vice President-elect, left the Shoreham Hotel after several hours of cheering ovations by their respective Princeton and Culver students, and made their way to the White House, where the President-elect was serenaded by the Princeton boys with the Princeton anthem, “Old Nassau.” The University of Virginia students also felt a special claim upon Mr. Wilson and added their strength of numbers to the student delegation which totalled three thousand.
There were no particularly distinguishing features in the administering of the oath to either the new President by Chief Justice White, or to the Vice President by Senator Gallinger. The drama of the great political struggle was reflected in the picture presented in the little group when President Wilson had completed his address. While the crowd was shouting its enthusiastic approval, Mr. Taft, the retiring leader of the party, defeated after sixteen years of supremacy, congratulated his successor thus: “Mr. President, I wish you a successful administration and the carrying out of your aims. We are all behind you.” William Jennings Bryan stood at hand, the persistent prophet of progressive democracy, thrice defeated, and once more possessing his soul in patience as he accepted a commission from the new President who was claiming to be mustering forces of humanity, not forces of party.
The long procession of forty thousand marching men which had been forming while the ceremonies were in progress, followed the President to the White House. The Essex Troop, made up of college graduates and young men of means, all of whom owned their handsome mounts, wheeled into line in full strength to honour their former governor, while the sixty mounted Culver cadets that composed the famous Black Horse Troop of that institution found their location as escort to Vice President Marshall.
Twenty-five hundred Tammany Braves also made the air ring.
The fireworks in the evening were unusually elaborate because of the omission of the inaugural ball.
All arrangements had been made as usual for the ball, but it was omitted at the President’s expressed wish. While there were many rumours as to the reason of its abandonment, the expense involved in the upheaval of the routine business, the moving of clerks and upset of office equipment in the huge Pension Building seemed to be the chief consideration. There was no other structure available in Washington at that time large enough to accommodate the crowds desiring to attend. Then, too, soon after election it was known that both Governor and Mrs. Wilson were indifferent, if not actually opposed, to the idea of a ball. Mrs. Wilson had been quoted as saying: “I cannot bear to think of a ball with the modern dances when Woodrow is inaugurated.” To them both, the ceremony of March 4th carried much of the thought of dedication, a point of view in accord with the Presbyterian doctrines in which both were rooted and grounded.
Disappointment was expressed over this departure from precedent, not so much from a personal standpoint as from a sense of regret over the breaking up of a cherished institution which had its inception under the tutelage of the immortal George Washington, who with all of his dignity and stateliness deemed it a fitting conclusion of the celebration and an appropriate way to inspire respect and maintain prestige in the eyes of other nations. Being thoroughly consistent, he attended and gallantly did his share of dancing with the belles of the evening.
The inaugural ball was the people’s ball; it was the epitome of democracy, the externalized embodiment of the American doctrine that “all men are created equal,” for every class of society had always been represented, from the highest to the most humble.
Woodrow Wilson’s career as college president had been noted for the many changes he made, the most radical being the overthrow of the student aristocracy. As Governor of New Jersey, he had begun his term by upsetting the political machine. As soon as he became President the country became aware of the fact that the new Executive considered rules made for people and not people—especially White House people—for rules. He daily disregarded precedents for courses of action which, in his own judgment, were more feasible and expedient.
© Underwood & Underwood
WOODROW WILSON AND HIS FAMILY IN 1912
With the abandonment of the inaugural ball, some anxiety arose about the social régime of the White House. All doubt on this score was dispelled, however, when the family began their delightful receptions. The charming Southern hospitality and the three lively young daughters gave the mansion an air of joyousness that did not diminish until the illness of the gracious First Lady cast its shadow over the entire city. The teas, receptions, garden parties, and dinners all reflected the wholesome, unaffected cordiality of the hostess.
President Wilson chose for his Cabinet portfolios: State, William J. Bryan, Nebraska; Treasury, William G. McAdoo, New York; Navy, Josephus Daniels, North Carolina; War, Bindley M. Garrison, New Jersey; Postmaster General, Albert S. Burleson, Texas; Interior, Franklin K. Lane, California; Commerce, William C. Redfield, New York; Agriculture, David F. Houston, Missouri; Labour, William Wilson, Pennsylvania; Attorney General, James McReynolds, Kentucky.
Presidential cares were never so engrossing that Woodrow Wilson failed to respond to the appeal of a child.
