 11. James Knox Polk
Log Cabin Democrats (July 13, 2011)Before there was a California, there was simply Manifest Destiny: the mysterious force that on a winter's night in 1795 compelled Samuel Polk to plow his wife like a cotton field. And so God's plan for Disney on both coasts was set in motion. Nine months later in Mecklenburg County, N.C., future president James K. Polk sprang from his mother's loins. A lot of people sprang from her loins over the years -- James was the first of 10 -- and they did so in cabins that looked something like this:  That's not the actual birth cabin (whose manifest destiny Was rotting to oblivion), but it is a nice, upper-middle-class dwelling for the time and region. Samuel had some land, some slaves, and one of the only cotton gins in the neighborhood; that level of prosperity was enough to get you a two-room log hut, a barn and a separate log kitchen. Times have changed, and (going by the Motel 6 I stayed in the night before) today that would qualify only as a middle-class dwelling for the Charlotte region. For a nice chunk of the 20th century, the only thing marking the birth site was this fine ... uh, thing ... from the Daughters of the American Revolution.  But today there's a visitors center, and some period structures, and a demonstration garden. There's a nice little cemetery where Polk's grandmother happens to be resting. And there's a mission to let you know what life was like for the future president. For young James, there was character-building farm work, and (negative) character-building exposure to slavery, and your standard home schooling. But were there any telling episodes which chiseled the man who would besmite Mexico and spread our great land from sea to shining sea? Well, the story goes that one day James plowed a field, but stopped short of a nearby stream. "Father, it is too difficult to go all the way to the water's edge," he said. And so Samuel horsewhipped him and rubbed his face on the cotton gin. "DO NOT STOP UNTIL YOU GET TO THE WATER!" he screamed. Which is to say, I made that up and there are no stories. The Polks pulled up stakes and headed off to Tennessee when James was 10. James came back to attend UNC, and he was the starting point guard for the 1817 ACC championship team. But his fortunes are more closely tied to the Volunteer State, where he became a protege of its greatest political hero -- who was also from North Carolina. Maybe.  Once again it's the DAR to the rescue, this time by marking the log cabin site of Andrew Jackson's 1767 birth, about a 20-minute drive to the south. You'll be interested to know that Andrew Jackson was born in the middle of a gravel ring at the end of a gravel road. You can only reach the circle -- about a quarter mile inside the N.C. state line -- from a South Carolina road, and there are no signs anywhere indicating its location. You have to know it's there, and it really helps if you have a satellite picture of the region. If you go there past 9 p.m. a moonshiner will shoot you. The reason for this obscurity, you'll be interested to know, is that Andrew Jackson wasn't born in North Carolina. Maybe.  That's the very helpful DAR marker indicating the log cabin site of Andrew Jackson's birth, about another 2 minutes to the south. In South Carolina. The story goes that a very pregnant and recently widowed Elizabeth Jackson was wandering the countryside like Mary, looking for a place to drop her miracle baby. She went into labor at an relative's house, but which relative isn't exactly carved in the historical record. One uncle lived in present-day North Carolina, another lived nearby in South Carolina. The states have been politely disputing each other's claims ever since. South Carolina is winning, because Andrew Jackson State Park at least has paved roads leading up to its DAR marker. And beyond that, there's a small museum on Jackson's childhood, an equestrian statue of young AJ and some recreations of period-appropriate structures (a schoolhouse and a meeting hall). But again, what about the formative episodes of rambunctious youth? Jackson's life was nothing BUT formative episodes. The Waxhaws region (stretching over both states) was like a colonial Hazzard County, stocked with friendly relatives and troubling authority figures. During the Revolution, the British came through and tore stuff up; Jackson and his brother were captured when running errands for local militia. Jackson suffered a saber scar to the face and his brother died of smallpox contracted while a prisoner. His mother died a short time later working as a nurse for wounded soldiers. And somewhere in there I bet he got to second base while pressing some backwoods babe up against a pine tree. The point is, his time in the Waxhaws toughened him up -- to the point where he finally was able to get the hell out and go to Tennessee. The rest is history: he becomes a military legend and political champion of the earthy backwoods people that made America great. In a true evolution of American democracy, Jackson was our first "common" president, and he learned to be so common in the Waxhaws. I learned alot in the Waxhaws too. Chiefly, that the DAR likes to be thorough and once had a huge budget for giant stone markers.  Polk ancestral home (August 23, 2007)For anyone who thinks their job is killing them, here's James Knox Polk before and after his four-year term:  He went into the White House as the youngest president ever (49), and he left with a mullet. He died 103 days after leaving office, having worked himself to death. But the man got results! The folks at the Polk ancestral home bill Jimmy the K as the only president to fulfill all his campaign promises: 1) Annexation of Texas, 2) Acquisition of the Oregon Territory, 3) Never faking the funk on a nasty dunk, 4) Capturing California as a homeland for the nation's beautiful people. He doubled the size of the country under the banner of Manifest Destiny, the charming 19th century belief that God really wanted the United States to cover all of North America. Why would God want this? The same reason that he hated Indian tribes: he's arbitrary. No one campaigns on platforms this enjoyable anymore, and that is why the present is boring. Polk was the oldest of 10 children of North Carolina farmer/surveyor. Dad moved the clan to Tennessee when James was 10. He was a sickly kid -- he had bad problems with urinary stones until the age of 17, when they were removed by a Kentucky surgeon during a procedure that involved no anesthesia -- and so he didn't do much farming, and ends up going the bookish route. He went to UNC for a few years, read law in Nashville and then became a lawyer in Columbia, where his family had settled. At 27 he gets elected to the Tennessee Legislature, then at 29 he bounces over to the U.S. House of Representatives. After 14 years there (including 4 as Speaker -- he's the only Speaker who became President) he goes home, gets elected governor for a term, and then proceeds to lose that job to a Whig. But he stays tight with fellow Tennessean and Democrat Andrew Jackson, who backdoors him into the presidential nomination at the 1844 convention, even though Polk had been out of office for a few years. Next thing you know, he's President, and after four years, America is twice as big. And it's all thanks to urinary stones. Sort of. The ancestral home isn't really Polk's house as much as the place he would have crashed when he was home on Spring Break (Florida wasn't a state back then). But it's the only surviving Polk residence other than the White House, so it gets to be the museum. In lieu of having an actual Polk house, they filled the ancestral home with all of his surviving furniture, plus there's a cute museum in the house next door which has some personal effects. It's all a touch underwhelming for a guy who was probably in the presidential top 10 as far as historical importance, but it ain't bad for what it is. If you're ever in Columbia ... uh, why are you in Columbia, exactly?
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Copyright 2011, Chris White