Elihu Root American Statesman

 

Elihu Root might not be a household name today, but in his day, he was the ultimate behind-the-scenes power player—a lawyer, diplomat, and statesman who helped shape American policy. Known as a “lawyer’s lawyer,” Root’s career was a masterclass in how to wield power with grace and intellect.

Born in Clinton, New York, on February 15, 1845, Elihu Root was the son of a college professor and grew up in a world steeped in academia and high expectations. Root attended Hamilton College before going on to New York University School of Law. He quickly made a name for himself in the legal world, becoming one of the most sought-after attorneys in New York City. His skill in navigating complex legal cases caught the attention of powerful figures, and soon, Root was rubbing shoulders with the political elite.

He got his big break came in 1899 when President William McKinley appointed him as Secretary of War. Root took on the job with his characteristic diligence, overseeing the U.S. Army during the Philippine-American War and implemented crucial reforms that modernized the military. He reorganized the National Guard, established military schools like the Army War College, and laid the groundwork for what would become the modern U.S. Army. Root was so successful that President Theodore Roosevelt kept him on in the same role.

In 1905, he was appointed Secretary of State, and this is where he really shined. Root used his legal acumen to negotiate treaties and build alliances. He played a key role in improving U.S. relations with Latin America, promoting the idea of “Pan-Americanism,” which aimed at fostering cooperation among the countries of the Americas. He also worked to smooth over tensions with Japan and helped lay the groundwork for the eventual establishment of The Hague’s Permanent Court of Arbitration.

In 1912, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts in international diplomacy and arbitration. Not bad for a guy who started out as a small-town lawyer!

After leaving the State Department, Root became a U.S. Senator from New York, where he continued to influence American policy, particularly in foreign affairs. He was a staunch advocate for international law and was instrumental in the founding of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, an organization dedicated to advancing peace through education and diplomacy.

Root served as the president of the American Bar Association and was a trustee of several universities, including his alma mater, Hamilton College. His commitment to public service and education was unwavering, and he remained active in these fields well into his later years.

Elihu Root passed away in 1937 at 92, leaving behind a legacy of diplomacy, legal reform, and public service. While he might not have the name recognition of some of his contemporaries, Root’s impact on American and international policy is undeniable. He was a man who believed in the power of reason, the rule of law.

President William Howard Taft

 

When you think of William Howard Taft, two things probably come to mind: he was the 27th President of the United States and the infamous story about him getting stuck in the White House bathtub. But there’s more to Taft than those headlines.

Born on September 15, 1857, in Cincinnati, Ohio, Taft grew up in a politically connected family. His father, Alphonso Taft, served as Secretary of War and Attorney General under President Ulysses S. Grant. Young Will, as he was known, was a smart and affable kid, but wasn’t particularly interested in politics.

He had his sights set on the law. After graduating from Yale, Taft studied law and quickly made a name for himself as a talented lawyer and judge.

Taft’s legal career was impressive—he served as a federal judge and the first civilian governor of the Philippines after the Spanish-American War. But it was his close relationship with President Theodore Roosevelt that set him on the path to the White House. Roosevelt and Taft were good friends, and when Roosevelt’s second term ended, he handpicked Taft as his successor, expecting him to carry on his progressive legacy.

Taft won the presidency in 1908, but his time in office wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Taft struggled to live up to the larger-than-life persona of his predecessor. He was more cautious and less dynamic than Roosevelt, which didn’t win him any points with the more progressive members of the Republican Party. Still, Taft’s presidency wasn’t without its achievements—he busted trusts, supported the establishment of the income tax, and made strides in civil service reform.

Taft’s biggest challenge as president was his personality. He found the constant demands of the presidency exhausting and often longed to return to the more predictable world of law and order. His reluctance to play the political game led to a rift with Roosevelt, who felt Taft betrayed the progressive cause. In 1912, Roosevelt challenged Taft for the presidency, leading to a bitter three-way race between Taft, Roosevelt, and Woodrow Wilson. The split in the Republican Party handed the election to Wilson, and Taft’s presidency ended after just one term.

Taft got his dream job in 1921 when President Warren G. Harding appointed him as Chief Justice of the United States, making him the only person to have served as both President and Chief Justice. That put Taft back in his element, and he thrived in his new role, serving on the Supreme Court until shortly before his death in 1930.