On the first Easter Sunday that he was President, he and the family decided to attend the Eastern Presbyterian Church. During the service a little six-year-old girl in an adjacent pew divided her attention between watching the new President and admiring a cherished bundle in her lap. Just before the service concluded, she leaned over and handed the package to Miss Eleanor, who, noting it was for the President, smilingly passed it on to her father. The President glanced at the package so carefully wrapped in a paper napkin, read the name and message scrawled in childish script, and justified the child’s admiration, for he turned, smiled, and bowed his thanks to the little girl with as profound courtesy and as much evidence of pleasure in his expression as if the gift had been a priceless jewel instead of being only a gaudy Easter egg.
The first and most important of the social affairs at the White House during the first year of the administration was the marriage of Miss Jessie Woodrow Wilson to Mr. Francis Bowes Sayre, in the East Room, on November 26, 1913. She was the thirteenth bride of the home of the presidents. No fears of ill luck haunted her, for her entire family regarded the number thirteen as their mascot.
For the simple ceremony, a dais approached by two low steps was erected by the windows facing the Treasury Building, on the spot where Nellie Grant gave her hand to Mr. Sartoris, and where Alice Roosevelt became the bride of Nicholas Longworth. A prie dieu covered with white satin, bride roses, and lilies of the valley stood upon a beautiful white rug that had been presented by the Minister of Peru and Madame Pezet. This bit of vicuna fur from South America was especially interesting because of its virtue of bringing good luck to its owner. At four-thirty the President escorted his wife to the State dining room where the bridal procession was forming, and turned her over to Colonel W. W. Harts, his military aide, who took her to her assigned place in the East Room. Mrs. Sayre, the mother of the bridegroom, was escorted to a place opposite.
A fanfare of trumpets and Lohengrin’s march by the Marine Band announced the approach of the bridal party. The bridesmaids were the Misses Eleanor R. Wilson, younger sister of the bride; Mary G. White of Baltimore; Adeline Mitchell Scott of Princeton, and Marjorie Brown of Atlanta. With them walked the ushers: Benjamin R. Burton of New York; Charles Evans Hughes, Jr., of New York; Dr. DeWitt Scoville Clark, Jr., of Salem, Mass., and Dr. Gilbert Horax of Mount Clair, N. J., all college associates of Mr. Sayre. Miss Margaret Wilson preceded the bride, who, in the traditional white satin and veil, was escorted by her father. Miss Wilson was met at the improvised altar by Mr. Sayre, who was attended by Dr. Wilfred T. Grenfell. The Reverend Sylvester W. Beach, D.D., pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Princeton, N. J., where Miss Jessie taught a Bible class and where the Wilson family attended, read the service. The Reverend John Nevin Sayre, brother of the bridegroom and missionary to China, pronounced the benediction.
For the supper, the table, with its huge wedding cake, was beautifully decorated. The cake had been made in New York, in two layers, and was two and a half feet high and three feet in circumference. It weighed one hundred and thirty-five pounds and was reported to have cost five hundred dollars. To Miss Margaret’s lot fell the slice with the ring, and later she caught the bride’s bouquet. The collation in the State dining room, the same as served to the bridal party, consisted of Virginia ham, salads, sandwiches, relishes, bonbons, ices, cakes, coffee, and fruit punch, made in accordance with the bride’s expressed wish without wine or liquor of any kind.
With the aid of the President’s secretary, Joseph P. Tumulty, and the White House police, the bridal couple escaped their friends. Then the ropes were removed and the young people had a delightful dance with the Marine Band to play.
Next in interest to the White House bride herself, at least to the women of the land, was her trousseau. In the opinion of critics, Mrs. Sayre’s wedding outfit, though modest, had been designed with artistic skill and carried out with materials whose elegance and quality made her gowns appropriate for all occasions. She planned her clothes to fit the wants of a college professor’s wife with ample provision for occasional jaunts to Washington and New York. The wedding gown was made of lustrous white satin, a product of the now famous Paterson, N. J., mills, and was adorned with orange blossoms and rare point lace, an heirloom in Mrs. Wilson’s family. The full court train, which was fastened at the shoulders, was also adorned with wedding flowers. The full-length veil was of the finest French tulle and completely enveloped the bride. It was arranged from a lace cap which was fastened close to the hair and was adorned with sprays of orange blossoms. Tiny clusters of the flowers were caught in the veil. The bouquet was a cluster of bride roses with a shower of buds and ribbon. Mrs. Sayre’s only jewel was a diamond pendant and chain, the gift of her husband.
