∙ 3 ∙

THE OLD WAY:
DEVELOPED AND EXPRESSED

Washington, Adams, Jefferson, and Madison also established informal forms of rhetoric consistent with governing constitutional theory. The nineteenth-century presidents who followed differed in the degree to which this rhetorical “common law” was congruent with their particular political temperaments. Some—John Quincy Adams and Ulysses S. Grant, for example—were happy to shun virtually any public speech. Others, such as Pierce and McKinley, pushed against clearly perceived limits. Nevertheless, all of the administrations, with the striking exception of Andrew Johnson’s, shared a core fidelity to the legitimate constraints of nineteenth-century constitutional theory.

Andrew Johnson did not adhere to the forms and doctrine of the nineteenth-century constitutional order. This single, seemingly aberrant case illustrates the power of the doctrine, because Johnson was formally and constitutionally challenged for his behavior on the stump. In the case of Johnson, one sees speech and constitutional text in political confrontation, revealing the power of one and the authority of the other. A discussion of this case concludes this chapter.

“UNOFFICIAL” PRESIDENTIAL RHETORIC

Because other nineteenth-century presidents might have appealed to the people unofficially in support of policy initiatives, even though official rhetoric, including inaugural addresses and other popular modes, remained consistent with basic doctrinal principles, inspection of “unofficial” nineteenth-century speech is necessary to determine its extent, its salient characteristics, and its principal purposes. One can see the power of forms if they serve to delimit or to formalize “informal” behavior as well as the conventional categories of political speech.

Yet if unofficial, where is this speech to be found? There are no official collections of unofficial speech. I canvassed three major sources for manuscripts or references to speeches: (1) the Library of Congress collections of nineteenth-century presidential papers, (2) private “unofficial” compilations of presidential speeches and addresses published in the nineteenth century, and (3) biographies of each of the nineteenth-century presidents. The quality of the manuscript collections varies from president to president, and the number and quality of biographies is also uneven, creating gaps in this set of data. However, by searching three major sources and by relying particularly upon biographies (which collectively numbered over sixty and drew upon hundreds of newspaper archives), one discovers those speeches which members of the culture themselves mark out as those which should be read.1

As might be expected, biographers differed in their judgment of incidents to report and in their assessments when reporting the same or very similar situations. However, these differences form a pattern that corresponds to the doctrinal differences between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Biographers writing after 1930 about nineteenth-century presidents often omit references to popular speeches, judging them to be insignificant. More often, they tend to characterize those which are discussed as missed opportunities for forceful leadership of public opinion. Biographers writing in the nineteenth century (or educated in the nineteenth century and writing in the early twentieth century) are more likely to discuss popular speeches, to reproduce excerpts of them, and to consider the propriety of their presentation. For example, in 1960 Charles A. McCoy wrote, “[James Polk] was handicapped by his complete inability to sloganize or to mobilize the public in behalf of his Administration by an appeal to emotion.… Try as he might to appeal to the masses, as was his wish in his fourth annual message, which he regarded as a valedictory address, he could not compress his views into a form suitable for mass consumption.” In 1920, Eugene McCormack, on the other hand, depicted Polk as judiciously avoiding popular appeals because they contradicted the “custom” of the period; since such appeals would have involved a “sacrifice [of] his dignity to beg in person for their support,” their use might have worked to his strategic disadvantage. And although in 1899 Edward M. Shepard wrote a generally laudatory biography of Martin Van Buren, he understood and accepted Whig criticism of Van Buren’s occasional departures from prevailing practice.2

I discovered approximately one thousand “unofficial” popular speeches delivered by nineteenth-century presidents. They are dwarfed in quantity by the tremendous number of direct popular appeals in our century. It would be a mistake to regard them as insignificant, however, for they yield insight into the legitimate and illegitimate functions of presidential rhetoric in the nineteenth century.

The Extent and Purposes of Popular Rhetoric

TABLE 3.1 Presidential Tours and Other Popular Communication, before the Twentieth Century

President	N of Tours	N of Speeches on Tour (est.)	N of Other Speeches (est.)	Total Speeches (est.)	Average N of Speeches per Year (est.)
Washington	2	20	5	25	3
Adams, J.	0	0	6	6	1
Jefferson	0	0	3	3	5
Madison	0	0	0	0	0
Monroe	2	40	0	42	5
Adams, J. Q.	0	0	5	5	1
Jackson	1	7	2	9	1
Van Buren	1	23	4	27	9
Harrison, W. H.	0	0	0	0	0
Tyler	1	5	0	5	1
Polk	1	15	0	15	3
Taylor	1	20	2	22	22
Fillmore	2	20	0	20	10
Pierce	2	19	1	20	5
Buchanan	1	8	1	9	2
Lincoln	0	0	78	78	16
Johnson	1	60	10	70	23
Grant	1	5	20	25	3
Hayes	6	126	0	126	31
Garfield	0	0	10	0	10
Arthur	1	25	15	40	10
Cleveland	1	25	36	51	6
Harrison, B.	3	281	15	296	74
McKinley	2	110	20	130	65

The extent of nineteenth-century presidential popular rhetoric is presented in Table 3.1. The first column gives the number of tours (sometimes called “swings around the circle”) that presidents embarked upon specifically to see and address the people. The following columns list estimates of numbers of speeches delivered on those tours, and of other speeches, addresses, and unofficial public communication for each president. Finally, since presidents served for different lengths of time, an estimated number of speeches per year is calculated for each president. The estimates include all of the speeches actually reported verbatim in whole or part (about half the total); those referred to in biographies; and others that could be presumed to have been made, given the character of the tour, the number of cities visited, and the president’s normal routine as indicated by his activity in those cities for which we have complete accounts. It should be clear from the table that most of the popular speeches were made on tour. All remarks, however brief, are considered here as speeches, and it should be noted at the outset that perhaps 80 percent or more of these “speeches” were very brief “thank-you” remarks to welcoming greetings given the president.

There was a substantial increase in speechmaking after the Civil War, which raises questions about treating the century as a unit. The discussion of forms and purposes that follows will show that there were important developments or changes within the century, and that some presidents (such as Hayes, Benjamin Harrison, and McKinley) appeared in public quite often. Nevertheless, the activity of these presidents was fundamentally similar to that of their predecessors and fundamentally different from twentieth-century practice after Woodrow Wilson.3

In addition to an increasing amount of popular rhetoric, there was some change in its purposes or functions after the Civil War. Table 3.2 presents a broad picture of the variations and changes in purposes. Each mark indicates that a president pursued that purpose even if only one speech could be found fitting the designation. Clearly the categories overlap; some speeches served several functions. The table is intentionally biased toward overestimation of the intended functions of popular rhetoric in order to reinforce the claim of limited use of popular rhetoric in the century.

TABLE 3.2 Purposes of Popular Presidential Rhetoric

President	Purposes
	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10
Washington		x	x	x	x	x	x
Adams, J.		x				x
Jefferson		x				x
Madison	x
Monroe		x		x	x	x
Adams, J. Q.		x	x		x
Jackson		x	x		x	x
Van Buren		x		x	x		x		x
Harrison, W. H.	x
Tyler		x	x		x
Polk		x	x		x
Taylor		x	x
Fillmore		x	x		x	x	x
Pierce		x	x	x
Buchanan		x				x	x
Lincoln		x	x	x	x	x	x	x		x
Johnson		x		x		x	x		x	x
Grant		x	x		x
Hayes		x	x	x			x
Garfield		x	x	x
Arthur		x	x	x
Cleveland		x	x						x
Harrison, B.		x	x	x	x	x	x			x
McKinley		x	x	x	x	x	x

KEY: 1 = no popular rhetoric

2 = greetings, “thank you” for welcome

3 = speech associated with a ceremony (e.g., dedication of monument)

4 = patriotic exhortation

5 = reassurance by presence, attempt to gather information (sometimes referred to by presidents as “seeing and being seen”)

6 = attempts to establish peace and harmony among the regions or sections of the nation

7 = articulation of general policy direction of administration (e.g., with regard to “economy,” “foreign policy,” etc.)

