History That Doesn't Suck - 91: The Gilded Age, Industrialization, and Assassination of President James Garfield

Episode Date: June 7, 2021

“What is the chief end of man? A: To get rich.” This is the story of the Gilded Age and its first three presidents: Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield, and Chester A. Arthur. Mark Twain calls this era a “Gilded Age”–that is, a time of great greed covered with a thin veneer hiding the nation’s decadence. Is it? We’ll assess and define this oft-forgotten time. In doing so, we’ll meet three oft-forgotten presidents. Rutherford (or Rutherfraud?) Hayes, who receives the presidency through a Reconstruction-ending compromise, is fighting for reform in the civil service. His successor James Garfield doesn’t want to be president but holds great promise. Sadly, an assassin will end his life before this last log-cabin president can even put his agenda into play. Can his compromised, spoils-system-created VP Chester “Chet” Arthur rise to the occasion?  Strikes, assassination, reform, unlikely presidents: welcome to the Gilded Age. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest? We're Jen and Jenny from Ancient History Fangirl. Join us to explore ancient history and mythology from a fun, sometimes tipsy, perspective. Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. From the creators of the popular science show with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you

might not even know you had, but once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it with everyone you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research,

with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's about 8.30 in the morning, Thursday, July 19, 1877. We're at a Pennsylvania Railroad roundhouse in Pittsburgh,

where the railroad's workers, a.k.a. train men, are coupling cars and otherwise preparing to head out on freight trains. But make no mistake, today, these train men are upset. Let me give you a little background. The United States is currently experiencing its worst economic recession to date. Starting with the bankruptcy of Jay Cook's banking firm in September 1873, this grueling downturn has brought on a 14% unemployment rate and driven over 18,000 companies out of business, including 89 of the nation's 364 railroads.

So now, in the summer of 1877, the East's four major trunk lines are working in cahoots as they set rates and lower wages by 10%. The Baltimore and Ohio, or B&O for short, became the last to make this wage cut just three days ago on July 16th. Not the first pay cut in recent memory, however. The B&O's fed-up trainman in Martinsburg, West Virginia responded by going on strike. So now, only days later, Augustus Harris, or Gus as the Pennsylvania Railroad flagman's friends call him, is walking toward his train across the Pittsburgh roundhouse's yard. Did he, I wonder, hear his co-worker in the roundhouse reading out loud the newspaper story about the B&O strike? Is his mind on his mounting bills? Maybe he's

fuming about the recent announcement that, as of today, all eastbound trains going as far as Altoona will be cost-saving, dual-locomotive-pulled, double-header trains. In other words, fewer crews will be needed and layoffs are coming. Maybe all of this is going through Gus's head. All I can tell you for sure is that, just as his double-header is set to depart, Gus makes a spontaneous decision. He's not working. He's on strike. His whole crew immediately joins in, as do the next 20 plus trainmen as they're fired for refusing to replace Gus's crew. And when the dispatcher finally finds three employees willing to do the work, things get real. One striker, a flagman named Andrew Heiss, looks ready to get physical. Assistant Trainmaster David Garrett intervenes. Heiss, you have a perfect right to

refuse to go out, but you have no right to interfere with others. The flagman fires back. It's a question of bread or blood, and we're going to resist. And resist they do. The 20-plus strikers throw rocks and links at the volunteers until they back down.

Now the unplanned strike turns strategic. Trainmen surround and block the railroad switch that, unless turned, will prevent any departing eastbound doubleheader freight trains from getting on the proper tracks at the 28th Street crossing. These men intend to allow only passenger and mail trains to get through. Pennsylvania Railroad Chief Clerk David Watt now springs into action. He arrives on the scene with 10 less than enthusiastic to help out police officers. Yeah, pretty much everyone in Pittsburgh sees the

railroad as greedy and corrupt these days. The striker's numbers have grown, but David steps up to the situation. I'll turn that switch, he announces confidently. But as David moves toward the switch, a striker steps in his way and right in his face. The unnamed man then hollers out, Boys, we may as well die right here. But it's another striker, Thomas McCall, who unleashes the tension. Out of nowhere, he hits David in the face. The police arrest Tom and things subside.

For now. The strike gains traction through the face. The police arrest Tom and things subside. For now. The strike gains traction through the afternoon. And those coming aren't just train men. Mill men, miners, and all sorts of professions from heavily industrial Pittsburgh and the surrounding area, as well as women and children, start to gather. Accounts differ, but by that evening,

the crowd numbers somewhere between 5 and 1,400. And they're confident. When Allegheny County Sheriff Robert Fyfe asks the crowd to end this around midnight, he's met with taunts, including, Go and bring your posse. We don't care a damn for you and your posse. Mayor McCarthy and his police are with us. The mild, composed sheriff sees there's nothing more to do for now. He goes home.

The situation only becomes more severe the next day. Hundreds of full freight cars, some with perishable goods, sit while talks between the strikers and the Pennsylvania Railroad yield nothing. Meanwhile, the state has sent out General A.J. Pearson of the National Guard with the 6th Division. The general accompanies the gray-haired sheriff as he calls again for the crowd to disperse. The people holler back, Give us a loaf of bread. You're creating a riot yourself. We have not stopped any passenger trains.

The general now chimes in, Gentlemen, these trains must go through. My troops will have no blank ammunition, and I give you warning of this in time. A voice interrupts him. Neither will we. But how meaningful is the general's threat? His 6th Division is from right here, Pittsburgh. Only 250 of his 326 troops even showed up, and many who did count friends and family among the strikers. Can he really count on these men? Further, they're grossly outnumbered.

