White House gossip

by Edna M. Colman

Early in June of 1876, officials and a great host of military men, as well as hosts of admiring friends of the gallant, picturesque General George Armstrong Custer, who made a brilliant record during the Civil War, were deeply shocked and saddened by the news of his untimely death in the terrible massacre of the Little Big Horn on June 25, 1876.

For several years, much interest had centred around the celebration of the anniversary of the One Hundredth Year of the Independence of the United States. The principal feature of this was the opening of the great Centennial Exposition in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, in the spring of 1876. The huge building of glass and iron covered a space of about seventy-five acres. To this exhibition all nations of the world sent samples of their art, industry, or manufacture, but the United States led in the display of inventions, which demonstrated that an industrial revolution had developed. The great progress in time- and labour-saving devices made a lasting impression upon the visitors. Two of the remarkable novelties shown at that time were the electric light and Professor A. G. Bell’s invention of the telephone.

An amusing incident that had been induced by the approach of the Centennial was the notion expressed in the following article which appeared in the Star of May 29, 1875:

“Among the lively bids for the success of the Centennial, made by the managers, is a circular sent out to the Governors of the States, asking each of them to furnish the names of not less than fifty men who in 1876 will have reached the age of one hundred years. It is proposed to supply free transportation to the centennial exhibition to all centenarians and to entertain them as the Nation’s guests. The New York Herald raises a phantom of alarm in the wide demoralization of the aged community involved in this project. The number of aged men who are in training for the Centennial, it says, would startle the country were it known. Dazzled by the honours which are bestowed upon the centenarians, many of these individuals have gone, like prize fighters, into a regular course of training to qualify themselves for an appearance at the exhibition next year. The result will be that next year it will be as hard to find an old man of 80 as it is now to find one of 100.”

As election time approached, many friends and admirers urged upon General Grant a third term, their theory being that, if any man could receive that extraordinary proof of the regard and confidence of the American people, Ulysses S. Grant was that man. While the President was not indifferent to the honour a third term would convey to the world, he was not altogether assured it would be a wise move for him to enter the contest again. Such vindication would be particularly pleasant after the stormy period which the Democratic majority in the House had created with fully fifty committees bent upon investigating every act of his administration. In their efforts to find cause for charging him with other and graver faults and mistakes than being a poor judge of men, and being so constituted as to remain loyal to his friends even when they abused his trust and imposed upon his confidence. He realized that he was blamed for much of the distressing financial condition of the country.

The third term idea was unpopular in the House, and that body expressed itself in a resolution by a vote of 234 to 18 against the third term, the reason being that the precedent set by General Washington and adhered to by all his successors was a fixed custom, and to make a departure from it would be unwise, if not actually unpatriotic.

According to his habit, the President gave the matter due consideration from every angle and then declined.

Brigadier General Adam Badeau, who spent much time at the White House and in travelling in Europe with his former chief, was the first to read this letter declining a third term. In his “Grant in Peace,” General Badeau says:

“I recollect dining with him [President Grant] more than once in 1875. His table was always laid so that half a dozen unexpected guests might be entertained, and one Sunday we lunched informally in the library, no one but himself and me. He had just finished writing the letter in which he declined a nomination for a third term. The paper had not been read as yet to any of his Cabinet, and Mrs. Grant did not know of his decision. He asked my opinion of the letter, and I told him it was a good one, if he had determined to withdraw from the contest, but I had supposed he would not so determine. The letter was sent to the press the same day without Mrs. Grant’s knowledge, for the General was sure it would be disagreeable to her, and he wished his decision to be irrevocable before she learned it. Years afterward, when I told her I had heard that letter before it was sent, she reproached me more than half in earnest for not striving harder to prevent its issue.”

Being relieved of the necessity of again going through the uncertainties and anxieties of a campaign, President Grant and his wife began their preparations for their release from public service. As they had long wanted to travel abroad, that plan was developed while the eyes of the people turned toward the choice of a successor.