Roosevelt has little in common with Trump on the surface, save for being born wealthy in New York City and having significant careers outside of politics, but both men inspired over the top passion and both spent a lot of time in court after their Presidencies.
On New Year’s Day 2016, I joined my wife at a gathering of her classmates from New York University. Both of us studied there, but my wife was a journalism major and the group that worked on the college’s paper, The Washington Square News, had kept in close contact over the years. As he is today, Donald Trump was the talk of the hour back then, but this was before the brash, unpredictable outsider had faced voters in the Republican Primary. The conventional wisdom among this gathering of journalists in various fields held that he had no chance of winning the primary, much less a general election. I admitted to being skeptical myself, but I remember telling one of her classmates that he shouldn’t be counted out. Why? He asked as if to suggest the smart set had already spoken and that was the end of the matter. My answer was simple: Because Donald Trump is a sick bastard and America has always had a love affair with sick bastards. We should not discount the cult of personality that surrounds a larger than life figure that speaks his mind without hesitation or fear. At the time, the comment was easy to dismiss, but when we joined the same group the following year, candidate Trump was President Elect Trump. I am not grandiose enough to claim I predicted it, merely that I saw the possibility when many others did not. In my mind, Donald Trump was yet another in a long line of figures that Americans have repeatedly turned to specifically because they broke the mold, both for better or worse. The line begins with Andrew Jackson and runs right through Teddy Roosevelt. Roosevelt has little in common with President Trump on the surface, save for being born wealthy in New York City and having significant careers outside of politics, but both men inspired over the top passion. Both were also tried in civil suits for defamation after leaving the presidency, forced to watch as a process they couldn’t control unfolded, forced to take the stand, and forced to submit themselves to the will of a judge and a jury of their peers. Unlike President Trump’s more personal challenges, Roosevelt’s legal issues began with his own insurrectionary political career, caused by fissures that marked his original ascension to the New York State House where he railed against the machine politics prevalent in his era and continued to haunt him even as he left the Republican Party in 1912. His nemesis in his later years, William Barnes, Jr. was the owner and publisher of the Albany Evening Journal and a member of the New York Republican State Committee from 1892 to 1914, serving as its chairman from 1911 to 1914. Though they were both in the same party, the breach between the two men occurred when Barnes backed incumbent President William Howard Taft in the 1912 nomination contest, but the defamation suit dates from an editorial Roosevelt penned two years later.
“It is impossible to secure the economic, social, and industrial reforms to which we are pledged until [the] invisible government of the party bosses working through the alliance between crooked business and crooked politics is rooted out of our governmental system,” Roosevelt wrote on July 22, 2014, railing at what was the political establishment at the time. “In New York state the two political machines are completely dominated, the one by Mr. Barnes [Republicans], the other by Mr. Murphy [Democrats]. The state government is rotten throughout in almost all its departments, and this is directly due to the dominance in politics of Mr. Murphy…aided and abetted where necessary by Mr. Barnes and the sub-bosses of Mr. Barnes.” Shortly after publishing what would be considered a rather anodyne bit of political writing today, Roosevelt was served papers in a $50,000 civil lawsuit for libel by Mr. Barnes at his retreat in Oyster Bay, Long Island. The trial commenced the following April, to much media attention even in the early days of World War I. Roosevelt, at the time, was one of the most famous men in the world, a political and cultural institution, and a prime target for those wishing to crush the progressive, upstart wing of the Republican Party. As Barnes lawyer William M. Ivins put it, he was going to “nail Roosevelt’s hide to the courthouse wall.” Elihu Root, a Roosevelt supporter since his early days, had a ready reply, “I know Colonel Roosevelt. Be very careful whose hide you nail to the courthouse.” Roosevelt, for his part, wanted to clear his own name, but also saw the trial as an opportunity to end Barnes’ potential 1916 bid for the United States Senate, adding political dimensions to either outcome. Roosevelt secured an early victory by successfully relocating the trial from machine dominated Albany, to progressive friendly Syracuse, where he won the vote as recently as 1912. This victory was quickly reversed, however, when the judge refused to dismiss the charges, the jury was heavily traditional Republican rather than progressives, and the crowd gathered outside the rainy courthouse was less than enthusiastic about the arrival of the legendary statesman, far from what a celebrity of his stature was used to. Rather than cheers, only one woman tried to start a “Hurrah for Teddy Chant,” which was not picked up by anyone else.
