Coolidge (75 page)

“When the American people make a major decision like the election of a President,” he said, “they do not offer themselves to the highest bidder but seek to determine conscientiously what justice and true patriotism require them to do.” Now he could see that his morose prediction to Starling, the Secret Service man, had proved more than true. Hoover had spent more money than he should have; he had spent like a Democrat. But that spending hadn’t been enough to ensure even Hoover’s own reelection.

After Roosevelt triumphed in November, Coolidge’s first thought was to hunt down Sanders, the unfortunate campaign manager, and console him: “Since we did not win, the natural reaction will be to begin to blame each other for the defeat.” “I feel sure that you will find nothing but gratitude and praise for the work you did.”

Coolidge suspected what would happen next. At the Vanderbilt Hotel for a meeting, he also saw Henry Stoddard, an editor at the
New York
Evening Mail
. Coolidge was concerned that economy—savings—might not occur under Roosevelt, whatever the candidate had promised in that regard over the year. There was another problem: the Democrats would pursue action for action’s sake, continuing where Hoover had started. “The Democrats will probably set aside the Hoover measures and try some of their own. That only means more experimenting with legislation.” Harding’s great inaugural address about the damage of experimentation seemed gone from memory. Though Coolidge could not know the details, Roosevelt was preparing an inaugural address that called for the opposite: “bold persistent experimentation.”

That the country had moved so far from “normalcy” to “experimentation” seemed strange to him. “I have been out of touch so long with political activities I feel that I no longer fit in with these times,” he told Stoddard. Then he and his secretary rode with Stoddard to Grand Central to catch the Springfield Express back to New England. Coolidge did not really like to be away from home now. That month from New York he would write to Grace, “I have thought of you all the time since I left home.”

Others shared Coolidge’s sense of isolation. So many habits of the 1920s—the affection for the individual, the enthusiasm for the reproduction of colonial furniture, the attention to New England, suddenly seemed outdated. Even Robert Frost, who had felt himself unassailable, now sensed that he was wrong for what he called “these times.” “Mr. Frost does not understand our time and will make no effort to understand it,” the critic Isidor Schneider wrote in
The Nation
. He accused Frost of replying to contemporary ideas “with know-nothing arrogance.” Schneider mocked Frost’s denial of social reality: “Me for the hills where I don’t have to choose.”

At Christmastime, Coolidge, too, headed for the hills. The cause was another funeral, that of William Stickney, his father’s old mentor and business partner from Ludlow. Stickney was the governor who had made his father an honorary colonel. “In other periods of depression it has always been possible to see some things which were solid and upon which you could base hope,” Coolidge told Charles Andrews, an Amherst classmate who happened to visit with his wife at the Beeches on New Year’s Day. “But as I look about I now see nothing to give ground for hope—nothing of man.”

On Thursday, January 5, the newspapers greeted Americans with stories of the incoming administration. Roosevelt would go to Muscle Shoals with George Norris, a sure signal that the new president would back government control of waterpower in the South. Roosevelt had already suggested an extra session of Congress if the short session before inauguration did not yield the legislation he sought. Now it seemed that Roosevelt would take greater license than other presidents. “Plan Free Hand for Roosevelt,” read the headline on page one of
The Wall Street Journal
. A second headline read: “Power Like Wilson’s.” Coolidge went to the office but did not feel well; around ten his secretary, Harry Ross, drove him home. The pair saw Grace, who was heading out to do errands. Coolidge talked a bit about his partridge shooting. He and Harry also discussed a jigsaw puzzle he had received at the New Year as a gift—a picture of George Washington with his own name, Calvin Coolidge, in the background. Then Coolidge conferred with the gardener, Robert Smith, before going upstairs.

Around lunchtime, Grace went up and called. But this time there was no reply. When she found him in his dressing room, he was already gone. He had been shaving, just as he had been the first time she saw him that day through the window on Round Hill. He had removed his jacket. She could see from where Coolidge lay on the floor that it had all come over him suddenly. The heart attack he had always feared had come. He had once described his father as ready for death, ready to be with Victoria, with Carrie, with Sarah and Calvin Galusha. Grace took consolation from the thought that now Calvin, too, was home with their son.

The stock market closed. Amherst halted studies for a day and sent Dwight Morrow, Jr., and Lucius Eastman, sons of Coolidge’s classmates, to the funeral. The flags came down to half-mast. Congress recessed.