The invitations and the announcements of the wedding, except for the embossed coat of arms of the United States at the top, were plain enough for any private family. The list of invited guests contained less than seven hundred names. It included, besides the relatives and intimate friends of the two families, the members of the Cabinet, Supreme Court, Diplomatic Corps, the New Jersey delegation in Congress, and the leaders in Congress.
The bridal presents were such as only a White House wedding could call forth. They varied in elegance and costliness from the tiny beaded hand-made purse presented by the four-year-old cousin of the bride, to the twenty-five hundred-dollar-diamond necklace presented by the House of Representatives. China and cloisonné vases—gold coffee spoons, candlesticks, mahogany furniture, and many beautiful gifts of silver rubbed shoulders with such humble but eminently useful gifts as two washtubs, six boxes of soap, coal scuttles, a barrel of potatoes, rag rugs, five bushels of Bermuda onions, a white knitted hammock, a washing machine, a sewing machine, and an eiderdown quilt.
Mrs. Wilson’s social régime was simple, making up in genuine hospitality and sincere enjoyment whatever it may have lacked of the glitter and brilliance of former administrations. Each individual came away from her receptions with a warm glow of satisfaction because of her sincere personal greeting. Never did she look bored, even when toward the last, just before her illness began, she was obliged to sit down. Generations of gentle ancestry had bequeathed a courtesy that was as much a part of her as her soft wavy brown hair and expressive dark eyes.
Formerly Ellen Axson of Georgia, the daughter of a clergyman, Mrs. Wilson had been reared in the cultural atmosphere of a Southern home, and educated according to the best traditions of the old South. She had studied art in New York during the period of her engagement to Woodrow Wilson. She continued her studies in spite of the demands of a growing family and a thoroughly domesticated husband. Following Governor Wilson’s election to the Presidency, she put a collection of her paintings on exhibition at the Arts & Crafts Guild in Philadelphia, the proceeds from whose sale were sent to the Martha Berry School of Georgia. Mrs. Wilson also made a gift to Goucher College of which one of her daughters was a graduate. After coming to the White House, she managed to devote some time to art work, fitting up a studio in the attic, where some of her best canvases were completed.
When Mrs. Wilson first came to Washington, she became interested in the work of the Woman’s Department of the National Civic Federation, the District Branch of which, with Mrs. Archibald Hopkins in charge, was busily working to clean up the alleys and eliminate the slums. The pitiful condition of many of the old coloured people living in poverty and squalor had a peculiar appeal to her. The condition of the children tugged at her sympathies, too. She not only attended the meetings of the District Branch of the Federation, but made any number of personal tours of inspection through some of the worst of the city’s twenty-three miles of alleys and slums.
One of Mrs. Wilson’s earliest expeditions was to Goat Alley, considered the worst of its kind in the city. She was accompanied by Mrs. E. P. Bicknell, chairman of the committee on housing of the National Civic Federation, Mrs. Archibald Hopkins, and two Secret Service men. She traversed the entire length of the alley on foot and was so impressed by the conditions she found there that she accepted the position of honorary chairman of the advisory board of the housing committee, in order to help actively with the clean-up work.
Mrs. Wilson never indorsed any cause simply by letting her name be used; so, in the duties of honorary chairman, she worked as energetically as the rest of the members of the committee. This was only one of many, many trips she made through the dirty and dismal byways of the city.
Never did she manifest the aversion and disgust she must have felt, but went as any serious-minded, interested woman would who sought to see conditions for herself and the way to better them. She stopped repeatedly to talk to the children and their parents. There are scores of poor alley dwellers who will always treasure the wonder of the moment when the gentle First Lady of the Land stepped down from her splendid limousine and walked through their midst, with a pleasant word and a friendly handshake for any and all who greeted her. Time and again she went home with her dainty gloves stained and grimy. Partly as a result of her interest, a bill was introduced in Congress for the reclamation of such pest spots.
Mrs. Wilson was also a frequent visitor to the library of the blind, where her daughter Miss Margaret, often sang.
Early in her régime as Chatelaine of the White House she began investigating the sanitary conditions of the various big government departments. Through her interest, all of the departments now have rest rooms, sanitary drinking cups, and little branch hospitals where first aid may be given in case of illness or accident.