8 = defense of war policy or action

9 = identification of president’s position as partisan (i.e., a position adopted by an organized, named political party)

10 = attack on defense of a specific legislative proposal (or set of proposals) before Congress

The purposes are placed in a progression from no discussion of the “issues of the day” to discussion of specific policy proposals or laws. As the decrease in marks towards the right side of the table illustrates, the more policy-oriented a speech, the less likely it was to be given in the nineteenth century. Only four of twenty-four presidents attempted to defend or attack a specific bill or law. Only two presidents made a partisan speech (meaning one that aligns itself with the views of an organized party). Strikingly, only Lincoln discusses war. Madison and Polk do not even deliver speeches to rouse the spirit of soldiers or citizenry in time of war, let alone to defend their policies. Finally, only nine presidents articulated the general policy direction of their administrations in a popular format.

The historical survey below illustrates more fully the few general and specific policy statements that were made in order to show how even they differed from contemporary practice. As in the discussion of “official” rhetoric, analysis of rhetorical practices amplifies the meaning, and confirms the political dominance, of the nineteenth-century doctrine.

Presidents and Popular Rhetoric

George Washington seldom delivered speeches or addresses to the people. Yet his few popular addresses, made mainly on well-publicized tours, set the tone for most unofficial rhetoric that followed. The first president also received many petitions, letters of congratulation or concern, and requests for assistance from the citizenry. In response to a few of these he published replies—a written form that came to be known as “Replies to Addresses.”4 Washington’s replies simply iterated patriotic sentiment; later presidents used replies for more substantive purposes. By writing these replies, Washington conformed to the constitutional injunction to speak infrequently and also retained discretion in picking those to whom he would reply. These features of his practice maintained the integrity of his deliberative duties as well as the executive quality of flexibility.5

Washington’s most famous popular communication was the Farewell Address. Originally composed by Madison for use at the close of Washington’s first term, the text was rewritten by Hamilton, and edited by Washington at the end of his second term. In its original draft, Felix Gilbert says, “Madison had woven together a justification of Washington’s decision to retire, a praise of the American Constitution and an exhortation to preserve the advantages of the Union.” The final text was intended to articulate the constitutional principles more concretely, so that they might actually influence future conduct and, more particularly, justify a certain broad direction for foreign policy. Historians have been primarily concerned with the extent to which Hamilton “repudiated” Madison through his rewriting or to show how subtle changes of argument reflected partisan disputes at the time of construction. To some extent the latter activity is a continuation of elite correspondence that circulated at the time of the Address. For our purposes, several obvious features of the address are noteworthy: it was a written form of address that rose to a high level of deliberative expression—argument characteristic of The Federalist, for example; it was published without any ceremony, relying upon the force of its argument and the authority of its author to persuade; finally, it attempted to provide policy direction that was Federalist, to be sure, but that was presented in a mode that covered or mitigated partisan differences. The fact that historians, like Kremlinologists today, have to examine the document with extreme care in order to find hints of partisanship is indicative of the power and constraint of the form of address adopted.⁶

Washington also established the practice of “going on tour.” He took two of these journeys, one to New England and the other through the South. Washington revealed two prime purposes for the travels: to gather information, particularly concerning the “temper and disposition of the people toward the new government,” and to ease any tensions that might have existed between regions. For these purposes, public speaking was not as important as public appearances—“seeing and being seen,” as Washington called them. The Gazette of the United States wrote that the president’s appearance would eradicate any “uneasiness” that might exist in the South and that “seeing him … will have a very conciliatory effect, and do more than a thousand arguments from even an Ames or a Gerry (considered the two most effective orators in Congress).” The president did give speeches on those tours, but they contained general articulations of republican sentiment, not even a clear enunciation of principle. Reflecting upon the southern tour Washington wrote, “…It has enabled me to see with my own eyes the situation of the country through which we traveled, and to learn more accurately the disposition of the people than I could have done by [written] information.… Tranquility reigns among the people, with that disposition towards the general government which is likely to preserve it.…” Washington established the function of “seeing and being seen” and with it a tendency to treat tours as auxiliary to the president’s narrowly executive function of carrying out the law and preserving tranquility, rather than his legislative responsibility to initiate new policy.7

John Adams continued Washington’s practice of occasionally mingling with the people, holding levees and tea parties each week at the White House. However, he embarked on no tours and gave only “thank-you” greetings to groups that honored him with dinner when he travelled to Quincy, Massachusetts to vacation or that sent him “addresses” of support. (Exasperated by Adams’s failure to popularly defend his policies, which biographer Gilbert Chinard believed to be correct, Chinard wrote: “Had [Adams] been younger or more willing to address the people directly and explain his policies, Adams would … have had the chance to go before the country as the man who had kept America out of war and who, between French and British intrigues, had steered a strictly national course.”) Adams’s only speeches of any extent were made when he met with delegates of Indian tribes and made formal remarks that were translated to the tribesmen, a practice begun by Washington and perfected by Jefferson.8

Thomas Jefferson held three meetings with tribal representatives, and later Andrew Jackson hosted a famous meeting with a delegation of Choctaw Indians. Still later in the century, Abraham Lincoln made a speech to delegates from several tribes. None of the presidential biographers makes clear whether the treatment of the Indians as different from either foreign nations or domestic “interest groups” was ever discussed. What is clear is that presidents regarded these meetings as part of their constitutional responsibility to enforce treaties and to preserve domestic tranquility. It is never stated, but may be plausibly suggested, that Indians were spoken to rather than sent a written “reply” so that they could be accommodated in three ways: First, these ceremonies resembled Indian ritual in meetings between tribes. There may have been a fear of offending the Indians by dictating the form of discourse. Second, there may have been a desire to avoid any misapprehension of meaning by retaining the ability to immediately amend, or more fully explain, a statement. Finally, since the major complaint of the Indians was the failure by settlers to respect treaty commitments, there may have been the desire to publicly embody or show respect as a mode of public education.