A train full of 1,000 additional strikers and sympathizers showed up today. And so, the general and railroad leaders suggest to the lieutenant governor that they bring in troops from Philadelphia. It's a little after 1 p.m., Saturday, July 21st. 600 Philadelphians from the National Guard's 1st Division have just arrived in Pittsburgh. In addition to their rifles, they have two Gatling guns. A few hours later, these uniformed soldiers march, bayonets fixed, to the 28th Street crossing. With several thousand strong crowd of men, women, and children boo and hiss the Philadelphian soldiers. At their front is Sheriff Robert Fife and his constables. They attempt to arrest the strike leaders, but when the railroad's top men can't identify them, he and his officers wash their hands of the whole affair.

All now rests on the Philadelphians. They're ordered to clear the tracks. Some advance with bayonets, poking and drawing blood. The strikers are enraged. Meanwhile, others on a nearby hill start throwing rocks, then shoes, sticks, and at least one brick that nails a soldier in the face. But despite the professional uniforms, is soldier even the right word? These Philadelphians are National Guard.

Civilians ripped from bed last night and sent to a... a what? A battle? They're terrified as rocks continue to rain down and someone screams, shoot you sons of bitches! Why don't you shoot?

They fire first into the crowd, then at the hill from which the stones came. Do these Philadelphians know many up there are kids? I can't say. But the more than 20 dead include teens, and very little ones. The Philadelphians retreat to a roundhouse as Pittsburgh's livid citizenry take their revenge

against the Pennsylvania Railroad by burning company property. By the time it's over, the Inferno will consume 39 buildings, 104 engines, and over 2,000 train cars across three miles. At least 40 people will be dead. This is but a taste of the nation-consuming Great Railroad Strike of 1877. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. I don't know that there is a more overlooked, blown-off era in American history than the Gilded Age. And that's a crying shame. While it gets overshadowed by the Civil

War in the coming 20th century, this is a time full of labor strikes against new, large corporations, close political contests, and, as we've seen out West in recent episodes, rapid industrialization. The era doesn't lack action in the least. So today, I'll start by simply giving you an overview of what on earth the Gilded Age is. From there, I'll start by simply giving you an overview of what on earth the Gilded Age is. From there, we'll spend our day with Presidents 19, 20, and 21. Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield, and Chester A. Arthur, or as his friends know him, Chet. We'll get a look at the nasty infighting in their political party, the GOP, and witnessed the second assassination of a U.S. president. So ready to get your presidential history on? Let's do this with a proper look

at the Gilded Age from its start. Rewind. Running a bit of an overlap with the latter years of Reconstruction, the Gilded Age covers the last quarter of the 19th century. Basically, from the 1870s through the presidency of William McKinley, which will end in 1901. As for the origin of the era's name, it comes from the combined genius of 19th century American authors Charles Dudley and his more famous colleague Samuel Clements, a.k.a. Mark Twain, in the form of their 1873 novel, The Gilded Age, A Tale of Today.

In it, they lampoon their contemporary society as materialistic, greedy, shallow. Like a cheap piece of metal gilded with a thin gold veneer, they see themselves as living in an enriched America with a golden facade that hides its corrosion and baseness underneath. To put a finer point on it, here's how Mark Twain succinctly and sarcastically describes his era in another work of his, an article called The Revised Catechism.

What is the chief end of man? Answer, to get rich. In what way? Answer, dishonestly if we can, honestly if we must. That's right. The Gilded Age is the only era in American history that is named with a full-on unabashed put-down.

In the late 20th century, future historians will come at the era with a little more nuance. They'll generally conclude that, as funny and witty as Mark Twain is, maybe defining several decades by his caricature right at the era's start is a little harsh and, frankly, lets the corruption of past generations off the hook rather unfairly. That said, there's still enough truth to the term that Gilded Age is probably here to stay. And to stick with Mr. Twain's analogy, what's gilding the post-Civil War United States in all this figurative and literal gold?

In truth, you already know the answer from the last volume of episodes. It's the Second Industrial Revolution. This next wave of industrialization hitting America in the second half of the 19th century completely transforms the nation's economy. As historian Sean Dennis Cashman writes, quote, the rural republic of Lincoln and Lee became the industrial empire of Roosevelt and Bryan, close quote. And here's what this industrial empire looks like. Wood is out. Iron, followed by even stronger steel, is in. This means more durable railroads with faster trains, taller, stronger buildings, and longer, wider, and more durable bridges.

By the end of the 19th century, the once agricultural United States will become the number one industrial economy in the world as it cranks out 35% of all manufactured goods, more than the UK, France, and Germany combined. The United States accomplishes this with the aid of all sorts of new inventions, like Thomas Edison's light bulb, Alexander Graham Bell's telephone, and Frank

Sprague's electric street railways. Frankly, those are just some highlights. Between 1860 and 1890, American inventors apply for and receive more than 440,000 patents. Now, in case all of this success has you wondering why Mark Twain and others are so down on the Gilded Age, perhaps it's time we press past the industrialized nation's glittering surface. As we know from the last volume of episodes, the Iron Horse connects the United States and facilitates greater Western settlement at the expense of Native Americans. Meanwhile, industrialization below the Mason-Dixon line isn't lifting all boats. This New South, as it's called,

isn't just forming a new, more industrial economy. It's also writing new laws that disenfranchise Black men and segregate Black Americans, thus excluding them from the economic boom. In other words, the New South is also the South of Jim Crow. Nor are all white Americans seeing prosperity and economic growth. The nation's increasing focus on industry over agriculture comes at the expense of farmers, who feel subjected to the whims of the railroads. This gives rise to the Granger movement

that one of Jesse James' men referenced during a train robbery in episode 87. Politically, Grangers seek to rein in the railroads through legislation, perhaps establishing maximum rates at which a railroad can charge for shipping. But that's no easy task. The railroads don't fit into a mere region or even a state. They go beyond state lines. And by that logic, the U.S. Supreme Court rules in Wabash v. Illinois that, as Article I, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution grants Congress the right, quote, to regulate commerce with foreign nations and among the several states, close quote, states are unconstitutionally overstepping when they seek to regulate interstate railroads.