The Bureau of Printing and Engraving received one of Mrs. Wilson’s first visits, and all suggestions made by her were most gladly received and carried out, with the result that the new building was equipped with one of the finest rest and lunch rooms for its employees of any in the country. Just a few days before her death, Mrs. Wilson received a letter from Public Printer Ford of the Government Printing Office expressive of the appreciation of himself and the seventeen hundred women who work there, for her efforts in also securing a rest room for them.
Among some of the other reforms and improvement projects for the Capital City in which Mrs. Wilson was interested were such matters as enforcement of school attendance laws, regulation of child labour, supervision of dependent and neglected children, provision for the care of the feeble-minded and for the treatment of drug victims, a parental school, open-air schools, playgrounds and recreation centres, public comfort stations, public baths and wash houses; legislation to promote the use of school buildings as social recreation centres—in fact, anything that tended toward the good of humanity.
Being of the South, she was naturally interested in every practical progressive movement that related to that section, and the indorsement she gave to the work of the Southern mountaineer women was the best thing that could have befallen them. Like all people with any self-respect these women did not want charity. They wanted only opportunity to show their beautiful, old-fashioned hand-made rugs, carpets, curtains, and counterpanes to people who might be interested in buying them. Mrs. Wilson allowed them to fit up a room in the White House with their handiwork, and she exploited it by telling her friends and having the women of Congress and the Cabinet come to tea and inspect the exhibit and talk to the weavers themselves. The result was order after order for the quaint work from the toil-worn hands of these women, who have preserved a lost art in the remote fastnesses of their mountain homes, and to whom the chance to sell their work for real money, not trade it for supplies, was the greatest boon the President’s wife could confer. When her daughters were married, Mrs. Wilson purchased numerous pieces of this old-fashioned handwork to be included among her gifts to them.
To the poorhouse, she constantly sent flowers. Never before did the poor of Washington receive so liberally of the floral beauties of the White House conservatories. In hospitals and orphan asylums she was “an angel,” and to the little newsboys of the street, for she would buy their papers and laugh away their return change.
A fall due to a slipping rug brought Mrs. Wilson to her bed toward the close of her busy season. Already worn by the social strain, she was attacked by a complication of ailments chief of which was Bright’s disease, that defied the best medical attention. It soon became known that the President’s wife could not recover. Her daughter Eleanor’s marriage to William Gibbs McAdoo took place under this shadow.
The night before her death she recalled her interest in the alleys and slums and mentioned to the President that it would give her much happiness if the pending bill could be passed. The alley bill passed the Senate unanimously, and the fact was made known to Mrs. Wilson during a period of consciousness about two hours before she died. The hurried adjournment of Congress following her death prevented the bringing up of the bill in the House at that time; but that body approved the measure later.
All through her illness, her constant and chief concern was that the President be kept in ignorance of her suffering. Toward the end, she put a charge upon Dr. Cary Grayson, saying:
“If I go away, Doctor, promise me you will take care of my husband.”
It was August 6, 1914, that Mrs. Wilson died. She had won the hearts of the people by her sympathy toward all in need and suffering. The nation grieved with the White House family. Her death was a shock such as Washington had not felt for years. When the big iron gates were closed and locked, the shades drawn, and the sombre emblem of death hung from the door of the White House, the whole city responded to the grief within, lowered its flags, and stopped its merrymakings and frolics. Telegrams flooded the White House, and flowers filled the rooms. They came from every class and degree of society from the newsboys to the representatives of foreign governments; and from the handsome offerings of the Boy Scouts to the simple bouquet of some lowly protêgê. The interment was in Georgia.
For a time, President Wilson seemed to find continuous work the only relief from sorrow.
With the combined strength and influence of his Cabinet he turned his attention to securing the passage by Congress of a new tariff bill. During this time the Federal Reserve bill had become a law; President Madero of Mexico had been deposed and assassinated; Huerta was fighting for recognition; the insult to the United States Flag on April 9, 1914, had called for action; and Vera Cruz was occupied by Marines in consequence.
When rumour started that President Wilson was planning to bring a new First Lady to the White House, great interest and much excitement prevailed.
The third President to wed in office, Woodrow Wilson formed what the most severe critics termed a thoroughly suitable match. Both he and his charming fiancêe, Mrs. Edith Bolling Galt, had been married before, both had passed through similar griefs, and life for each had been crowded with enriching experiences. They had so many tastes in common, were natives of the same state, admirably matched by birth, circumstances, and experience to form an ideal life partnership.
