Dead Presidents

Chris White is touring the gravesites, birthplaces and homes of the U.S. presidents. Here are his notes from those visits, which he probably means to be funny. Eh.

15. James Buchanan

Wheatland and Woodward Hill Cemetery, Lancaster, Pennsylvania

Wheatland (September 24, 2006)

From Amish Country lawyer to leader of the free world: Behold the glorious legacy of James Buchanan, Pennsylvania's only president!

Yes, you can see it all at Wheatland, the swank Lancaster estate of J.B. from 1848-1868. And who was James Buchanan? He was the oldest of 11 children of an Irish immigrant. He was a highly successful lawyer, a Pennsylvania House member, a U.S. representative, ambassador to Russia, a U.S. senator, secretary of state, ambassador to England and possibly the worst ever president of these United States.

And oh yeah, he was FABULOUS! At least, that's the speculation. The pamphlet they hand out at the mansion says he "was our nation's only bachelor president." The emphasis is theirs, which is a polite way of saying, "stop asking if he was gay." Here's the story they tell at Wheatland:

In 1819 he gets engaged to Ann Coleman, the daughter of a very rich guy from Philadelphia (our country's first millionaire, as he came from old-world cheesesteak money). J.B. supposedly gets so wrapped up in a law case that she feels neglected, meaning (by 1819 standards) that he didn't touch her gloved hand while avoiding eye contact more than once a month. She starts talking smack ALL OVER the two blocks of downtown Lancaster, thereby frontin' J.B. and driving a wedge between them. Even the Amish were mocking him, and once the Amish start talking about you, you're dead in this town. Then, on a trip to Philadelphia, she dies suddenly. Buchanan is so heartbroken and bitter from the relationship that he never pursues love again.

Or that's what they'd have you believe. Our fine docent said Ann was a possible suicide, based on reports of two hysterical incidents before her death. The obvious truth: Buchanan's bachelor pal, motivated by jealousy, confronted and killed her with a pitchfork. I mean, duh.

Big Jim had at least one lady in his life, though: in 1842 he became the guardian of his orphaned niece, Harriet Lane. And also "Buck" Henry, his nephew who became his personal White House secretary before a falling out over Buck growing a moustache, but that's another story. Fun Harriet Lane facts:

  • She was in charge of White House hostess duties, the usual job of the president's wife. She was the first person known as "First Lady," a title given even to the wives that followed her. The "Second Lady" was Melba, Harriet's fatter, uglier friend.
  • She collected art, and on her death, donated her collection to the government for the purpose of establishing a museum. That collection eventually became the start of the Smithsonian's National Gallery of Art. Also on instructions from her will, her skeleton was preserved and placed in the jaws of the first T-Rex skeleton displayed at the Museum of Natural History.
  • She ponied up the dough to found St. Alban's prep school in D.C., where Al Gore went to school. So, HARRIET LANE BANKROLLED THE INTERNET.

As for the Buck thing, I wasn't kidding. Which is sad, because if your name is Buck, you almost have to grow a moustache.

Not too much to report on J.B.'s presidency, which was basically him sitting on his hands as Southern states left the union because he felt he couldn't legally stop them. That makes him the presidential equivalent of the lady in your office who has been there for 13 years. No one knows exactly what she does but she has set up shop in middle management, and now she hangs around in the kitchenette alot and always talks about how the people in charge are totally running the company into the ground and it used to be so much better when she started. When you ask her why she doesn't do anything about it she says it's not her job and then goes to reorganize the pictures of cats in her cubicle. That's Buchanan exactly.

He actually ran the 1856 campaign from Wheatland, and he gave a few speeches from the porch, including his famous "Look, He's Just a Guy That I Like to Discuss Farming With And On Occasion We Take a Steam And So What If He Owns a Pitchfork Making Company" Address. Also, while in the White House, he received the first ever trans-Atlantic telegram, in which Queen Victoria asked him for decorating advice.

The mansion itself is kind of standard for 18th-19th century sites, as is the trivia on mansion living. To sum up, you could be very rich but you still reeked of death (bathing only once a week) and had to pay people to help you take care of your bodily functions. Ah, how we take plumbing for granted. Fun fact: Wheatland has a privy with not one, not two, not three, but FIVE seats in the same room. They were equipped for five people to pop a squat at the same time, which must have been the 1850s equivalent of prime time television. "Say, this card game is great fun, but what say you we go peel off our 35 layers of sweat-soaked, unlaundered britches and discuss states' rights over a group grunt?" It was a classier era.

That's me on the front porch of the mansion shaking my fist; I think I'm giving a mock "front porch campaign." Hard to say, I took a lot of peyote that day. One side of the house has a style similar to Northern homes of the era, and on the other side is Southern; visiting politicos were brought to the side most appropriate to them. This is clearly the Northern side because there are no appliances on the porch. DAMN!

I'd call Buchanan's nearby gravesite overrated, but I don't think anyone ever bothered to rate it in the first place. So, on a scale of 0 to 10, with a 0 being put in a weighted burlap sack and thrown into an abandoned quarry and 10 being the Taj Mahal, I give it a 3. Here's a side-by side comparison of the graves of James Buchanan (Lancaster, left) and Andrew Johnson (Greeneville, right). In Buchanan's case, it's interesting to see a U.S. president buried with less panache that the average pet cemetery tombstone.

Legal Stuff: If you have questions about this Web site, why? You should spend your time questioning the moral nature of any god who would let Chris White exist. But anyhow ... copyright 2008, Chris White Sucks Inc.