That's part of why Congress will take its first major step into the arena of regulation the following year, 1887, by passing the Interstate Commerce Act. We've talked about what a disruptive technology the railroad and its expansion is in previous episodes, but in the Gilded Age, we also need to understand what a new business model America's rail lines create. They employ thousands upon thousands of people. The largest, the Pennsylvania Railroad, will have over 100,000 employees by the 1890s. Companies just haven't been this big before. The only other organization on this scale in U.S. history are the militaries of the Civil War. And if we want to dip into the

colonial era, I suppose we could dredge up the memory of the Civil War. And if we want to dip into the colonial era, I suppose we could dredge up the memory of the East India Company, which, as I recall from episode four, wasn't exactly beloved by colonial America, even if it did make a big splash in Boston. Point being, these big companies in an era of instantaneous communication and rapid transportation are an entirely new animal. Yet unprecedented as railroad companies are, their existence enables other such large businesses to rise and thrive during the Gilded Age as well. With a tighter-knit nation, Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan, and so many others are building their own empires of steel, oil, finance, you name it. Their numerous employees come from the now continent-wide United States' massively

increased population, which jumps from 35 million to 77 million during the Gilded Age alone. That increase includes both native-born citizens as well as nearly 12 million immigrants, over 90% of whom come from Europe. The Gilded Age's industrial titans are not without controversy, though. Are these gentlemen, and others of their kind, intrepid entrepreneurs whose business acumen and boldness deserve admiration? Or, in this industrial era of new money that paradoxically includes two major, several years long economic depressions, one beginning in 1873, the next in 1893, are the immoral cutthroats well deserving of the derogatory title robber barons. Many of their employees consider them the latter, and taking a page from a certain German

philosopher's manifesto, these working class Americans will unite and push back through frequent labor strikes. Indeed, the U.S. will see more than 1,000 strikes in the 1880s alone. This, oh, what's the word I'm looking for? Marks. Yes, it marks the beginning of a new era, as corporations and workers generally organized in unions go to the mats against each other. From Jim Crow to new inventions, the construction of industrial wonders, I'm looking at you, Brooklyn Bridge and Statue of Liberty, as well as meeting inventors, industrialists, immigrants, and workers, the Gilded Age has plenty to keep us busy. We'll do it all in the next few episodes. But first, we need to lay the

political groundwork of this era, whose reputation for corruption is perhaps only exceeded by its voter turnout, by meeting a few U.S. presidents. We start with President Rutherford B. Hayes. Ah, Rutherford. We haven't thought about this 50-something, handsome, bearded president from Ohio much since episode 76. I told you about his less-than-ideal ascension to the presidency at that time, and you can go back to listen to all the sort of details if you'd like. But here's a quick summary. In the election of 1876, the Republicans run

former Union General and Ohio Governor Rutherford Hayes against Democrat and New York Governor Samuel J. Tilden. The popular vote is clearly Democrat, but the Electoral College results are just messy enough for the Republicans to push back. Congress handles the unprecedented situation by setting up an Electoral Commission, which then selects Republican Rutherford Hayes. Now, being a mere decade out from the Civil War, this could turn really nasty, but the parties find a way to make peace. The Democrats will accept a Republican victory

if the Republicans agree to put an end to military occupation in the South. This is the Compromise of 1877, also seen as the end of Reconstruction. I know, this whole situation leaves Rutherford's 1876 election tainted at best. Yet that's somewhat ironic because the moderate bearded Ohioan is actually a rather honest man. Delivering his inaugural address on March 5th, 1877, Rutherford contends that, quote, he serves his party best who serves the nation best, close quote. Of course, such a bipartisan attitude doesn't sit well with all in his party.

The late 19th century Republican Party is split into two major factions, stalwarts and half-breeds. While the party as a whole is feeling moral fatigue and caving on Reconstruction, stalwarts consider themselves the true heirs of the party. They want to maintain closed ranks against Democrats, have no problem with sectionalism, and believe patronage through a spoils system is just good politics. On the other hand, we have the half-breeds, which is a stalwart insult suggesting they are only half-Republican. Half-breeds want the nation to move past North v. South sectionalism. They also call

the spoil system a corrupt practice and do not approve of this process by which the party and power hand civil service offices to their own rather than to the most qualified. President Rutherford Hayes himself aligns more with the half-breeds. He still manages to upset both wings of the party, though, by refusing to pick between them in cabinet selections. After failing to charm either faction, he then proceeds with ending Reconstruction, is faced with the Great Railroad Strike, and finally puts great energy into pursuing civil service reform. Let's start where Rutherford does, ending Reconstruction.

