123 Years Ago Today

December 19, 1897 in the rural farming community of Beetown, Wisconsin, my father, the first of ten children was born. His first memory was in his fourth year. Now you might believe that to be quite young for a memory, yet he told me some 85 years later, that memory was as clear as had it been the previous day, and he had all of his faculties at 85.

The President of the United States in 1897 was William McKinley. He was the 58-year-old President of the United States; affable and fair, enjoying his time with his constituents and  the first President to reach into the 20th century whilst still living in the 19th. They elected him to a second term at the turn of the century.

His Presidency and some policies he enacted, especially his manner of dealing with the press; feeding stories and keeping them informed, continued through the century and established the norm for the years to follow.

He attempted, but could not stem the flow of vitriolic press releases regarding the treatment of the Cuban people under Spanish rule and when the USS Maine exploded In Cuba’s Havana Harbor killing 260 soldiers, the call to arms in the United States was loud and clear. McKinley was the last President to have fought in the Civil War and he believed war to be the last resort, yet the cry was fervent.

The United States went to war with the Spanish on April 21, 1898, with much of the warmongering coming from the USS Maine’s fate. It was not until years later the truth was uncovered. The explosion was likely because of a fire in the munitions stocks and not a bomb planted by the Spanish. By then, the United States had won the war, the economy was thriving, and the relatively young President was enjoying the laurels given a victor.

Vice President Theodore Roosevelt’s light was shining brightly, though he thought the Vice Presidency a sleepy title.  His extraordinary vim, vigor and love of the outdoors was not challenged in this role. Little did he know, his strength and fortitude were going to be needed, more than he would ever expect.

In 1901, my 4-year-old father, with his mother holding him on her lap, explained to this tiny tot that the President of the United States had been shot a few days earlier, and was dead.  The magnitude of her words were with him until the day he died, December 5, 1988, on his granddaughter’s first birthday.

I can see his smile and his infectious laugh. A hearty slap on his leg usually accompanied his glee.

Happy birthday, Jack.

With forever love,

C

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