Jefferson offered no popular communications other than these meetings with Indian delegations. He preferred to supplement direct messages to Congress with private communication (letters, meetings, etc.).⁹ It is remarkable that the early president known most for his democratic views spoke the least to the people directly. Perhaps even more remarkable is that James Madison followed Jefferson’s practice of public silence, relying on proclamations as his mode of direct communication with the people, in the face of the need for public-spiritedness and resoluteness during the War of 1812.10

James Monroe, however, reinstituted the “tour,” making two journeys, one in 1817 to New England and another in 1819 to the South and West. His declared purpose was to inspect forts and defense preparations as commander-in-chief. He added to Washington’s purposes of “seeing and being seen” and encouraging harmony among the states and regions, a more particular interest “to create an occasion for the Federalists to demonstrate their loyalty to the national government in a public way, and thereby hasten the process of party amalgamation.”¹¹ Most of Monroe’s replies to addresses made to him on the tour were oral (though several were written after the tour and sent to those who had honored him). In all the instances of which we have record, the rhetoric took the form of an exhortation to rise above faction or party. As he stated after inspecting the site of Fort Trumbull:

Believing that there is not a section of our union nor a citizen who is not interested in the success of our government, I indulge a strong hope, that they will all unite in the future, in the measures necessary to secure it.… I indulge a strong hope, and even entertain great confidence, that our principle dangers and difficulties have passed, and that the character of our deliberations, and the course of the government itself, will become more harmonious and happy, than it has hitherto been.¹²

One twentieth-century proponent of popular leadership laments, “[D]espite his unprecedented opportunity to talk directly with the people, Monroe never referred, even in passing, to the issues of the day. There was nothing in these speeches to suggest that the President had a program for the nation, that he was interested in bills before Congress, or even that he wanted popular support for his foreign policy. Always he stressed unexceptionable ‘republican principles’ and the revolutionary inheritance.”13

Despite his career as a teacher of rhetoric at Harvard, where he authored Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, John Quincy Adams chose to retreat even from the limited direct rhetoric of Monroe. He did mingle with the people, opening the White House on New Year’s Day to receive “everybody high and low, friend and foe, and who wished to offer compliments of the season if not good wishes for the coming year.”¹⁴ Two to three thousand people showed up in 1827. Yet Adams refused to embark on any tour, making only perfunctory greetings and toasts to small gatherings in 1827 after attending his father’s funeral, and a fifteen-minute address congratulating builders and townsfolk at the groundbreaking of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. According to Samuel Flagg Bemis, “John Quincy Adams never liked to ‘exhibit himself to the people.’” Declining an invitation to address the Maryland Agricultural Society, Adams wrote to the Society’s secretary that it would cost him four precious days’ work and set a precedent for other unnecessary excursions. “See thou a man diligent in his business.… From cattle shows to other public meetings for purposes of utility or exposures of public sentiment, the transition is natural and easy.”¹⁵ Adams avoided contact with his supporters and with the people at large on his trips to vacation despite the urgings of his wife, who suggested that there was a wide difference between courting and shunning the advances of the public. On one occasion, a trip to Baltimore, Adams did propose a prepared toast, “adapted from Voltaire’s Le blanc et le noir: ‘Ebony and Topaz’: General Ross’s coat of arms and the republican militiaman who gave it.” The toast was so obscure (and so rare a public pronouncement) that it provoked both jokes of derision and “overinterpretation” by the sophisticates.16 Martin Van Buren wrote, “I can perceive neither sense nor wit in the President’s toast unless (which can scarcely be possible) he meant by Ebony and Topaz to personify the Slave and Free states. Can that be? He is fond of obscure but bitter allusions.” This incident is an example of a problem that emerged in nineteenth-century practice. So rare was popular rhetoric for some presidents that isolated forays into the genre sometimes took on a significance well beyond that apparently intended. Or, if searching interpretation was intended, the president lost control of it by his brevity.¹⁷

Andrew Jackson may have been beset by similar difficulties. Known as an ardent democrat, a “leader of the people” by his followers and a demagogue by his critics, it is striking that, like Jefferson, Jackson rarely gave speeches. He did meet with Indian chiefs on one occasion, and proposed another overinterpreted toast on another (“Our federal Union, it must be preserved”).¹⁸ His reputation as a popular leader derives not from his activities as a popular speaker but from his attempt to address the people through the Annual Message, the Nullification Proclamation, and the “Protest” to Congress, and from his informal but effective support of the administrative information organ—a newspaper dedicated to publishing the president’s policy positions.19 One should not overlook these developments. There may be some merit to William Graham Sumner’s complaint: “It was a new mode of statement for the President to address Congress, not on his own mention, and to set forth his own opinions and recommendations, but as the mouthpiece of ‘a large portion of our fellow citizens.’ Who were they? How had they made their opinions known to the President? Why did they not use the press or the Legislature as usual.… What becomes of the constitutional responsibility of the President?”²⁰ As significant as this transformation of practice by Jackson is, Sumner and other historians have not noted the other side of the story. Jackson’s disposition was unlike that of Adams. He liked popular speaking and did much of it before becoming president. But once in office, he was constrained by a set of settled practices. Forced to put his case “before the people” in a message to Congress, the deliberative character of the address was raised above what it might have been had it been delivered directly, orally, to a mass audience.²¹

The effect of doctrine as constraint is even more clearly revealed in the character of Jackson’s tour. This “popular leader” had to forego politics on the issue of the removal of the bank deposits when he went on tour. As Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. states, “The campaign for removal [of the bank deposits] slowed down in May and June, during the President’s trip to New York and New England.” Jackson’s most famous communication to the people was the Nullification Proclamation, and again, as discussed previously, the form structured and constrained the appeal. Schlesinger notes, “[T]he mass of the people … slept over [most of the] passages while responding unreservedly to the central appeal—the preservation of the Union.”22

Jackson’s successor, Martin Van Buren, was the first president to attempt to break free of the constraints of prevailing practice. Although he gave no significant public speeches or addresses for three years, he did attempt to turn a sentimental tour from Washington, D.C. to his hometown in New York State into a campaign for a second term. Received by huge crowds in New York City, Van Buren began his remarks to the Mayor and assembled guests, “I am cheerfully and gratefully affected by this cordial reception by my Democratic Fellow Citizens of New York City and County of New York.”²³ Singling out Democratic listeners was the extent of his partisanship, but it provoked a storm of protest. At three of the towns on his tour, Troy, Schenectady, and Hudson, Whig politicians on the governing councils managed to pass resolutions declining to receive the President of the United States because of the impropriety of the one sentence that I quoted from his New York City speech. The rebuke at Hudson was particularly stinging. Van Buren had begun his career there, but before he arrived, the “city of his adoption” adopted a resolution censuring him and his rhetoric.

It is therefore plain—beyond the power of argument to make it plainer, that Mr. Van Buren’s tour is one of a political and partizan character.—Therefore be it

Resolved, by the Mayor and Common Council in the city of Hudson, in Common Council assembled, that we do not feel bound by any consideration of justice, prudence, or hospitality, to expend the people’s money, or descend from the dignity of our official stations, for the purpose of aiding political partizans in their endeavors to carry out their favorite schemes.²⁴

The Common Council’s action raised the curiosity of the citizenry in surrounding counties. “Many thousands” of them journeyed to Hudson to hear the president. If they had come to hear the sort of speech that was censured, they must have been disappointed. While the people were enlivened, the president was chastened. After “the cannon had roared a Presidential salute,” Van Buren spoke briefly. “There was no suggestion of politics in his utterances.…”25 Reaching his birthplace of Kinderhook the following day, Van Buren discarded a draft partisan address for an extemporaneous autobiographical account of the local boy who became president. While Van Buren apparently succeeded in “founding” a party system, he did not succeed in establishing popular partisan rhetoric as a form of presidential leadership.²⁶

Van Buren’s successor, William Henry Harrison, died after one uneventful month in office. John Tyler, who succeeded Harrison, and who attempted to found a third party in 1844, gave no significant public addresses. Indeed, on tour in the summer of 1843, the main speaker at several receptions was someone other than the president. The most notable speech of the tour was Daniel Webster’s oration at Faneuil Hall, Boston, in commemoration of the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument. Attendance at this event was the stated purpose for the entire tour, yet the president made only one of numerous “toasts” there.²⁷