From the time their betrothal was announced until the date of the wedding was officially named, two months later, all Washington kept a ceaseless vigil on the comings and goings of these two, and watched with approving but suspicious eyes all of their rides, drives, and walks, their games of golf, their theatre attendance and appearance at public functions, lest at some opportune moment a marriage would occur without previous announcement. When, finally, the date was set and made public, speculation ran rife as to the ceremony and its interesting details.
But President Wilson and Mrs. Galt followed solely their own personal predilections for a simple ceremony, and in making all of their arrangements acted as plain citizens. They were married in the presence of their respective families in the home of the bride just off Dupont Circle, December 18, 1915. Nothing of pomp or ostentation occurred. All of the trappings of state, the brilliant uniforms of the naval and military aides, the jewelled decorations and glittering lace of the foreign diplomats were missing. Not even the dignitaries of the Supreme Court and the President’s Cabinet were included in the small group witnessing the ceremony that was to place the social crown of leadership upon the brow of another bride.
Promptly at eight-thirty the President ascended the flower-decked stairway and escorted Mrs. Galt to the improvised altar. The Rev. Herbert Scott Smith, rector of St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church, of which the bride was a member, and the Rev. James H. Taylor, pastor of the Presbyterian Church, where the President and his family attended, awaited them. The choicest and loveliest of blossoms added beauty to the setting of the ceremony. The white satin prie dieu, which had figured in several of the White House weddings, on which the bridal couple knelt to receive the final blessing, was decorated at either end with clusters of delicate orchids, the bride’s favourite flower.
The marriage service occupied about twenty minutes, and, shortly after ten o’clock, the President and Mrs. Wilson entered a waiting White House limousine and were rapidly driven to Alexandria to take the train to Hot Springs, Va.
The wedding supper, being virtually a family party, was a merry one. The bride cut her wedding cake with the same cake knife used by her mother at her own wedding. The cake was not supplied with the usual fortune-telling knick-knacks but was instead a rich fruit cake, made in several tiers, elaborately iced and decorated with frosted flowers. The top held a cluster of pink orchids. No boxes were distributed, but several of the guests were provided with pieces to “dream on.”
Mrs. Wilson was the widow of Norman Galt of Washington, D. C., a member of a well-known firm of jewellers in the national capital. She had resided in Washington twenty years before her marriage to President Wilson, during which time she had been known for her interest in charitable and church affairs. She is the daughter of the late Judge William H. Bolling of Virginia, and Mrs. Bolling, and claims descent from John Rolfe, famous as the husband of Pocahontas.
Because of international complications, the plans for an extended wedding trip were abandoned at the last moment, and only a brief trip arranged within easy reach of the Capital.
The sympathetic interest in the White House romance expressed itself in gifts of all kinds and descriptions, coming from all sources and from all classes of people. Finally, the numbers of presents reached such proportions that the effort which had been made to catalogue, classify, and acknowledge them had to be abandoned by Mrs. Wilson’s secretary and be delegated to the White House office staff.
Because of the desire of the President to keep all of the details of his marriage as simple and informal as possible, the names of most of the donors of the gifts were withheld from the public. A few, however, were known.
The joint gift of the Virginia delegation in Congress was a silver loving cup in the form of a beaker with massive silver handles. It stands two feet high on a pedestal of ebony, and is appropriately inscribed. Citizens of Wytheville, the birthplace of Mrs. Galt, sent handsomely framed miniatures of the bride’s father and mother, Judge and Mrs. Bolling, painted by Miss Ellen Douglass Stuart, a niece of the late Gen. J. E. B. Stuart and a talented artist.
Among the most unique of Mrs. Wilson’s gifts were a wonderful scarf sent by the former Queen of Hawaii; the statuette of Pocahontas, the gift of the Pocahontas Memorial Association; the queer old painting of Pocahontas sent from Scotland in recognition of Mrs. Wilson’s descent from the Indian maid; the gift of the splendid collection of furs from the Blackfeet Indians of the National Glacier Park reservation, consisting of the selected skins of forty-eight animals native to the western part of the United States; a bracelet of Brazilian gems and an ornament of rare tropical feathers presented by Dr. A. J. de O’lvera Botelho of Brazil, the first of the delegates to arrive in Washington from the Pan-American Scientific Congress; and a basket woven from Georgia pine needles and filled with the biggest Georgia pecans the Confederate veteran giver could find.