Roosevelt himself appeared to have seen better days as well – a voracious eater whose ability to consume massive quantities of food was almost as legendary as his other traits – had put on weight as his equally insane exercise schedule declined over the years. According to biographer Edmund Morris, his suit was “shapeless,” there was a “roll of fat” on his collar, and his glasses had become so thick you couldn’t see his eyes. He was, in fact, blind in one eye at that point. The trial began by Ivins, who cut a powerful figure as a lawyer of international repute and speaker of six languages with interests in philosophy, history, Shakespeare, and Napoleon, acknowledging Roosevelt’s immense talent as a writer. He praised his “very eloquent pen” and claimed he was “probably the greatest arbiter of opinion in this country who has been known in its history.” Unfortunately, for Roosevelt this flattery also meant that his disparagement of Barnes wasn’t simply an impromptu remark, meaning it was considered, written, edited, and published, leaving little excuse as to his intent. He continued to describe Roosevelt’s relationship with Barnes, given both men were from the same party and which had been at least functional in 1899 when Roosevelt reappointed him to state office, but only soured after their political split, suggesting it was Roosevelt that had betrayed Barnes. After opening statements, Roosevelt himself was called to the stand and – perhaps for the first time since Grover Cleveland slapped him down in his early 20s – the court forcibly silenced him on matters large and small. First, they refused to hear anything concerning his impeccable service to the country, shutting him down while discussing his exploits in Cuba by insisting “we all know what the result of the battle was” and refusing to allow him to explain the nature of “this boss system, that there was a system of complete control by the bosses of politics” that prompted his ire in the first place. The court insisted that “is entirely immaterial so far as this libel is concerned.” Roosevelt also appeared to have trouble hearing, the result of boxing injuries and other hardships he had endured, and experienced odd lapses in his memory. The combination was shocking to the court, but Teddy was nothing if not a fighter, and he rallied, resuming command by the end of the day, describing how Barnes didn’t believe the people were capable of governing themselves. He quoted a conversation verbatim, where Barnes insisted “The people are not fit to govern themselves. They have got to be governed by the party organization, and you cannot run an organization, you cannot have leaders, unless you have money.” He rattled off other figures, dates, and names, and grew more animated as the day wore on.
Roosevelt’s streak continued into the second day, but on the third, he was to be cross examined by Ivins, starting a long slide that would last for weeks as the trial wore on. Ivins started questioning Roosevelt by establishing the many fields he worked and careers he managed to juggle at once in something close to the flattery of the opening statements, “Has your occupation in life, apart from your public service been that of an author?” “An author and a ranchman and an explorer,” Roosevelt added before realizing the hidden suggestion that he’d spread himself awfully thin and was therefore unable to fully concentrate on any one thing, capable of making a slip up that could be considered libel. Ivins flattered Roosevelt once again by commenting on the quality of his memory, but saw that turned against him as the lawyer recounted the details of scandal concerning his taxes almost twenty years earlier. In 1898, Roosevelt had almost been barred from running for governor of New York because he claimed to be a resident of Washington, DC to avoid paying taxes on a property valued at $1.7 million in today’s dollars. Even if DC was his true residence (doubtful considering he also owned property in Oyster Bay), he would not have been able to run in the gubernatorial election because he didn’t meet the residency requirement. Elihu Root saved him at the time, but either way the situation was perceived as little short of fraud and Roosevelt himself described it as “a peculiarly ugly business,” “I hated to have any combination of incidents make me look for a moment as if I were doing something shifty.” Ivins happened to be an expert on campaign finance, and proceeded to recount the details before turning Roosevelt’s sense of righteousness in politics against him. Ivins asked, “does that rule apply to other people, in their judgment with regard to righteousness and the opportunities for its expression, as well as it does for you?” Roosevelt had no choice but to agree, both as a general statement and that it applied to Barnes in particular. Ivins continued, “Has not every man an equal right to determine his own rule of righteousness and his time of applying it?” Roosevelt tried to dodge, “He has if he has the root of righteousness in him. If he is a wrongdoer, he has not.” “Who is the judge, you or he?” Ivins shot back. Roosevelt responded with what could’ve been a fatal mistake, “It may be that I am the judge, of him. If I had to be the judge —” He paused, gesticulating, clearly uncomfortable where this was going, “I will give you an example, Senator Burton —” Ivins cut him off, “You need not gesticulate…I do not object to his answering. I object to his manner. I do not want to be beaten up right here now,” he joked. Ivins needled Roosevelt for the rest of the afternoon, though somehow the former President managed to keep himself under control, and one comment that he had written 100,000 to 150,000 letters alone in his career drew gasps.