Like Madison some years earlier, James Polk, president during the Mexican War, gave surprisingly few speeches. He embarked upon one tour, but we have been unable to locate any copy of the speeches made then (though it appears that he delivered several). Although he and his wife “attended a few balls and now and then made a personal appearance at a trade convention or some other event … he was rarely seen by the general public … he was troubled when he was forced to leave his office to attend art showings, college commencements and similar affairs. And he thought time spent in public to be ‘time unprofitably spent.’”28

Zachary Taylor continued the laconic mode of leadership. He even further narrowed one hitherto acceptable function of the presidential tour. Embarking on a tour of the northeast in the summer of 1849, Taylor declared “his purpose … to see that section of the country, its people, and its need, that he went to see, not to be seen, and had no desire for public receptions.”²⁹

Millard Fillmore became president when Taylor died in office. He revived a more active role for popular leadership without violating the norms of the nineteenth-century doctrine. Accepting an invitation to speak at ceremonies commemorating the completion of the Erie Railroad, “Fillmore turned the ceremonies into a gala peace demonstration.” As an auxiliary device to “faithfully execute the law,” Fillmore gave short speeches in which he defended the Compromise of 1850 and urged that prosperity could only come with “sectional peace.”³⁰ Fillmore was the first president since Washington to discuss general policy in his popular communications (and Washington had limited his discussion to a single written Farewell Address). Fillmore’s policy talks were after the fact—that is, they did not intrude upon the deliberative process. Rather, they were a tool consistent with the narrow notion of an executive as one who carries out the law.

Franklin Pierce followed Fillmore’s presidency and his practice, and even ventured into an oblique discussion of prospective policy. On tour, Pierce limited his own speeches to discussion of the compatibility of the Union with states’ rights and a general endorsement of free trade as consistent with republicanism. The principle theme “iterated and reiterated with many illustrations from the Revolutionary War was the ‘glory of the Union!’” But with Pierce on the tour were several members of his cabinet. These associates ventured into more specific discussions of policy. Secretaries David and Guthrie endorsed the then-popular proposal for rail transportation to the Pacific. “They were to make the practical speeches and leave the President the Union and American ideals.”31

James Buchanan abandoned even Pierce’s restricted use of policy rhetoric by Cabinet members, offering only “greetings” on tour and making no other public speeches, except one “Farewell Address” during the 1860 election campaign. However, Buchanan did carry on a “vast [private] correspondence” that both reiterated and strengthened his convictions with regard to Republican “wickedness” during the 1856 Congressional campaign.³² The one public speech that he did deliver was a political address, that criticized the Democratic Party’s nominating procedure, endorsed Breckenridge, and defended the principles that property is a matter of definition for separate states and that majority rule should prevail in the territories.³³ The speech reflected the crisis of the critical election that the country was about to face, and the freedom from constraint that a lame-duck president might feel. It was extemporaneous in form and, unlike Washington’s Farewell, not carefully crafted. Nevertheless, it appeared to be constrained by a tradition of constitutional argument. Buchanan reviewed Supreme Court decisions and articulated an understanding of constitutional principle that supported Chief Justice Taney’s views in Dred Scott. While his conclusions were, like Taney’s, bad constitutional interpretation, and immoral as well, they are well presented and relatively free of overt appeal to passion.

Abraham Lincoln not only arrested and changed the course of policy begun by Buchanan, he repudiated the style of leadership embodied by Buchanan’s farewell speech. As his train headed East to the Inauguration, Lincoln greeted thousands, but in speech after speech he repeated the sentiment expressed in the passage quoted here in Chapter 1—that he could not discuss the issues of the day extemporaneously, that they would have to await a “proper” occasion. Lincoln’s speech on “silence” was probably his typical speech, so often did he make it.³⁴

I have suggested that most of the presidents in the nineteenth century were constrained by settled practices and the doctrine behind them. It should be apparent that the depth of understanding of the doctrine varied from president to president, however consistent a particular president’s behavior might be with the doctrine. As might be expected, Lincoln not only offered his rhetoric in forms consistent with the doctrine, he also reflected upon the doctrine, and his reflections can expand ours.

Several of Lincoln’s greetings developed beyond the obligatory expression of appreciation to a discussion of the rationale behind his silence. Five basic reasons for silence were offered. First, Lincoln expressed his own lack of “wisdom” prior to the Inauguration. He needed time to assess situations about which he had little firsthand knowledge. Premature discussion might be transparently foolish or commit the nation to a foolish course. Time would allow for education and careful construction of his remarks. “Others will agree with me that when it is considered that these difficulties are without precedent, and have never been acted on by any individual situated as I am, it is most proper that I should wait, see the developments, and get the light I can, so that when I do speak authoritatively I may be as near right as possible.”35 Second, Lincoln wished to await developments, not only to understand them, but that they might “work themselves out.” He could not yet assess the significance his intrusion would have. In this context, he suggested a need to “restrain ourselves,” and warned that raising passions, even without intending to do so, would be “particularly dangerous.” Third, Lincoln urged that he would eventually take a stand he believed to be “right.” On his understanding of right, such a stand would admit of little hedging or change once taken.³⁶ Silence thus allowed for flexibility as well as wisdom. Fourth, Lincoln noted, “In my present position it is hardly proper for me to make speeches. Every word is so closely noted that it will not do to make trivial ones, and I cannot be expected to be prepared to make a mature one just now.”³⁷ Some have suggested that the rhetorical presidency might be a reflection of increased opportunity for popular leadership (development of wire services, mass communications, etc.), rather than a doctrinal change. Lincoln makes clear not only that he did not lack opportunity, but that such opportunities were the problem. Hastily formed statements might engender a course of policy that was unintended. Finally, Lincoln indicates that “silence” will enhance the persuasive power of those speeches that he does deliver. Stressing the need to make his pronouncements on “proper” or authoritative occasions, Lincoln recognizes the need to rest his authority on the Constitution rather than upon raw popular will. For popular will is transient, and may be the object upon which authority might have to be brought to bear. To the extent that the Constitution is recognized by the citizenry to be the authority that it is, Lincoln’s pronouncements would be more effective, especially if the immediate occasion for them was unpopular.³⁸

I have kept silence for the reason that I supposed it was peculiarly proper that I should do so until the time came when, according to the customs of the country, I should speak officially [Voice, partially interrogative, partially sarcastic, “Custom of the country?”], I heard some gentleman say, “According to the custom of the country”; I alluded to the custom of the President elect at the time of taking his oath of office. That is what I meant by the custom of the country.… And now, my friends, have I said enough? [Cries of “No, no,” “Go on,” etc.] Now my friends there appears to be a difference of opinion between you and me, and I feel called upon to insist upon deciding the question myself. [Enthusiastic cheers.]”39

Authoritative speech combines the power of command with the power of persuasion (or force of argument). Lincoln wished to provide the conditions for effective command by focusing the citizenry’s attention on carefully crafted rhetoric presented “officially.” Moreover, after such addresses (e.g., First and Second Inaugurals, Messages to Congress, Emancipation Proclamation) Lincoln often refused to amend or embellish his statements in popular settings, referring the audience back to the original text. For example, in reply to a “Serenade” in Honor of the Emancipation Proclamation, Lincoln said: “What I did, I did after very full deliberation, and under a very heavy and solemn sense of responsibility.… I shall make no attempt on this occasion to sustain what I have done or said by any comment.”⁴⁰