In April 1877, the president orders federal troops to stop guarding state houses in the remaining occupied states of Louisiana and South Carolina. Old Guard out-of-office radical Republican Benjamin Wade is furious. He writes, You know with what untried zeal I labored for the emancipation of the slaves, was coming regardless of who won the White House. Apart from a few old radical Republicans and black Americans, the nation is exhausted with Reconstruction and ready to end it at the expense of Black Americans, as long as that brings peace. Thus, the infamous Compromise of 1877 that has a former Union General President hoping for the best as he hands white Southern leaders their quote-unquote home rule. The best won't follow. Jim Crow will. Rutherford also faces the challenges of the Great Railroad Strike of 1877.

We got a taste of this in the opening of today's episode, but the strike reaches far beyond Pittsburgh as trainmen fight back at their slashed wages in Baltimore, St. Louis, Chicago, and still elsewhere for months on end. Rutherford responds with the conventional wisdom of his day, which is mobilizing federal troops, but he doesn't like it. He writes in his journal, quote, the strikes have been put down by force, but now for the real remedy. Can't something be done by education of the strikers, by judicious control of the

capitalists, by wise general policy to end or diminish the evil? Close quote. The conflict between corporations and workers won't be resolved by Rutherford, or any Gilded Age president for that matter. As I hinted at earlier, strikes will happen regularly for decades, and we'll certainly cover some of them in greater detail during later episodes. But there is one problem that this president feels he can and is determined to fix. Patronage in the civil service. Rutherford starts to tackle the spoils system, or patronage, in April 1877. He tells Treasury Secretary John Sherman to

investigate the spoils system at play in customs houses across the nation. That includes New York, where the powerful stalwart Republican Senator Roscoe Conkling, often called Lord Roscoe for the elite and powerful way in which he carries himself, runs his patronage machine. John Sherman doesn't want to touch New York for this very reason, but the president insists. Yikes. Time for a little inner party turmoil. It's May 14th, 1877.

We're at Delmonico's on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, where 300 well-to-do New Yorkers have gathered for the New York Chamber of Commerce's 109th annual dinner. Everyone rises and applauds as the night's big guest enters, President Rutherford B. Hayes. He shakes hands and makes his way to the head table. As he takes his seat, the band strikes up Hail to the Chief. Other big shots here include the Treasury Secretary's brother,

General William Tecumseh Sherman, the patronage-investigating Republican named after his founding father-grandpa, John Jay, and a Customs House official who's currently enjoying such patronage, Chester Arthur, or Chester, or just Chet, Arthur. Conspicuously missing is Chet's mentor, Roscoe Conkling. The stalwart senator is just so mad at the patronage-challenging president, whom, in honor of the Compromise of 1877, he's nicknamed Ruther Fraud, or His Fraudulency, the President, that he's refused

to even attend. Despite the mix of pro- and anti-spoils system Republicans, dinner proceeds pleasantly, until Interior Secretary Karl Schurz rises to speak, that is. The German-born, thickly bearded, bespectacled Karl has no intention of shying away from the sensitive subject of the spoils system as he addresses the crowd. The public service ought not to be a soup house to feed the indigent, a hospital and asylum for decayed politicians. It ought not to be a nursery for political mercenaries and a mere machine for carrying out selfish party ends. Officers ought to be selected with consideration for their fitness for the places they are to fill and not their ability to pick a caucus or to run primaries or to be a good hand at draw poker in the political sense.

Damn, that hits hard, especially for Chad Arthur. The large, mustachioed customs house collector owes his current gig to Senator Roscoe Conkling's patronage and everyone in the room knows it. How many eyes must be on him right now? Talk about awkward. In the days to come, John Jay and his aptly named Jay Commission conclude

that the interior secretary speech is correct. The commission calls for the elimination of at least 20% of the custom houses over 1,000 employees, and President Rutherford Hayes issues an executive order declaring that no federal employee, quote, should be required or permitted to take part in the management of political organizations, caucuses, conventions, or political campaigns, close quote. With his patron senator's help, Chester Arthur, who refuses to resign, manages to hold on to his job for another year.

But in the end, the president gets his way. During a congressional recess in the summer of 1878, Rutherford fires the New York Customs House collector. Ending Reconstruction, dealing with the Great Railroad Strike of 1877, and starting the process of civil service reform aren't the only things that define Rutherford Hayes' presidency. Personally, I love that Paraguay has a President de Hayes department named in his honor after he came down in the small nation's favor during an arbitration with Argentina. But these are, perhaps, what he's best known for. And despite the cloud that is the Compromise of 1877,

Rutherford wins the respect of many before walking away from the White House without seeking a second term. To quote his biographer, Hans Trafus, what did Hayes contribute to the presidency? His biographers have generally credited him with unifying the country, though faulting him for not succeeding in safeguarding Blacks' rights. This verdict is substantially correct. He was one of the best educated men to occupy the White House, was honest, even-handed, and humane. Taking over the scandal-besmirched presidency from General

Grant, he re-established the good reputation of the country's first office was rewarded with the Republican success of 1880. This was a real achievement. Close quote. But as the deeply divided Republican Party goes into the 1880 convention, choosing whom they'll put forward to succeed Rutherford Hayes is a real question. Should they bring Ulysses S. Grant back for a third term? Turn to the half-breed's unofficial leader, Senator James Blaine? Go with Treasury Secretary John Sherman? Or simply forsake these well-known figures altogether for an unknown dark horse? Want to learn how you can make smarter decisions with your money? Well, I've got the podcast for you.

