The Forgotten President I Suddenly Remembered

Saying the forgotten president is giving myself too much credit.

Never-learned-about would be a better descriptor.

I mean, besides Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, a couple Roosevelts, a Kennedy, and the last few, have we Americans actually forgotten the others or just never acquainted ourselves with them?

Two of the above men—Lincoln and Kennedy—were murdered, but sharing a similar fate hardly helped this man pass the historical test of time.

And no, I’m not talking about William McKinley, whose assassination was intimately tied to the rise of the first Roosevelt, as in the one who gave us the Teddy Bear and a face on Mount Rushmore.

I’m referring to the fourth such victim (the second chronologically), the one whose last name you probably associate with a fat cat.

***

I felt guilty.

Death had brought me there, but all I could think about was the view. I was a few floors up, taking in Lake Erie to my right and the skyline straight ahead.

Despite the city’s nickname, I saw no mistake.

Eventually, I forced myself to walk downstairs and get back to the matter at hand.

Lake View Cemetery, in the polished part of Cleveland, Ohio, was home to the James A. Garfield Memorial, the one whose observation deck I had just admired.

In 1831, Garfield had been born nearby, making the location a logical resting place.

Of course, my October 2024 visit to The Land had nothing to do with the past. We Americans don’t like our history without entertainment and a hot dog, and it was game four of Major League Baseball’s American League Championship Series the night before that had inspired the four-hour drive.

Being the chicken-wing-eating intellectual that I am, I couldn’t skip town the next day without first checking off two boxes—a six pack of Christmas Ale from Great Lakes Brewing Company and a visit to the aforementioned cemetery.

I found out that morning that my wife had torn her Achilles tendon while playing tennis, meaning the timing wasn’t ideal for a deep dive at the second stop.

So I took a quick look around, paid my respects to a stone version of the fallen man, left a twenty-dollar donation, and headed back to Upstate New York.

My guilt, however, got the best of me.

Once home, I had no choice but to crack a book and learn a few things.

***

Garfield was the last American president to grow up in a log cabin.

Dirt poor, he became a voracious reader, translating his blossoming intellect into a degree from Williams College in Massachusetts.

He would go on to fight for the Union in the Civil War, earning the rank of brigadier general, and later spend almost two decades in the US House of Representatives.

Marital fidelity was apparently not a strong suit, but political compromise was, and in 1880, he was chosen as the Republican candidate for president.

He would ultimately win the general election, and the first four months of his presidency—the 20th in US history—were met with rising popularity.

Unfortunately, a delusional drifter named Charles Guiteau, who was appropriately denied any sort of position in the administration, retaliated by lodging a bullet in Garfield’s torso.

Two months later, on September 19, 1881, the forgotten president died from an associated infection.

***

I put the book down and asked myself a few questions:

• Why do adulterers make such good politicians?
• Should I have a Christmas Ale?
• Could the forgotten president, with his gift of pragmatism, have been a welcome guide for a country still reuniting after the Civil War?

 

The last question, needless to say, will never be answered.

But thanks to my post-baseball checklist, at least I knew to ask—and I understood this Johnny Cash cover.

 

Source:

Confronting the Presidents: No Spin Assessments From Washington to Biden