Of Lincoln’s seventy-eight popular speeches and addresses, by far the largest group of these (forty-five) consisted of greetings to delegations, army groups, remarks from the platform of his train, etc. It was on these sorts of occasions that Lincoln expressed his views on keeping silent. He also often iterated his purposes to see and be seen (“I have stepped out upon this platform that I may see you and you may see me, and in the arrangement I have the best of the bargain”) and to reinforce patriotic sentiment (“Standing as I do, with my hand upon this staff, and under the folds of the American flag, I ask you to stand by me so long as I stand by it”).⁴¹

Lincoln’s policy positions were normally expressed in his official rhetoric. However, on several occasions he developed the principles of his position in a popular mode. The important point to note is that each of these speeches was self-consciously constrained by the demands of constitutional argument. In response to a Serenade, the president urged passage of the constitutional amendment to abolish slavery.42 He did this after the amendment had passed congressional scrutiny, and he indicated the reasons why his Emancipation Proclamation needed to be supplemented. His most famous public utterance, of course, was the Gettysburg Address. In addition to its intention to articulate constitutional principle, not to defend a bill or specific policy, it should be noted that Lincoln was scheduled as the second speaker at those ceremonies, that the importance of the speech derives from the care with which it was composed and from the extent to which it transcended the exigencies of its time to reinterpret the origins and ends of American politics. Despite this radical objective, perhaps because of it, the central rhetorical claim of the Gettysburg Address repeats that of his “typical” speeches on silence: Lincoln contrasts necessary deeds with unnecessary words.⁴³ Lincoln’s last public speech articulated the principles on which he wished reconstruction to proceed. In this speech he makes it clear that an immense practical difficulty exists regarding the reintegration of the South into the Union. He urges encouragement for the new government of Louisiana, which has “sworn allegiance to the Union … adopted a free state constitution … and voted to ratify the [anti-slavery] constitutional amendment recently passed by Congress.…” Lincoln’s speech appears to be peculiarly and inextricably related to his executive function of ensuring domestic tranquility, though to be sure, that function overlaps with the legislative one of determining a general policy toward the South. Finally, even in this last speech, Lincoln several times says that he will not discuss a topic currently the subject of legislative dispute.44

Lincoln’s most specific policy pronouncements are those in which he justifies war activity after the fact.⁴⁵ The most important of these are his defenses of suspension of habeas corpus and of martial law in two replies to addresses. Carefully choosing written arguments made to him, he too responds in the written form of a public letter. These documents are extraordinary for both their detail and their power of argument. The rationale for them is never explicitly discussed by Lincoln, but two features make them consistent with the general doctrine. First, as indicated above, they were written, not spoken. Second, they discussed actions Lincoln had taken on his own initiative (without prior consent of Congress), and they were addressed to those affected by such action. With respect to the last point, it should be noted that since Lincoln based his justification of these extraordinary measures upon a Lockean understanding of “prerogative,” he was compelled to realize, as Locke did, that the “ultimate appeal” in such unusual situations is to the people.⁴⁶

Lincoln’s crisis and his policies were extraordinary. Given those facts, it is striking that his rhetoric adhered to the doctrinal prescriptions of his time. His speeches are certainly the best known of all of American political oratory. Their influence and their effect might be connected to the fact that, looking at the whole of Lincoln’s activity, he gave relatively few popular addresses. Lincoln refused to cloud the discussion of first principles with prolix pronouncements.

On the other hand, delivering about seventy policy speeches on the stump, President Andrew Johnson violated nearly every element of the nineteenth-century doctrine. Johnson is a clear exception, and a discussion of his rhetoric will close this chapter.

President Grant issued no significant public statements during his presidency. Like other post-Civil War presidents who had been officers in the Union Army (Hayes, Garfield, Benjamin Harrison, and McKinley), Grant occasionally gave “greetings” at Grand Army of the Republic reunions. Grant refused to publicly participate in his own campaigns of 1868 and 1872 and declined to publicly support fellow partisans at the mid-term elections (although he did aid them privately).47

Rutherford B. Hayes revitalized the tour, using the train to reach over one hundred cities and towns on several journeys. While Hayes delivered over one hundred speeches, nearly all were brief greetings and urgings of a “larger spirit of fraternity and conciliation and national unity.” Charles Williams notes that the contemporary press focused upon his policy silence in light of the fact that “the public prints were ringing with discussion … of his treatment of the South.” On three or four occasions Hayes discussed economic policy at length, less to articulate the merits of a particular program than to indicate that his overall direction was consistent with republicanism. At the end of the tour to the West in 1880, on election eve, Hayes offered his sole public political endorsement. It was “too late now to enter upon a political discussion,” he told Republicans of the county, but then went on to urge election of James A. Garfield.⁴⁸

While James Garfield had broken precedent with an extemporaneous “front porch” campaign for office that was unusual in its references to current events, once president he delivered no significant addresses. In several brief addresses in the summer of 1881 he “resolutely avoided political subjects.”⁴⁹ Garfield was assassinated later that year. His successor, Chester A. Arthur, confined his speechmaking to brief greetings with no policy content at ceremonial functions (e.g., the centennial of Yorktown, dedication of the Washington Monument, etc.).50

The last three presidencies in the nineteenth century constitute a transition period. While Teddy Roosevelt doggedly pursued a strategy of appealing to the people regarding specific legislative matters, and Woodrow Wilson supplied the doctrinal justification for such activity, the late-nineteenth-century presidents flirted with the idea but failed to pursue a consistent popular strategy. They neither lacked physical opportunity nor technical means to conduct new political practices. Yet without a coherent theory to provide political legitimacy, they could not articulate a truly new rhetoric.

Grover Cleveland refused to be drawn into active campaigning and followed the example of Tilden, Hayes, and Garfield in keeping aloof from the “hurly-burly,” but he did make two campaign speeches on civil service reform, tax reduction, and the needs of labor. Once in office, however, Cleveland confined his policy rhetoric to formal messages to Congress. While he would occasionally make an off-the-cuff comment on tour that would receive much attention in the press, Cleveland’s speeches themselves were generally “local in character” and incidental to unimportant ceremonial occasions. Twentieth-century historian Allan Nevins lamented, “Whoever introduced [this style of speech], it was not happy. Cleveland would have done well to avoid these pedestrian discourses, and to intersperse several carefully written speeches upon national policy with a number of informal talks.” Cleveland did, however, publish collections of his correspondence year by year in an effort to foster a climate favorable to his party’s policies. One letter, accepting his party’s nomination in 1888, was an explicit appeal to the people and a restatement of his party’s platforms.⁵¹

Benjamin Harrison, who became president after Cleveland’s first term (but was succeeded by Cleveland), attempted to introduce policy discussion into the tour. Most of these speeches were still of the “greeting” type; many expressed the sentiment that the occasion was not appropriate “to give you some information on the State of the Union … and to make some suggestions, as to what would be wise [policy].”52 Yet Harrison did discuss several matters pending before Congress—railroad safety regulation and postal service bills, for example. The most interesting feature of Harrison’s rhetoric on these sorts of occasions was his hesitance. Some indications of this hesitance come close to expressions of guilt at violating a norm he knew he should respect. For example:

[At a Chamber of Commerce reception at which he endorses the suggestions of a previous speaker regarding national defense and economic policy:] “I…will not enter into any lengthy discussion here. Indeed, I am so careful not to trespass upon any forbidden topic, that I may not in the smallest degree offend those who have forgotten party politics in extending this greeting to us, that I do not know how far I should talk upon these public questions.”⁵³

[At a very large reception in Omaha, Nebraska, where he discusses need for foreign markets and for a sounder dollar:] “But, my countrymen, I had not intended to speak so long. I hope I have not intruded upon any ground of division.”⁵⁴