I'm Sean Piles, and I host NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing, and more. We answer your real-world money questions and break down the latest personal finance news. The nerds will give you the clarity you need by cutting through the clutter and misinformation in today's world of personal finance. We don't promote get-rich-quick schemes or hype unrealistic side hustles. Instead, we offer practical knowledge that you can apply in your everyday life. You'll learn about strategies to help you build your wealth, invest wisely,

shop for financial products, and plan for major life events. And you'll walk away with the confidence you need to ensure that your money is always working as hard as you are. So turn to the nerds to answer your real-world money questions and get insights that can help you make the smartest financial decisions for your life. Listen to NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. It's Saturday night, June 5th, 1880. Some 15,000 Republicans are gathered in Chicago, Illinois, at the gorgeous, massive Interstate Exposition Building, or, as it's also known, the Glass Palace. After days of credentialing and debating rules, they're ready to get to the fun part of their National Republican Convention. It's time to nominate a presidential candidate. The clerk begins the alphabetical roll call.

Alabama. No nominees named. Arkansas. Again, no nominees named. Finally, he reaches the M states. Michigan. Ah, we have a candidate. An elderly distinguished delegate puts forward the U.S. senator from Maine, beloved by half-breed Republicans, James Blaine. The roll call continues. The next candidate comes when the clerk reaches New York and the stalwart's favorite senator, Roscoe Conkling, a.k.a. Lord Roscoe, rises. The forceful, bearded New Yorker jumps onto a table reserved for journalists.

He waits for the auditorium to quiet down, then dramatically bellows out. When asked what state he hails from, our sole reply shall be, he comes from Appomattox and its famous apple tree. The crowd goes wild. The auditorium doesn't stop cheering for a solid 10 minutes. They all know these poetic lines and of whom Lord Roscoe speaks. This is a nomination for the Union general and former two-term president, the one and only Ulysses S. Grant. Lord Roscoe finally finishes his speech,

and the roll call continues until the clerk reaches Ohio. A towering, blue-eyed, brown-bearded delegate in his late 40s stands. He has no prepared speech, but the brilliant log cabin-born, former college professor, turned 26-year-old college president, turned union general, turned nine-term congressman, is an excellent orator with an unparalleled sense of logic. This is James A. Garfield. Unlike Senator Roscoe Conkling, James speaks in a measured, calm voice as he systematically moves through issues and events that an ideal candidate should have experienced or know well. He then rhetorically asks the crowd, What shall we do?

A voice calls out, Nominate Garfield! James isn't amused. He finally names his candidate, President Rutherford Hayes' current Treasury Secretary and his fellow Ohioan, Secretary John Sherman. Senator James Blaine, Ulysses S. Grant, John Sherman. While others are nominated, these are the three real contenders

from which the delegates expect they'll select the Republican candidate after the Sabbath. It's now Monday morning, June 7th. The convention has reconvened in the Glass Palace. And after the band plays and the prayer is given, they begin to vote. The ballots come back. Supported by the Stalwarts, Ulysses leads with 304 votes The half-breeds have given James Blaine a strong second with 284. John Sherman trails strongly at 93, while two other candidates, George Edmonds and Elihu Washburn, are far in the back at roughly 30 votes each.

But no one has reached the winning threshold of 379 votes, so the convention ballots again and again and again. The third time, two new names are added with little attention. Benjamin Harrison and the congressman supporting John Sherman, James Garfield. The next 18 ballots show hardly any change. The convention breaks for dinner, then comes back and goes through another 10 rounds. That makes 28 ballots with hardly anyone budging. Ulysses still leads the pack. James Blaine and John Sherman are in second and third, then trail all the lesser-known candidates.

The convention begins balloting again the next day at 10 a.m. Still a deadlock. But on the 34th round, something happens. 16 delegates from Wisconsin vote for James Garfield. What? He doesn't even want this. Seeing his name get traction, the congressman leaps up and cries out, I challenge the correctness of the announcement. No man has a right without the consent of the person voted for to announce the person's name and vote for him in this convention. Such consent I have not given. The chairman, Senator George Hoare, responds coolly.

The gentleman from Ohio is not stating a question of order. He will resume his seat. Huh, sounds like James Garfield should study his Roberts rules. More votes peel away from James Blaine and John Sherman in favor of James Garfield on the next round. Then, on the 36th ballot, it's done. Though Ulysses' supporters held strong, the weary delegates have cast 395 votes for the emerging dark horse, James Garfield. Despite his earnest protestations against it and fervent support for his friend John Sherman,

the congressman from Ohio has just become the Republican nominee for President of the United States. The stalwart Senator Roscoe Conkling is furious. He can't believe a half-breed congressman who doesn't even want the nomination just took it. So when Ohio's former governor, William Dennison, comes to talk peace, He can't believe a half-breed congressman who doesn't even want the nomination just took it. So when Ohio's former governor, William Dennison, comes to talk peace, suggesting they'll take any Stuart Republican the New York senator wants to name for vice president on the ticket, Lord Roscoe blows him off. But two other New Yorkers overhear the offer and jump on it.

They quickly suggest their stalwart New York friend, the Customs House agent President Rutherford Hayes fired two years ago, Chester Arthur. Chet is very interested, so he goes looking for his great patron, Senator Roscoe Conkling, to ask for his blessing. He finds the party boss in a room not far off from the auditorium's main hall.

