By Ryan L. Cole on 1.5.09 @ 6:07AM
Silent Cal would have been out of place in Obama's America.
On this day, 76 years ago, Calvin Coolidge died at the age of 60.
Shortly before his life ended and the presidency of Franklin
Roosevelt began, Coolidge reportedly told a friend, "I feel I no
longer fit in with these times."
If Coolidge felt out of step in the Era of Roosevelt, he would
have been a truly lost soul in the coming Age of Obama.
We are entering a time when the American president is
simultaneously the sole arbiter of good and bad in the universe,
a fashion plate, a paparazzi-attracting celebrity and a pop art
icon. His face graces public transit tickets. Schoolchildren
numbly chant his campaign slogans. The notion that a simple and
shy New Englander such as Coolidge could ever occupy today's
White House is absurd.
Though he was simple by our modern presidential standards, there
was nothing simplistic about his life or career. For all his
reserve and minimalism, Coolidge was an extremely skilled and
ambitious politician. From city solicitor to the state house of
representatives, to mayor to the state senate to lieutenant
governor and then governor and then vice president and president,
he ran for office 19 times and lost only one election in his
life.
He was a shrewd manipulator of broadcast radio and the photo-op.
Versed in Latin and a student of Cicero, Coolidge wrote his own
speeches without the assistance or aid of bright young staffers.
Those who have read his autobiography (which he penned
after his presidency) are aware of his graceful writing
and penchant for moving introspection.
His rearing in rural Vermont imparted in the future president the
values of thrift (he never owned a car or even a house until
after his presidency), a disdain for his era's version of
political celebrity. ("We need more of the Office Desk and less
of the Show Window in politics. Let men in office substitute the
midnight oil for the limelight," he once said.) And strikingly to
us in today's era of the superstar chief executive and the
revived hyperactive federal government, Coolidge understood that
there are some things the government and its chief executive are
not capable of doing. He considered the Constitution a limiting
document to be adhered to, not adjusted.
Today, the faithful prepare to flock to the nation's capital to
participate in what increasingly seems like a coronation.
Simultaneously, train trips are being planned and an ancient
bible is being brought out, rather immodestly, to remind us of
the supposedly uncanny similarities between Barack Obama and
Abraham Lincoln. Before the president-elect takes the oath of
office in front a crowd of millions, it is worth remembering
Coolidge's own assumption of the presidency. When news of
President Warren G. Harding's death reached Plymouth Notch,
Vermont, Vice President Coolidge, out of necessity, was
administered the oath of office by his father, at the family
homestead, using a family bible by the flickering light of an oil
lamp.
Coolidge took that oath and assumed the presidency without
promises to heal the soul of the country, change the world, or
make loaves and fish magically appear. Instead, when asked for
his thoughts on assuming the presidency, Coolidge simply replied,
"I think I can swing it."
And despite the opinions of New Deal historians, swing it he did.
A year after Harding's death Coolidge was elected president in
his own right by a landslide. He spent the next four years
fulfilling his duty as he believed the founders had envisioned --
cutting taxes, resisting and vetoing new spending, and generally
minding his own business while presiding over a time of great
prosperity.
He had no interest in saving or rescuing the American people --
he possessed, what is today, an uncommon faith they could take
care of that themselves.
Coolidge could have easily won a second full term in 1928 -- a
feat that, at the time, would have eventually made him the
longest serving president in U.S. history. Instead, he willingly
let go of the reins of power. Far from a messiah or a savior, he
returned from whence he had come: "We draw our Presidents from
the people. It is a wholesome thing for them to return to the
people. I came from them. I wish to be one of them again," he
reasoned.
Today Coolidge lies buried in a tiny Vermont village just a short
distance from the house where he was born and raised. A humble
headstone marks his final resting place; the word "president" is
nowhere to be found on the simple marker. On the occasion of
Coolidge's death, H.L. Mencken said, "Should the day ever dawn,
when Jefferson's warnings are heeded at last, and we reduce
government to its simplest terms, it may very well happen that
Calvin's bones now resting inconspicuously in the Vermont granite
will come to be revered as those of a man who really did the
nation some service." Given the results of our recent election,
the arrival of that day seems unlikely.
Indeed, Coolidge's qualities -- thrift, recognition of the limits
of government's responsibilities and capabilities, and
presidential modesty seem positively antiquated today. This type
of man could never be president in the 21st century. Yet, that
does not mean that he cannot continue to inspire those who greet
the coming epoch with more than a bit of skepticism.
No matter the passage of time or the changes to our government
and political system, 76 years after his death, Coolidge's ideals
and beliefs still ring true.
topics:
Barack Obama, Calvin Coolidge