The Wilson honeymoon and all of its details were of such interest that papers published estimated summaries of the expense involved as follows:
COST OF WILSON HONEYMOON
| Special train | $ 400 |
| Room and board for the President and Mrs. Wilson | 480 |
| Rooms and board for President’s valet | 64 |
| Room and board for maid | 64 |
| Transportation autos | 120 |
| Room and board for stenographer | 96 |
| Room and board for seven Secret Service men | 352 |
| Salary for Secret Service men | 688 |
| Garage fees and gasoline | 48 |
| Servants’ wages | 48 |
| Salary of stenographer | 64 |
| Tips and fees | 75 |
| Flowers | 240 |
| ——— | |
| Cost to President | $2,739 |
| Cost to newspapers of telling Americans all about it | $16,000 |
Upon returning to Washington, President Wilson took hold of his problems with new vigour. Mrs. Wilson, a Virginian of distinguished lineage, proceeded to brighten up the White House and carry on its traditions of hospitality so charmingly inaugurated by Ellen Axson Wilson, whom she had never known, since she did not become acquainted with the President until a number of months after his wife’s death.
When the President’s friendship with Mrs. Galt was noted and their betrothal predicted, rumours were circulated that the political leaders of his party were filled with anxiety lest the wedding prior to the election result in his defeat. Their idea was that the influence of the women of the land would be directed against him if he were to remarry so soon after Mrs. Wilson’s death. While little conferences were held and it was agreed that the matter should be presented to the President, no one would undertake the mission.
In the last year of the first term, when criticism of his personal life and executive performances was at high tide, just prior to election, Professor Stockton Axson, brother of the President’s first wife, one who had long been a member of the Wilson household in Middletown and Princeton, was moved to write some of his reminiscences of the Wilson home and family life, through his own desire to present to the public a side of the President’s character little known.
This article appeared in a New York paper in October, 1916. In his story, Professor Axson painted a picture of two Southern families—neighbours. The fathers, Presbyterian clergymen, were close friends in perfect accord on the tenets of Calvinism and the causes and effects of the Civil War; their children typical of a friendship so strong that each set regarded the adults of the other family as relatives, calling them Aunt and Uncle through life. Each family adopted as its own, for special regard, the relatives and in-laws of the other, and they shared joys, sorrows, and successes. This was the environment in which Woodrow Wilson, then called “Tommy,” grew up. It has been said that, when Ellen Axson was a wee infant a few days old, little Tommy Wilson paid her his first call.
Of the romance of these two, Professor Axson wrote:
“It was in 1883 that Woodrow Wilson and Ellen Axson became engaged. She was visiting friends in the North Carolina mountains when my father fell seriously ill. He had to summon her by telegraph—my mother had died two years before, and my sister was the responsible member of the family. She went to Asheville to catch a train, but as she had several hours to wait for it she went to a hotel and whiled away the time reading by a window.
“As fate would have it, Woodrow Wilson was driving in the mountains, passed the hotel, chanced to look up, and saw her profile at the window. The two had been together in Rome the previous summer, and it needed just that unexpected encounter in the North Carolina mountains to show them what life held for each and both of them.”
Professor Axson spoke of his sister and her husband as being “more truly one than any two people” he had ever seen. He said they literally married each other’s family, never seeming to feel any difference between those of their blood and those related by marriage. Two brothers and a sister of Mrs. Wilson were also members of the Wilson family circle for long periods. He paints Woodrow Wilson as boyish, tender, generous, considerate, whimsical, and fun loving, and cites an instance of the depth of the family affection.
A favourite uncle of Mrs. Wilson was a visitor. From long custom, upon retiring he put his boots outside his bedroom door to be blacked. The young professor saw them. The Wilson household maintained no valet and the Bridget of the kitchen did not include boot blacking in her schedule of duties. Mr. Wilson concluded that Uncle Tom expected to have his boots blacked for him, and as there was no one else to do it, it fell to his lot to do them, and he did, telling the joke on himself.
This couple took colour from each other, each reflecting the other’s moods and tastes in books, pictures, music, and architecture. In the Wilson household, love ruled supreme. The husband and father, an incorrigible tease and fun-maker, could never be outdone in story-telling. One could never tell him a new story. His fund of anecdotes was inexhaustible, and in his clever telling of them he caught the spirit and personality of the principals.