When the trial proceeded on Friday, Roosevelt appeared to be in his element, but his own ego soon got the better of him again. He began speechifying to the jury, rather than directly addressing the questions. Ivins came close to scolding him for his behavior, was rebuked by the judge, but then moved for the killshot. He referenced a line from Roosevelt’s autobiography attributed to a Senator, which noted that Roosevelt employed those who were “disinterested men of high character.” Ivins then asked if this included Mr. Barnes, since he’d appointment him to state office. Roosevelt tried to dodge, claiming it “was not a question he could answer by a yes or no. Do you wish me to answer how I feel about it?” Ivins rejected this response, saying “I do not care for your feelings. I want to know whether you can answer yes or no.” The judge agreed, forcing Teddy to claim, “Then I must answer you, no…That I did not so include him.” Ivins pounced, “Then I must ask you this. If you did not so regard him as a man of high character, why did you invite him to the executive mansion? Why do you consult with him in the Capitol? Why did you advise with him?” Roosevelt could only self-rationalize and sputter, “Because I thought he was above the average of the ordinary political leaders…I believed that he had it in him…to become a most useful servant of the state, and I believe that there was a good chance of him so becoming.” The answer was such prattle, Roosevelt’s lawyer intervened, “Have you finished, Mr. Roosevelt?” He could only say that he had. Later, Roosevelt tried to rationalize that he saw Barnes as a political Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and that when Roosevelt knew him during that period, he was the good doctor rather than the evil monster. Roosevelt, however, had written him from the white house in 1907, reappointing him as the surveyor of the port of Albany, long after the original time frame in question. “Then which Mr. Barnes,” Ivins asked, “Mr. Jekyll Barnes or Mr. Hyde Barnes did you appoint to office and express your pleasure in appointing?” Teddy could only stammer, “I appointed Mr. Barnes to office and until 1910, I hoped we were going to get his Dr. Jekyll side uppermost, and did not abandon that hope until 1911.” Roosevelt spent four more days on the stand, alternating between something like his usual self and a defeated man with lapses in memory, lapses Ivins characterized as selective amnesia. He grew increasingly frustrated that the focus was almost exclusively on this own political career – which admittedly in a machine state like New York had required a lot of compromises – instead of Barnes. Ultimately, events dragged on so long that Barnes himself stopped attending. It was not until Thursday, May 20 that things finally wound down, running over a full month, during which time major global events were afoot early in World War I, primarily the sinking of the Lusitania, which ultimately forced the US into the conflict, that made the whole thing seem petty and small. (Oddly enough, future President Franklin Delano Roosevelt testified on Teddy’s behalf as his fifth cousin and nephew by marriage.)
Ivins concluded by claiming Roosevelt had developed a lifelong habit of ascending to political heights by turning on and betraying his former associates, even quoting Shakespeare, “I charge thee, fling away ambition; by that sin fell the angels.” The judge then instructed the jurors to pretend Roosevelt was an ordinary person, not a globe striding colossus, and they retired to consider the charges at 3.45 PM. They did not reach a verdict for almost 48 hours, finally ruling in favor of Roosevelt who was described as “red-faced with tension” waiting on the result. He could be a stoic man and tried to keep his emotions in check as the spectators roared their approval, but there were tears in his eyes as he thanked the jury. “I will try all my life to act in private and public affairs so that no one of you will have cause to regret the verdict you have given this morning.” Ivins, who suffered from a fatal disease, returned to New York and lived only a few weeks longer. As Mr. Morris described it in his biography of Roosevelt, “Legal analysis concluded that his performance had been impeccable and his cross-examinations brilliant, but that he had been defeated by a defendant beyond the reach of ordinary justice. Behind him in Syracuse, he left, securely tacked the courthouse wall, the hide of William Barnes, Jr.” Interestingly, this wasn’t the only libel trial Roosevelt was engaged in. Three years earlier, during the 1912 campaign, the Iron Ore newspaper in Marquette County, Michigan accused him of being a drunkard. Jay Hayden, who was assigned to cover the campaign, claimed “I was told to board a train en route to the convention at Toledo and find Roosevelt, who was reported aboard. Peeking into various compartments, I found the Colonel alone and reading. We had a sparkling half-hour of warm conversation before other visitors intruded. I scarcely had stepped from the train in Chicago before I began hearing that Roosevelt had been roaring drunk on the trip and had smashed dishes in the dining car.” This prompted George Newett, the paper’s publisher to editorialize. “Roosevelt lies, and curses in a most disgusting way, he gets drunk too, and that not infrequently, and all of his intimates know about it.” Roosevelt, however, rarely drank and then only sparingly, and had been waiting for a chance to put an end to accusations like this that had followed him sporadically throughout his career. Though Roosevelt would be shot that same day by a deranged anarchist, he filed suit and went to court the following year – to huge crowds and tremendous amounts of support. Roosevelt himself took the stand and used his prodigious memory to regale the audience with the few occasions when he did drink – with the Rough Riders, on the Nile, with heads of state in the White House, while hunting or exploring. The trial went so badly for Newett that he gave up and admitted his guilt before it went to the jury, but Roosevelt was gracious and asked for only six cents in damages. After he joked that he arrived at this figure because “That’s about the price of a good paper” considering the Iron Ore only cost three.
None of this is to suggest that President Trump’s legal challenges are the same as Teddy Roosevelt, or that either was right or wrong, merely that President Trump is not the first Chief Executive to endure the perils of a courtroom, nor is the only politician to have turned on friends and turned friends into enemies. History has a way of repeating itself, whether better, worse, or as farce, but one thing tends to unite historical figures in general. Like Teddy Roosevelt before him, President Trump remains unbowed. While Roosevelt’s trial was unfolding, he began the last political effort of his life by rallying support for America to enter World War I and railing against President Woodrow Wilson, who he believed was dithering while the world burned. Roosevelt’s critics, much like Trump’s, saw man beleaguered, beset, and unhinged, but his supporters saw something entirely different. A man who would not be silenced under any circumstances, even as many sought to do precisely that. Roosevelt, perhaps, had the most scathing words for critics in general, words which certainly apply to today’s chattering classes. “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
Confessions of a Conservative Atheist 