Chester opens. I have been hunting everywhere for you, Senator. Well, sir, the Ohio men have offered me the vice presidency. You should drop it as you would a red hot shoe from the forge. I sought you to consult, not... What is there to consult about? This trickster of mentor will be defeated before the country. There is something else to be said. What, sir? You think of accepting? Chester pauses. Still embarrassed at having been fired from the custom house

and all the more depressed by the recent death of his wife, the widower gathers his courage and defies his political mentor and patron. Chester's right. His being nominated for the vice presidency A barren nomination would be a greater honor. In a calmer moment, you will look at this differently. Chester's right. His being nominated for the vice presidency, which happens that same night, is an enormous honor. It's a greater honor still when, that November, the nation narrowly chooses his running mate, James Garfield,

as president over the Democratic nominee, former Union general and Gettysburg war hero, Winfield Scott Hancock. Wow, Chester is now vice president of the United States. But the New York stalwart Republican likely never imagined the far greater, well, to use his word, honor, that would fall on his shoulders within the following year. It's Saturday morning, July 2nd, 1881, and James Garfield is elated. He's had a grueling four months here in the White House, during which time this likable, non-office-seeking president has battled it out with stalwarts, including his own vice president, over cabinet picks and continuing Rutherford Hayes' work taking on the spoils system. Today, though, he gets to put this half-breed versus stalwart,

internal party strife behind him. He's leaving D.C. for a little vacation. His youngest two boys, Irvin and Abram, are taking a train to their hometown of Mentor, Ohio, for a little grandparent time. Meanwhile, James and his older two boys, Harry and James Jr., will ride the rails in the other direction to meet his daughter Molly and brilliant yet sickly wife Lucretia. They'll visit a few East Coast states and drop by James Garfield's old alma mater in Massachusetts, which is where these older two sons are now enrolling, Williams College. As James Garfield gets ready for the day, this father of five playfully roughhouses with some of his sons while singing, I Mix Those Children Up from the

popular comic opera, HMS Pinafore. He's just so happy. All the White House staff can see it too as James bids them goodbye, then climbs into a two-seater carriage. In the other seat is the former Maine senator who actually sought the presidency, James Blaine. Now serving as Secretary of State, he's accompanying the president down to Washington, D.C.'s Baltimore and Potomac Railroad Station so they can squeeze in one last pre-vacation chat. The eldest Garfield sons head out in a separate carriage and will meet their father at the train's platform. The president's carriage soon pulls up at the railroad depot. He's right in the middle of discussing a speech he plans to give in Atlanta that will detail his plans for the South and Black Americans. This is no Rutherford Hayes backpedal. Frankly, James sounds more like an old-school Republican. He intends to stand up for

Black Americans' civil and voting rights, wants to provide them with a basic education, and plans to have Black men appointed in foreign service positions. He just discussed that last point with Frederick Douglass a few weeks back. But how's he doing on time? Can't miss the 930 train. James Garfield sees a policeman. He asks, How much time have we, officer? The policeman replies, Can't miss the 9.30 train. James Garfield sees a policeman. He asks, How much time have we, officer? The policeman replies, About 10 minutes, sir.

Ah, sounds like the president needs to get going. It's fine. State Secretary James Blaine decides to walk with him to the platform. The two half-breed Republicans exit their carriage and enter the red brick station. The duo walk briskly, side by side, through the less busy than usual depot. They're just passing through some rows of chairs when a loud pop cuts the quiet. The president feels a sharp sting along his right shoulder.

His head flies back, his arms out. My God, what is this? He exclaims. The sound echoes through the station once more. This time, James feels the bullet hit him square in the back. He collapses, striking some chairs before hitting the floor. Rockwell! Rockwell! Where is Rockwell? The distraught state secretary screams.

He knows the president's friend and assistant, Colonel Allman Rockwell, is somewhere in the station with other cabinet members and the president's two oldest boys. And God, does James Garfield need help now. The commander-in-chief is bleeding out and vomiting. Six feet away, a small, dark-haired, bearded man, armed with a British Bulldog revolver, turns and walks towards the station's exit. There he goes! There he goes! Someone cries. He's stepping outside just as a massive, powerfully built policeman is stepping in. Hearing strained voices calling, stop him! He shot the president! The officer seizes this diminutive, dark-haired man by the arm. The quickly formed crowd calls out for the gunman to be lynched, but that doesn't seem to scare him. As more officers swarm, he announces,

I did it. I will go to jail for it. I am a stalwart, and Arthur will be president. The gunman's name is Charles J. Gouteau. A less than successful writer, lawyer, and theologian, Charles is also a stalwart Republican who feels he did a great service to the GOP by campaigning last year for the party's half-breed nominee, James Garfield. He was so convinced of his importance and value in the presidential election that Charles repeatedly requested a spoils system posting in Vienna or Paris.

Politely yet firmly, the anti-patronage president and secretary of state told the very inconsequential Charles, no. But as James Garfield proved strong enough to fight against the dominating stalwart senator, Roscoe Conkling, who even resigned, Charles became convinced that the reform-minded half-breed president would be the death of the GOP. Then he had an idea. What if James Garfield died instead? The quirky theologian soon convinced himself that this was God's will and he was God's instrument. By killing the president, Charles Guiteau believed he would save the stalwarts

and thus the nation. He turned full on stalker and was at the station this morning, ready and waiting. He is sure that, in time, a grateful nation will see him as a hero. But that won't happen. The quite likely mentally ill assassin will find no reprieve in an insanity plea. He'll die at the gallows a year from now, on June 30th, 1882. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Through the summer of 1881, James Garfield clings to life as neither the prodding, germ-ridden fingers of medical doctors nor Alexander Graham Bell's new metal detector

can locate the bullet inside him. The humble, log-cabin-born, brilliant president languishes in pain and pus for 80 miserable days, then finally succumbs to his mortal wound. James expires on the night of September 19, 1881. An uncertain nation is left wondering what might have been. And in the wake of their second-ever presidential assassination, Americans are also left wondering what they can expect from the spoiled system-benefiting, fired Custom House agent who will now become the Commander-in-Chief. Chester Arthur. It's 11.30 p.m., September 19th, 1881. A reporter for The Sun knocks on the door of a beautiful four-story brownstone townhouse at 123 Lexington Avenue, New York City. This is the New York home of Vice President Chester, or Chet Arthur.

