White House gossip

by Edna M. Colman

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.