Sleeping cars arrived from Washington. Coolidge’s was a simple funeral, astonishingly simple for a former president. There was no eulogy, no address; there were just two hymns, as Al Smith, who came with the rest of the throng, noticed. One hymn was an especially familiar one, heard also at Harding’s funeral train, “Lead, Kindly Light.” Bernard Baruch, the great financier, shared a pew with Henry Long, the loyal secretary who had stood by Coolidge at the State House by Boston Common during the tough strike days of 1919. Both President Hoover and the first lady attended, as did Lou Hoover’s successor, Eleanor Roosevelt; Frank Stearns and Judge Hammond were there, along with Charles Andrews and James Lucey. Even in the duration of the event, Coolidge made himself present: the service lasted only twenty-two minutes.

The Coolidge family and a few others motored up to Plymouth to bury him. At the cemetery where they had buried so many others, now he was finally buried. Grace asked the young minister to read a version of a poem by the Australian poet Robert Richardson:

Warm summer sun,

Shine kindly here;

Warm southern wind,

Blow softly here;

Green sod above

Lie light, lie light.

Good-night, dear heart,

Good-night, good-night.

Later Governor Smith, who himself had often persevered after setbacks, expressed the judgment that Coolidge’s greatest feat had been to restore the dignity and prestige of the presidency when it had reached “the lowest ebb in our history.” Coolidge was, he said, “in the class of presidents who were distinguished for character more than for heroic achievements.”

Eminent men wonder about their final years. The ideal retirement coincides with the period when the world most appreciates the retiree’s achievements. This coincidence was not given to Coolidge. But that did not mean his work was not complete, ready as a kind of blessing for another era. The paper that understood that right away was Clarence Barron’s business daily,
The Wall Street Journal
, which published a short obituary. This might not be the moment, wrote the paper’s editors in the “Review and Outlook” section. However, “in due time, the good fortune of the United States to have had such a man as Calvin Coolidge in just the years he filled that office will be more clearly realized than it has yet been.”

Among the receipts, speech drafts, bankbooks, and letters that Grace, John, and the men at the Forbes Library would sift through was the presidential correspondence about the limekiln lot. In 1926, around the time of Colonel John’s last illness, Coolidge’s neighbor Walter Lynds had inquired about sugaring on the limekiln lot and perhaps taking wood out. Coolidge’s response had been businesslike: “I am perfectly willing that you should take the limekiln sugar lot and draw out any wood that is down and pay such price as you think the whole thing is worth.” But he had then thought again and taken a different tone in another letter to Walter: “I want to thank you for making syrup last year and sending it to me and also for the can you sent me this year. I do not imagine you found the lime kiln lot very profitable and I do not wish you to pay me any money for it. I am therefore returning you the check.” Coolidge wanted to give Lynds something, just as he always wanted to give the country something. What he didn’t realize was that he already had.

Acknowledgments

THIS BOOK ABOUT OBLIGATIONS
itself owes much to many. The first words of thanks are due to my agents, Sarah Chalfant, Scott Moyers, Adam Eaglin, and Andrew Wylie, who saw value in this project before anyone else did. Deep thanks also go to Tim Duggan, my editor at HarperCollins, who stood by this book through several drafts. Tim’s insights have greatly strengthened
Coolidge
, as they did the manuscript of the preceding book,
The Forgotten Man
. Emily Cunningham oversaw this mammoth project with Tim.

Many colleagues from journalism have proved friends of this book. John Batchelor and Lee Mason have given much airtime to Cal and to me, including wonderful opportunities to cohost their stunning show on WABC. At Bloomberg, where my column appears, the following editors have been exceedingly helpful and have shown an interest in history: James Greiff, David Shipley, Katy Roberts, Tim Lavin, and Matt Winkler. Staffer Leslie Fox knows how to cheer projects forward. Cal Thomas, a relation of Calvin Coolidge, has been unstinting in his loyalty to this project.

Most of this volume was written during my time as a senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations. I am particularly grateful to President Richard Haass, James Lindsay, Janine Hill, and Amy Baker, all of whom helped with this project from start to finish. To Ms. Baker goes credit for much of the “operations” work. Benn Steil and Jagdish Bhagwati, my colleagues at CFR, inspired me with their work and served as sounding boards. CFR’s library helped me track down old and obscure volumes. Suzanne Helm and Betsy Gude were strong allies.