Professor Axson said that, when Mrs. Wilson died, the President was the loneliest, most desolate man in the world. It was not long before his family and close friends began to hope he would remarry, and when he did, his first wife’s people joined his own in their affectionate welcome to the new First Lady. He claims they loved her for herself and for what she did for Woodrow Wilson in giving him new life, companionship, and the love he had to have to enable him to go on.
While President Wilson was nominated in the Democratic Convention without opposition, the election was a close and exciting contest. Charles Evans Hughes of New York, the Republican nominee, was reported elected and all of the country went to bed, election night, President Wilson included, with the idea that Hughes was to be the next President. Admiral Cary T. Grayson, the President’s physician, is authority for the statement that, while the Wilson family and friends were distressed and depressed over the returns that spelled defeat upon election night, President Wilson was in the best of spirits. He sensed a lifting of the yoke and was full of elation. Finally, the Admiral, believing defeat certain, attempted consolation predicting that, in another four years, the American people would call him back to the Presidency.
With the twinkle that always prefaced a story, he replied: “No, Grayson, I am like the Confederate soldier who returned to his home after Lee’s surrender. He looked at his wrecked farm, where the buildings had been burned, the stock run off or killed, and the fences torn down. He looked at his bare bleeding feet and at his one remaining arm in a sling and remarked: ‘I am glad I fought; I’m proud of the part I played; I have no regrets; but—I’ll be damned if I ever love another country.’”
For three days, the election decision hung in the balance, and then belated returns gave the majority to President Wilson.
His first administration had witnessed many events fraught with import to the nation’s history. He had been confronted with stupendous problems. The Panama Canal had been opened for traffic in August, 1915. The Mexican situation had grown more acute after the deposition of Madero and his death. In 1916, sixty thousand men of the United States National Guard and regulars had been stationed along the border. The Seventeenth Amendment to the Constitution had been ratified, thus providing for the direct election of United States Senators. The Federal Trade commission had been established, and the Clayton Anti-Trust measure enacted.
For days the Suffragists had picketed the White House with their unfurled banners silently pleading their cause in their efforts to win presidential support. On this amendment the President had steadfastly refused to commit himself, although besieged publicly and privately. At one reception soon after his marriage, a prominent suffrage leader went through the line with her set suffrage appeal all ready to recite to the President when she should be presented. Instead, when she reached him and his wife, she gazed at Mrs. Wilson a minute and exclaimed enthusiastically: “Oh! Mrs. Wilson, you are so much more beautiful than your pictures!” The speech was forgotten in the beaming smile she received from the President, who fully appreciated her statement and, turning to his wife, said triumphantly, “I told you so.” She always claimed that, in the end, the compliment was more effective than the speech would have been, although the next suffrage leader in line was able to say her bit without interruption.
In February, 1916, Lindley M. Garrison, resigned his post as Secretary of War because of his dissatisfaction over the President’s attitude toward defense legislation.
As Inauguration time approached, the issues of the campaign were still sending their echoes throughout the country. The upheaval of Europe was being felt in America.
Students of the World War and its progress cannot fail to be impressed with the extremely difficult position of the United States as the principal neutral power. From the moment the Austrian tragedy unloosed the tempest, in the summer of 1914, embroiling all of Europe, down to the time of the destruction of the Lusitania, the volume of American sentiment had been swinging steadily, though more or less unconsciously, toward a demand that the horrors of the European type of warfare be terminated. Our own participation to force this end was a possibility that was pushed into the remote background of dreaded, unadmitted probabilities, despite the fact that the loudest clamour for continued neutrality found its expression in the campaign slogan of approval of Wilson’s policy, “He kept us out of war,” and brought him his reëlection.
How closely the two great tides of public opinion were paralleling each other was proved by the closeness of the election in which preparedness and anti-preparedness were paramount campaign issues. Neutrality won the election, but it took only the announcement of the German policy of unrestricted submarine warfare in January, 1917, to clarify the public vision of its cobwebs of reluctance and fear and bring the reëlected President, just a month prior to his inauguration, to sound the first war tocsin for America in his curt note to Germany and his appeal to Congress to sever all relation with her.
So swiftly had the succession of events swung the United States into the great struggle that the public accepted, with dignity and characteristic patriotism, President Wilson’s statements—“Neutrality is no longer feasible or desirable where the peace of the world is involved and the freedom of its peoples,” and “The world must be made safe for Democracy.”