Chet's butler, a black man named Alec Powell, answers the door. The reporter is asking Alec if his employer has received the news when the vice president himself emerges. The president is dead. The reporter announces. Chet's face goes white. He replies, Oh no, it cannot be true.

It cannot be. I have heard nothing. The dispatch has just been received at the Sun office. I hope, my God, I do hope it is a mistake. His voice cracking, eyes wet, Chet retreats into his home and back to the company of his friends, Elihu Root, Daniel Rollins, and Police Commissioner Stephen French.

The confirmation comes hard and fast. Official word arrives from the cabinet via telegraph. More reporters soon throng the door. One of them asks Alec if his boss would like to comment. The butler replies, I daren't ask him. He is sitting alone in his room, sobbing like a child, with his head on his desk and his face buried in his hands.

Terrified as he is, there's little Chet can do. Only two hours later, on the still dark morning of September 20th, the towering New Yorker is sworn in as President of the United States in his own home. I'll remind you that Chester Arthur told his mentor, Senator Roscoe Conkling, back in Chicago, that he never expected a higher honor than being Vice President. He could have just as easily added that he didn't want anything more. VP was perfect for Chet. While Vice President John Adams once complained to his wife Abigail in 1793 that his position was, the most insignificant office that ever

the invention of man contrived or his imagination conceived, this is exactly what made the office Chet's jam. All the glory in socializing with none other responsibility. But now, Charles Gouteau's actions have thrust the latter upon him as well. And he's horrified. So Chet slowly steps into this new office. Yes, I mean that figuratively, as he doesn't come out with a big agenda. And I mean that some caution and questioning slow him down as he takes a second oath of office and deals with some claims that he actually hails from Canada

and is therefore not a natural born citizen. But I also mean that literally. A man of taste and style, Chet finds the White House a dreary place, allegedly telling Colonel Allman Rockwell that he will not live in a house like this. The new president proceeds to oversee a months-long renovation that updates the White House on a scale that hasn't happened in over half a century,

not since the War of 1812. He brings in New York artist Louis Comfort Tiffany of Tiffany & Company, who dresses up the state parlors and installs glass screens. A fan of fine dining, Chet also ups the White House dinner game by bringing in a New York-based French chef. He also adds the first-ever elevator to the presidential mansion. Nor can we omit that he commissions

a handsome new presidential carriage. Yeah, the place did need some sprucing up, but some of this, perhaps especially the hot new ride, is a bit on the self-indulgence side. Look, Chet is Chet. He is neither known for his simplicity nor work ethic. But to cut Chet some slack, he rises to the occasion far more than many, if not everyone, expects. To quote a political friend of his, he isn't Chet Arthur anymore. He's the president. Indeed, though a product of spoil

system patronage, he doesn't cave, as almost everyone anticipates, to his old Stuart mentor, Roscoe Conkling, by simply doing the man's bidding. For instance, Chet brings in perfectly competent people as he sets up his own presidential cabinet. This includes keeping on James Garfield's secretary of war through his whole presidency. That would be none other than Abraham Lincoln's sole surviving son, Robert Todd Lincoln. Far more significantly, Chester Arthur becomes the president who drives a stake through the heart of the spoils system. He continues James Garfield's investigation into the corrupt, bribery-ridden process by which the Postal Service awards lucrative remote rail routes, known as star routes, to private contractors. Chet also supports the Democratic senator from Ohio, George Pendleton's civil service reform bill. This proposes to attack

the spoils system in two ways. One, by establishing a more merit-based examination system for picking new civil servants rather than allowing politicians to hand out these jobs, and two, by making it illegal for political parties to force government employees to give their time or money to campaigns. It will only apply to 10% of federal positions right now, but this is the start of the death of the spoils system. It is beyond ironic that Chester Arthur is the president who signs this bill into law. As we know, the spoil system made him. But after years of Congress's lip service to such reform, the murder of President James Garfield by a man who felt entitled to an office because of this patronage system really highlighted just how damaging, corrupt, and dangerous it is.

Although the bill sits in Congress through most of Chet's administration, a lame duck session will finally pass it in 1883, allowing Chester to largely define his legacy by signing it. Meanwhile, Chester also shows some backbone with the Chinese Exclusion Act. I've mentioned this to you previously, specifically as we wrapped up the Transcontinental Railroad in episode 85, but the bill proposes to suspend Chinese immigration for 20 years and forbid the nation's 250,000 Chinese residents from obtaining U.S. citizenship. This bill is wildly popular out West and, frankly, with both parties. Chester finds it repugnant,

noting the blood, sweat, and tears of Chinese immigrants that went into building the nation's transcontinental railroad and calling the bill a breach of our national faith. Chet vetoes the bill. Some Western cities are so angry, they burn him in effigy. But there's a reason, I said, Chester Arthur shows some backbone rather than full-on backbone. The president doesn't hold his ground.