[At Kingston, New York:] “You ask for a speech. It is not very easy to know what one can talk about on such an occasion as this. Those topics that are most familiar to me, because I am brought in daily contact with them, namely, public affairs, are in some measure prohibited to me.…”⁵⁵

Harrison allowed himself to be drawn into extemporaneous policy discussion against his professed better judgment. His successor, William McKinley, proceeded in an opposite fashion. McKinley announced to associates an intention “to make a series of speeches on behalf of the tariff-reciprocity treaties, which the administration had negotiated with several foreign countries but on which the Senate had as yet failed to act.” However, the speeches emerged as general discussions of the requisites of prosperity and make no mention of pending bills or treaties. There is no speech that even alludes to the Spanish-American War, the sinking of the Maine, the problem of “Jim Crow” laws, or United States policy toward the Philippines, all major issues faced by McKinley.56 Indeed, much of McKinley’s rhetoric was characteristic of the century as a whole: expressions of greeting, inculcations of patriotic sentiment, attempts at building “harmony” among the regions of the country, and very general, principled statements of policy, usually expressed in terms of the policy’s consistency with that president’s understanding of republicanism.

THE GREAT EXCEPTION: ANDREW JOHNSON

… they talk about impeachment. So far as offenses are concerned—upon this question of offenses, let me ask you what offenses I have committed? [A Voice—“Plenty, here, to-night.”]

—President Andrew Johnson on Tour, St. Louis, 1866⁵⁷

President Andrew Johnson’s popular rhetoric violated virtually all of the nineteenth-century norms encompassed by the doctrine. He stands as the stark exception to general practice in that century, so demagogic in his appeals to the people that he seems not so much a forerunner of twentieth-century practice as a parody of popular leadership. As we shall see, Johnson’s exceptional behavior supports the interpretation of the “rule” of nineteenth-century doctrine. He was warned away from his rhetoric by his advisers, chastised in the press of his own time, and ultimately censured (though not convicted) by congressmen, whose impeachment charges included one for the bad rhetoric used on tour to gain support for his reconstruction policies.

Johnson’s best-known speeches were two responses to Serenades at the White House, and eleven (of about sixty) speeches delivered on a nineteen-day tour to win support for his policy toward the South. All of these speeches were, in fact, variations on one speech. Like contemporary electoral campaigns, Johnson had one rough outline, carried in his head, on which he rendered variations for particular audiences. In the typical speech, Johnson would begin by disclaiming an intention to speak, proceed to invoke the spirits of Washington and Jackson, claim his own devotion to the principles of Union, deny that he was a traitor as others alleged, attack some part of the audience (depending on the kinds of heckles he received), defend his use of the veto, attack Congress as a body and single out particular congressmen (occasionally denouncing them as traitors for not supporting his policies), compare himself to Christ and offer himself as a martyr, and finally conclude by declaring his closeness to the people and appealing for their support.58

Most of these speeches were impassioned. Their vituperativeness varied according to the audience. As Eric McKitrick has pointed out, “Andrew Johnson was essentially a stump speaker rather than a polished orator.” His effectiveness depended on a continual “communion with the audience,” an interplay with hecklers, and the spiritedness and vitality characteristic of effective extemporaneous talk.⁵⁹ Nothing could be further from the founders’ intentions than for presidential power to depend upon the interplay of orator and crowd. This interplay may or may not persuade the immediate audience, but the effect of such activity upon the president’s office, upon his dignity, upon his future ability to persuade, and upon the deliberative process as a whole is likely to be deleterious. Such was the case for Andrew Johnson.

In his first Serenade, delivered on Washington’s birthday to a crowd gathered outside the White House, Johnson accused his congressional opposition of being just as treasonable as “the Davises and Tombeses, the Slidells, and a long list of others” from the South during the war. A voice called, “Give us the names.”

A gentleman calls for their names. Well, suppose I should give them.… I say Thaddeus Stevens, of Pennsylvania [tremendous applause] I say Charles Sumner [great applause] I say Wendell Phillips and others of the same stripe among them [A Voice—“Give it to Forney”]. Some gentleman in the crowd says, “Give it to Forney.” I have only to say that I do not waste my ammunition upon dead ducks. [Laughter and applause.]60

Johnson went on to accuse his opponents of plotting to assassinate him. It is in this context that he offers himself to the people as a Christ. “If my blood is to be shed, let it be shed.… But let the opponents of the government remember that when it is poured out ‘the blood of martyrs shall be the seed of the Church.’” Johnson was to repeat this theme again and again on tour. Accused in the press of playing not Christ but Judas Iscariot, Johnson publicly responded: “The twelve apostles had a Christ, and he never could have had a Judas unless he had twelve apostles. If I have played the Judas, who has been my Christ that I have played the Judas with? Was it Thad Stevens? Was it Wendell Phillips? Was it Charles Sumner?”⁶¹

These remarks and twenty or thirty more passages like them were seized nationwide by the press (which was dominated by the radical opposition to Johnson). As the tour progressed, opposition hecklers came prepared, knowing that the president would deliver “the speech.” Johnson relied more and more upon the novelty produced by audience interaction rather than upon alternative sets of arguments. There is some dispute among historians regarding Johnson’s effectiveness in persuading his immediate hearers. Some allege him to have “converted” hostile crowds, while others depict him as merely inflaming the divisions before him, or in some instances alienating potential supporters in his midst. But all of the major studies of the period agree that Johnson’s tour was ineffective—indeed, counterproductive for his own efforts, as news of his actions spread throughout the nation. One contemporary who had supported Johnson and his policies before the tour put the point this way:

President Johnson, in his speech at Cleveland, remarked that “he did not care about his dignity.” In our judgment this is greatly to be regretted. The American people care very much about it and can never see it forgotten without profound sorrow and solicitude.… The President of the United States cannot enter upon an exchange of epithets with the brawling of a mob, without seriously compromising his official character and hazarding interests too momentous to be thus lightly imperiled.62

Johnson’s own Cabinet and advisers echoed those sentiments. Several Cabinet members refused to go on tour with him. His friend Senator Doolittle of Wisconsin warned him not to be drawn into extemporaneous speeches, to say nothing “which had not been most carefully prepared beyond a simple acknowledgment.”⁶³ And “on Monday, February 24, 1868, the House of Representatives of the Congress of the United States, resolved to impeach Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, of high crimes and misdemeanors, of which, the Senate was apprised and arrangements were made for trial.” Johnson’s improper rhetoric not only solidified his opposition, it served as the basis for the tenth article of impeachment:

That said Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, unmindful of the high duties of his office and the dignity and propriety thereof … did … make and deliver with a loud voice certain intemperate, inflammatory, and scandalous harangues, and did therein utter loud threats and bitter menaces as well against Congress as the laws of the United States.… Which said utterances, declarations, threats, and harrangues, highly censurable in any, are peculiarly indecent and unbecoming in the Chief Magistrate of the United States, by means whereof … Andrew Johnson has brought the high office of the President of the United States into contempt, ridicule, and disgrace, to the great scandal of all good citizens.64

The impeachment charge of bad and improper rhetoric has received little notice in the writings on impeachment, and on the reconstruction period, probably for three reasons. First, the Tenure of Office Act issue was the basis for ten of the eleven articles of Impeachment; second, many congressmen participating in the proceedings were skeptical that “bad rhetoric” constituted an impeachable offense; and finally, due to the unreflective acceptance of popular leadership in our time, the few scholars who have noted the charge assume it must have been “frivolous.”⁶⁵ But the significant fact is that no congressman expressly disagreed with the opinion that Johnson’s rhetoric was improper, undignified, and damaging to the presidency. But for the legal argument that such activity was not a “high crime or misdemeanor,” the only other argument offered by congressmen in Johnson’s defense was that he was not drunk when giving the speeches, as Johnson’s opponents had alleged. And among those congressmen reluctant to press the charge, many based their opinion on strategic considerations (whether the defense could delay the trial) rather than upon a judgment that the charge was improper.