The generosity of Paul Singer helped make this book possible.

Thank you also to Paul Singer’s colleagues, Anne Dickerson and Margaret Hoover, for their support, insight, and cheer. Much can be learned from Ms. Hoover’s
American Individualism
, a strong defense of her great-grandfather’s values. Coolidge did not appreciate every aspect of his successor.

The Alice and Thomas Tisch Foundation allowed me to carry out the extensive research for this biography. This project would not have been possible without their aid, and I am grateful for it. The Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation funded several projects undertaken by me at the Council on Foreign Relations. This portrait of a most entrepreneurial lawmaker was written in Kauffman’s spirit. A grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities supported the earliest stages of this project, the book blog. Special thanks are due to Bruce Cole for his interest. At New York University’s Stern School of Business, where I teach, Richard Sylla, Lawrence White, and Thomas Cooley have proved thoughtful. Thank you, NYU, for the opportunity to try out many Coolidge ideas and to learn from you. Robert James and Cathy Paglia James did much to support a graphic project produced in tandem with this,
The Forgotten Man, Graphic
(with Paul Rivoche as coauthor). Ken Weinstein’s Hudson Institute and Larry Mone’s Manhattan Institute were supporters.

At the Bush Library and Institute, Stacy Cinatl, Michael Meece, Matthew Denhart, Michael McMahan, and ambassadors James Glassman and Mark Langdale provided support. Mr. Denhart demonstrated great talent as an editor. Alan Lowe and Anita McBride kindly hosted me in the spring of 2012 at their wonderful first ladies event. I owe a special debt to President George W. Bush and Mrs. Laura Bush for their interest in this project. Readers extraordinaire, the former first couple have no idea of the extent to which they inspire. As someone asked, “Where’s that book?”

I am indebted to the community of Coolidge scholars that has enthusiastically supported my research. Everyone at the Calvin Coolidge Memorial Foundation helped with tracking down Coolidge’s letters and fact-checking the book. That institution, perhaps more than any other, has kept Coolidge’s legacy alive through the decades. I am particularly grateful to my colleagues on the board or advisory boards of the Calvin Coolidge Memorial Foundation: Jay Barrett, Cyndy Bittinger, Andrew Kostanecki, Barbara O’Connell, Joan Randall, David Shribman, and Stephen Woods. To Mr. Barrett, many thanks for the insights, especially in regard to migration from Vermont. James Ottaway, Jr., was a friend, as was Mary Ottaway; the Ottaways opened their home and their sugar shack to this project. A particular thank-you to director David Serra and Kate Bradley. My gratitude goes to the talented Mimi Baird, whose literary insights and joie de vivre inspire.

The Coolidge family today comports itself with the same dignity and grace as in the days of the president and his father. Christopher Jeter and Jennifer Harville offered the special knowledge of Coolidge that only descendants could share. Mr. Jeter helped me trace the owners of the limekiln lot and the many branches of the Coolidge family tree. To visit the farmhouse and see Colonel Coolidge’s papers enriched this book. Thank you to Kathy Lynds for her family’s review.

Robert Kirby offered so much advice that it is impossible to enumerate all he has done. His deep knowledge of Coolidge has greatly enriched this book. Jerry Wallace, the author of
Calvin Coolidge: Our First Radio President
, knows the archival record on Coolidge better than anyone else. Many budget-related materials were pointed out by him. David Serra has proved a valuable friend. Milton Valera of the National Notary Association offered insights on the role of the notary and organized the publication of a volume on Coolidge titled
Why Coolidge Matters: How Civility in Politics Can Bring a Nation Together
. William Jenney of the President Calvin Coolidge State Historic Site is a living source on Coolidge’s early life. No one else knows as much about Coolidge’s childhood and youth as Mr. Jenney does. David Pietrusza, an authority on the 1920s and Coolidge both, helped me navigate the period and offered important insights on Coolidge’s life. Joseph Thorndike of
Tax Notes
explained the federal tax policies of the 1920s. Thank you, Joe, too, for your work on the Coolidge blog. Geoffrey Norman taught me much about Coolidge and the Green Mountain State.