When Congress comes back at him with essentially the same bill, save the 20-year immigration ban being lowered to 10, he signs it. The president's self-appointed advisor, a witty, hard-hitting 30-something New Yorker that sends him unsolicited letters named Julia Sand, writes to Chet, expressing her disappointment in his backpedaling. Or have you only half of one? When you vetoed the Chinese bill, the better class of people throughout the country were delighted. Now you sign it.

And what is the difference as it now stands? In quantity, less, but in quality, just as idiotic and unnecessary as the first. I know, Julia doesn't pull any punches, but she sees herself as the president's champion and honest advisor. Frankly, her many letters are full of wisdom and phenomenal prose. Chet never writes Julia back, but that doesn't mean the private citizen doesn't impact him.

In fact, we know she did. He drops in on Julia at her New York home exactly once, on August 20th, 1882. Yeah, I think if you land a presidential visit, it's fair to say you might have caught the commander-in-chief's ear. Chet certainly fails Chinese Americans, but his backbone holds a bit better for Black Americans. Though nothing substantial comes of it. I'll get into the details of the Supreme Court's 1883 decision that the Civil Rights Act of 1875 is unconstitutional in a later episode.

Promise. But for now, we have to point out Chester Arthur's absolute anger at the verdict. The former Brigadier General then informed Congress he'd welcome legislation to fight back against SCOTUS. But alas, no such legislation will come during his presidency. In fact, such legislation won't be seen until the mid-20th century. Finally, we can't close the door on Chet without noting his reform of the U.S. Navy. Crazy as it might seem, the United States has almost no Navy at this point. In the less than two decades since the Civil War's end, its number of ships has plummeted from over 700 to 52. Most of those are wooden vessels to boot.

Not exactly the kind of ship you want to be on when battleships these days are rocking steel. And so, with a budget surplus, Chet sees investing in the Navy as an important part of protecting the United States, particularly as it begins to look at engaging and trading with a larger world. In March 1883, Chet signs a bill that produces the funds for three modern cruisers and one dispatch boat. They aren't big ships by any means, but this little act is the quiet birth of a far more modern Navy for the rising industrial giant that is the United States. The full significance of this will not be fully appreciated for decades to come. With the dedication of the finally finished Washington Monument, Chet departs his renovated White House. No, he doesn't get dominated by the Republican Party for a second term.

In 1884, the GOP will circle back to James Blaine and put him up against the Democrats' Grover Cleveland. And considering Chet's health, that's for the best. A kidney condition known as Bright's disease takes him to the grave only two years later in 1886. But all things considered, the less than hardworking New Yorker held his own. As journalist Alexander McClure writes of Chester Arthur,

quote, no man ever entered the presidency so profoundly and widely distrusted, and no man ever retired more generally respected. Close quote. Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield, and Chester A. Arthur are among, if not the most forgotten and overlooked presidents. I find that fascinating. I mean, to an extent, I get it. 19th century America's peak drama is the Civil War, and it casts a large shadow that can completely eclipse these presidencies. But on the other hand, here at the start of the Gilded Age, we have an epic battle over the spoil system that spans

several presidents. We have a disputed and corrupt presidential election, followed by the unlikely rise and assassination of a president with enormous promise, which in turn produces perhaps the least qualified president the United States has ever seen. And yet, he pushes through his own terror to rise to the occasion. Or at least, he did so more than some of his more qualified predecessors. All of that constitutes a rather compelling drama in my book. Our tendency to overlook these presidencies likely feeds to our own exaggerated concept that the Gilded Age is corruption.

Again, don't get me wrong, the era is plenty decadent and corrupt. More on that in episodes to come, but let's remember that the corrupt spoils system wasn't new. It had been deeply ingrained for a solid half century. Ironically, however, we often blame those who bring attention to a problem, century. Ironically, however, we often blame those who bring attention to a problem, even while trying to fix it, for that very problem.

So yes, we will yet see ample reasons for Mark Twain's hilarious moniker for the late 19th century, but we should also be careful not to saddle the period with the baggage of previous generations. In short, I'm not calling for an exaggerated elevation of the Hayes, Garfield, and Arthur administrations, but I'd hope we can give them their fair and nuanced due. These presidents had their shortcomings, but they were also more honest and competent than others who've occupied the White House. And personally, I'll always wonder what might have been if the brilliant James Garfield had lived. Well, we've certainly laid the foundation we need to dive deeper into the Gilded Age. But now that we've visited some of the era's White House occupants,

it's time to experience a Gilded Age industrial wonder. After all, can a bridge actually be built over the treacherous East River to connect the separate and distinct cities of New York and Brooklyn? The idea sounds like utter madness. Unless you're John Roebling, perhaps. Next time, we'll risk life and limb with him

to build what many will hail as the eighth wonder of the world, the Brooklyn Bridge. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzulo, Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovich, Brian Goodson, Bronwyn Cohen, Carrie Beggle, Charles and Shirley Clendenin,

Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Denki, Durante Spencer, Donald Moore, Thank you. Keller, John Oliveros, John Radlavich, John Schaefer, John Sheff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Justin M. Spriggs, Justin May, Kristen Pratt, Karen Bartholomew, Cassie Koneko, Kim R., Kyle Decker, Lawrence Neubauer, Linda Cunningham, Mark Ellis, Matthew Mitchell, Matthew Simmons, Melanie Jan, Nate Seconder, Nick Caffrell, Noah Hoff, Owen Sedlak, Paul Goringer, Randy Guffrey, Reese Humphreys-Wadsworth, Rick Brown, Sarah Trawick, Samuel Lagasa, Sharon Thiesen, Sean Baines, Steve Williams, Creepy Girl, Tisha Black, and Zach Jackson.