The major proponent of the “bad rhetoric” charge was one General Butler, a man whose past hindered the sober consideration of his arguments. Butler was a famous public speaker known for his own bursts of demagoguery. Yet Butler rightly pointed out that impeachment could better be defended on the grounds of public harangues than on violation of the Tenure of Office Act—a technical charge that ran counter to the resolution of most removal controversies of the past. Said an impassioned Butler:

… we have only presented to the Senate and country the bones and sinews of the offenses of Andrew Johnson. I want to clothe those naked bones and sinews with flesh, enliven them with blood, and show him as he is, the living, quivering sinner that he is, before this country. Why, Sir, hereafter, when posterity shall come to examine the proceedings of this day, if they read only the articles which we have heretofore presented [covering the Tenure of Office Act], they will wonder why, even with so good a case as we have upon mere questions of technical law, we undertook, without other provocation, to bring this prosecution against a good and great man, as the President, without other proof or allegation, ought to be presumed to have been.66

Butler rested his case on two precedents drawn from impeachments of sitting judges (Chase and Humphreys) accused of making inflammatory harangues. It was objected that while the judges made their harangues from the bench, in their official capacities, Johnson made his on tour and in unofficial, off-the-cuff remarks. Butler rightly responded: “But a judge exercises his office only while on the bench, while the President of the United States can always exercise his office, can exercise it wherever he may be. He can never divest himself of that high character.”⁶⁷

The president never goes on recess; his residence is his official office, whether it be the White House or his vacation retreat, because the chief executive is in an official capacity all of the time. Given that fact of executive power, the Johnson case illustrates the difficulty of maintaining the distinction between official and unofficial rhetoric.

Andrew Johnson’s experience also illustrates the power of rhetorical forms as political constraints. A number of scholars have suggested that Johnson’s rhetorical failure stemmed from problems of self-esteem or perhaps a deep and serious psychological sickness. Johnson turned to popular rhetoric, argues James David Barber, in order to feel the kind of approbation from the crowd that he could not elicit elsewhere in his life. Whatever the psychological explanation for Johnson’s motive, the fact remains that a political system may be structured to be hospitable or inhospitable to such political activity, and a political culture may be taught to approve or disapprove of it. In the present case, Johnson’s speeches as senator were very different from those as president, even though, according to Barber, Johnson’s character was basically the same throughout his adult life.

Sometimes he could give a calm address; most of his speeches in the Senate, for example, were reasoned arguments, more like a lawyer’s brief than a stump harangue. But as his performance on the Swing Around the Circle made clear, he repeatedly—almost uniformly—burst forth in fiery rhetoric whenever he faced a crowd of partisans.68

But the constraints of form remain effective only so long as there is a doctrine to give them legitimacy. Johnson renamed the tour his “Swing around the Circle.” In his time the name became a topic of derision, the subject of political cartoons, the symbol of the failure that was Johnson’s. For the rest of the nineteenth century, tours were called tours and were much closer in character to Washington’s and Monroe’s initial journeys than to Johnson’s. While it is safe to surmise that Johnson’s fiery demagoguery would be considered improper even today, the purpose of his speech, to rouse public opinion in support of his policy initiatives in Congress, illegitimate in his time, has become acceptable, even commonplace, in ours.

¹ Although Washington and Adams were presidents in the late eighteenth century, I refer to all presidents before Theodore Roosevelt as “nineteenth-century” presidents for ease of expression. “Nineteenth-century” signifies a congruence of ideas and practices, which is more important for my purposes than a designation of strictly historical time. Stephen Skowronek makes this issue of “political time” his theme, and presents demarcations different from mine, in “Notes on the Presidency in the Political Order,” in Studies in American Political Development, vol. 1 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), 286–302.

² Charles A. McCoy, Polk and the Presidency (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1960), 185; Eugene Irving McCormack, James K. Polk: A Political Biography (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1922), 144; Edward M. Shepard, Martin Van Buren (Boston: Houghton Mifflin & Co., 1899).

³ One may speculate that since the character of popular speech did not change as much as its quantity, the development of the railroad rather than a major doctrinal shift accounts for the rise in the amount of speechmaking toward the end of the century. The train permitted presidents to visit many cities, sometimes several states, in one day.

⁴ For examples of some of Washington’s “Replies” see James Hart, The American Presidency in Action: 1789 (New York: Macmillan Co., 1948), 21–24.

⁵ Washington declined to reply to Quaker addresses against the slave trade, “on the ground that he might have to act officially [later],” James Southall Freeman, George Washington, 6 vols. (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1954), 6:252.

⁶ Felix Gilbert, To the Farewell Address (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961), 121, 115–36; see also Victor Hugo Paltsis, ed., Washington’s Farewell Address (New York: New York Public Library, 1935).

⁷ Freeman, Washington, 6:240, 322; letter of July 20, 1791, to David Humphreys, quoted in Freeman, Washington, 6:321.

⁸ Gilbert Chinard, Honest John Adams (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1933), 300; Page Smith, John Adams, 2 vols. (New York: Doubleday, 1962), 2:962.

⁹ Of course, many of these private communications were leaked to the press. How many leaked documents were intended to be leaked is impossible to estimate. Dumas Malone, Jefferson and His Times, 5 vols. (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1974), 5:146. See also the chapter on Jefferson in Norman J. Small, Some Presidential Interpretations of the Presidency (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1930).

¹⁰ Madison did anonymously pen several “stern anti-French editorials for the National Intelligencer” (Ralph Ketchum, James Madison [New York: Macmillan Co., 1971],536).

¹¹ Harry Ammons, James Monroe: The Quest for National Identity (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1971), 371.

¹² S. Putnam Waldo, The Tour of James Monroe, President of the United States, Through the Northern and Eastern States in 1817 (Hartford, Conn.: Silas Andrus, 1820), 158.

¹³ Stuart Gerry Brown, The American Presidency: Leadership, Partisanship, and Popularity (New York: Macmillan Co., 1966), 11–12, 124.

¹⁴ Samuel Flagg Bemis, John Quincy Adams and the Union (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1965), 98.

¹⁵ Ibid., 99.

¹⁶ Ibid., 101.

¹⁷ Martin Van Buren to C. C. Cambreleng, October 22, 1827, quoted ibid., 101. “The only public address Adams made as President was on the occasion of the breaking ground for the Baltimore and Ohio Canal, July 4, 1828” (ibid., 102). Earlier he had turned down an invitation to a similar event claiming, “I am highly obliged to my friends for their good opinion; but this mode of electioneering [to celebrate the opening of the Pennsylvania Canal] is suited neither to my taste nor my principles. I think it equally unsuitable to my personal character and to the station in which I am placed.” Josiah Quincy, ed., Memoirs of John Quincy Adams (Boston: Philips, Sampson and Co., 1859), 158.

¹⁸ On the controversy surrounding the toast see Marquis James, Andrew Jackson: Portrait of a President (New York: Bobbs Merrill, 1937), 232–33. The speech to representatives of the Choctaw Indians was conciliatory and stands in marked contrast to his private utterances while president and public pronouncements earlier. See also Michael Paul Rogin, Fathers and Children (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1975).

¹⁹ The reputation also derives, in part, from reports of iconoclastic remarks made by Jackson in private meetings. See Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., The Age of Jackson (New York: Book Find Club, 1945), 365.

²⁰ William Graham Sumner, Andrew Jackson (Boston: Houghton Mifflin and Co., 1882), 103.

²¹ To get a sense of what the counterfactual speech might have produced, note the contrast between Jackson’s written messages and Andrew Johnson’s oral addresses which I discuss below.

²² Schlesinger, Jackson, 96–98.

²³ Martin Van Buren, Papers of Martin Van Buren, microfilm (Washington, D.C.: Library of Congress, Manuscript Division), Reel 15.

²⁴ Denis Tilden Lynch, An Epoch and a Man: Martin Van Buren and His Times (New York: Horace Liveright, 1929), 432.

²⁵ Ibid. See also Holmes Alexander, The American Talleyrand: The Career and Contemporaries of Martin Van Buren, Eighth President (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1935), 358–59.

²⁶ Lynch, Martin Van Buren, 433. On Van Buren “founding” a party system, see James W. Ceaser, Presidential Selection: Theory and Development (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1979), ch. 3, and Marvin Meyers, The Jacksonian Persuasion (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1957), appendix B.

²⁷ Oliver Perry Chitwood, John Tyler: Champion of the Old South (New York: Appleton Century, 1939), 319–23.

²⁸ Bill Severn, Frontier President: James K. Polk (New York: Ives Washburn, Inc., 1965), 157; see also McCoy, Polk, 185.

²⁹ Brainerd Dyer, Zachary Taylor (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1946), 401 (my emphasis).

³⁰ Robert J. Rayback, Millard Fillmore (Buffalo, N.Y.: Buffalo Historical Society, 1959), 289.

³¹ Ray Franklin Nichols, Franklin Pierce: Young Hickory of the Granite Hills (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1958), 281.

³² Elbert B. Smith, The Presidency of James Buchanan (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1975), 6.

³³ The speech is printed in George Ticknor Curtis, Life of James Buchanan, 2 vols. (New York: Harper and Bros., 1883), 2:290–95.

³⁴ Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Ray P. Basler, 9 vols. (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1953–55), 4:201–202, 206, 209, 210, 216, 219, 221, 222, 226, 230.

³⁵ Ibid., 4:221.

³⁶ Ibid., 4:210–211.

³⁷ Ibid., 5:450.

³⁸ Ibid., 4:231.

³⁹ Ibid., 4:231. See also, 5:358, 5:438, 5:450, 7:302.

⁴⁰ Ibid., 5:438.

⁴¹ Ibid., 4:218, 220, 222, 223.

⁴² Ibid., 8:254.

⁴³ For the most thorough analyses of the argument of the Gettysburg Address, see Glen E. Thurow, Abraham Lincoln and American Political Religion (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1977) and Eva T. H. Brann, “The Gettysburg Address,” in Abraham Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address, ed. Leo Paul de Alvarez (Dallas: University of Dallas Press, 1978).

⁴⁴ Basler, The Collected Works of Lincoln, 8:399–405.

⁴⁵ The one “before the fact” discussion of policy other than the final reconstruction speech occurred in a meeting on the problems and prospects of recolonization with a delegation of black leaders. Congress had appropriated “a sum of money” for the purpose, and Lincoln wished to assess its feasibility. How public his remarks were at the time is unclear, however. Ibid., 5:371.

⁴⁶ Ibid., 6:260, 300. John Locke, The Two Treatises of Government, ed. Peter Laslett (New York: New American Library, 1960), ch. 14.

⁴⁷ See William B. Hesseltine, Ulysses S. Grant, Politician (New York: Unger Publications, 1935).

⁴⁸ Charles Richard Williams, The Life of Rutherford Birchard Hayes (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1914), 2:242, 297; see also Harry Bainard, Rutherford B. Hayes and His America (Indianapolis: Bobbs Merrill, 1954), 494.

⁴⁹ Theodore Clarke Smith, The Life and Letters of James Garfield, 2 vols. (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1925), 2:1031.

⁵⁰ George Frederick Howe, Chester A. Arthur: A Quarter Century of Machine Politics (New York: Dodd Mead, 1934), 247.

⁵¹ Allen Nevins, Grover Cleveland: A Study in Courage (New York: Dodd Mead, 1934), 318, 320; see also Robert McElroy, Grover Cleveland, 2 vols. (New York: Harper and Bros., 1923), 2:234–35.

⁵² Benjamin Harrison, Speeches of Benjamin Harrison, Comp. Charles Hedges (New York: U. S. Book Co., 1892), 246.

⁵³ Ibid., 383.

⁵⁴ Ibid., 469.

⁵⁵ Ibid., 495.

⁵⁶ Lewis L. Gould, The Presidency of William McKinley (Lawrence, Kans.: Regents Press, 1980), 244; “Remarks of the President at McComb City, Mississippi,” May 1, 1901, Papers of William McKinley, microfilm (Washington, D.C.: Library of Congress, Manuscript Division), file 14; “Remarks at Surf, California,” May 10, 1901, McKinley Papers, file 44; “Speech at Citizens’ Banquet,” Memphis, Tennessee, April 30, 1901, McKinley Papers, file 10. See also Margaret Leech, In the Days of McKinley (New York: Harper and Bros., 1959), 341, 408, 575.

⁵⁷ Eric L. McKitrick, Andrew Johnson and Reconstruction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 438.

⁵⁸ Ibid., 292–94, 428–36; see also James David Barber, “Adult Identity and Presidential Style: The Rhetorical Emphasis,” Daedalus 97, no. 3 (Summer 1968):938–68.

⁵⁹ McKitrick, Johnson and Reconstruction, 429; Barber, “Adult Identity and Presidential Style,” 942–48.

⁶⁰ McKitrick, Johnson and Reconstruction, 294. Italics and audience reaction in the original.

⁶¹ Ibid., 432.

⁶² Ibid., 438. See also Lloyd Paul Stryker, Andrew Johnson: A Study in Courage (New York: Macmillan, 1929), 341–72, and James E. Sefton, Andrew Johnson and the Uses of Constitutional Power (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1980), 140.

⁶³ Barber, “Adult Identity and Presidential Style,” 948.

⁶⁴ U.S. Senate, Proceedings in the Trial of Andrew Johnson (Washington, D.C., 1869), 1, 4, 5–6.

⁶⁵ See, for example, Louis Fisher, Constitutional Conflicts between Congress and the President (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1985), 154; Michael Les Benedict, The Impeachment and Trial of Andrew Johnson (New York: W. W. Norton, 1973), 144; John R. Lobovitz, Presidential Impeachment (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), 63–64. Compare this observation by one of Johnson’s leading opponents: “In 1867 the question of the impeachment of Andrew Johnson began to be discussed. Indeed, its discussion was in large part rendered possible by his performances in a western tour in advocacy of his own election. They disgusted everybody.” Benjamin F. Butler, Butler’s Book (Boston: A. M. Thayer & Co., 1892), 926.

⁶⁶ Congressional Globe, 40th Congress, 2nd Session (March 3, 1868), 1640.

⁶⁷ Ibid., 1641.

⁶⁸ Barber, “Adult Identity and Presidential Style,” 949.