Author Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

 My whole infatuation with Kurt Vonnegut got its start in the men’s room at Clinton High School. I was doing that thing you don’t talk about (and no—I wasn’t yanking my wankie) when I looked up and saw the writing on the wall...

 

He who writes on shit house walls

Rolls his shit in little balls.

He who reads these words of wit, 

Eat these little balls of shit.

 

Months later, I would discover it was some graffitist’s take on a line from God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, by Kurt Vonnegut. The actual line read...

 

“Those who write on Heaven’s walls should mold their shit in little balls. And those who read these lines of wit should eat these little balls of shit.”

 

I never much liked poetry, but there’s something about that little ditty that stuck in my head for the past forty years. It’s down and dirty. It’s in your face. It’s a polite way of saying stay out of my shit.

 In At The Existentialist Cafe, Sarah Bakewe talked about how reading Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre changed her life. Maybe not for the better, because it encouraged her to skip more classes and eventually to drop out of school, but because it got through to her. It gave her a whack on the side of the head and made her want to learn more about philosophy, existentialism, and what it all means.

 Vonnegut had that same effect on kids in the Sixties and Seventies. Here was this tall, soft-spoken, mustachioed man, trying to come to grips with his nightmares of the war, the bomb, failing families, loneliness, and the ever-changing world about him.

 His words personified American youth in the sixties and seventies.

Actress Julia Marlowe

 

Julia Marlowe, born Sarah Frances Frost on August 17, 1865, in Cumberland, England, became one of America’s most beloved Shakespearean actresses during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Her journey from a small English town to the pinnacle of American theater is a story of immense talent, determination, and a deep love for the stage.

Her family moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, when she was four, and Julia quickly found herself drawn to the theater. As a young girl, she acted in school plays and local amateur productions, charming everyone with her natural flair for acting. Her parents encouraged her to pursue the stage, so when she was 12, Marlowe began performing with a local amateur troupe, getting a taste of life on stage.

Julia’s first break came in 1879 when she toured the country with the “Emerald Vases,” a juvenile acting company. Although the production wasn’t a runaway success, it gave Marlowe invaluable experience and solidified her passion for the theater.

In 1887, Julia made her New York debut in Ingomar, the Barbarian. Audiences were dazzled with her vibrant and fresh interpretation of Parthenia.

One of Julia’s earliest triumphs came in 1887 when she took on the role of Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Her portrayal was nothing short of magical. She brought Juliet to life in a way that resonated deeply with audiences. The New York Times said she made Juliet’s heartbreak even more poignant with her delicate yet powerful performance. This role marked the beginning of her reign as one of the foremost Shakespearean actresses of her time.

But Julia wasn’t one to rest on her laurels. She continued challenging herself, taking on a variety of roles, each one showcasing a different facet of her immense talent.

Her portrayal of Viola in Twelfth Night in 1894 showed a delightful blend of wit, charm, and emotional depth. The Boston Evening Transcript described it as a “tour de force of comedic timing and emotional resonance.” Julia had a knack for bringing a fresh, modern sensibility to her roles, and Viola was no exception.

Lillian Russell on Life, Love, and Acting

Everyone thinks of Lillian Russell as this mysterious beauty with the golden voice, but in her childhood, she remembered herself as the ugly duckling of the family. “I was the reckless, tow-headed brat,” said Russell, “who got into all the mischief and scrapes.” She frequently ran away and beat up neighborhood boys just to “prove to them that women were men’s equal.” But that might not have been all her fault. Russell’s mom was a trailblazing woman’s suffrage advocate and made sure her daughter knew women were the equal of any man.

 In 1905, Lillian told Theater Magazine beauty was a double-edged sword. “If a woman gets the reputation of being a professional beauty, it is hard work to live up to it. She must keep herself up to her standard. She must never lapse from the standard the public has set for her.” 

 Beauty was a common theme in Lillian Russell’s life. She often talked about it, but just as often poked fun at it. “The neighbors out in Clinton, Iowa, used to tell my parents that I was a good-looking youngster,” she said. “But you can never put your trust in the neighbors. They may merely be paving the way to borrow the mower or the clothes wringer.” People are funny that way.

 In another article, she spoke of beauty as a great drawback. People often wrote her off as brainless. Then, when she said something tactful, they would say, “I had no idea you were so clever,” and looked at her as a precocious child or freak. 

 However, the worst part of being beautiful was being forced to live up to yesterday’s standards. If she didn’t do her hair just right, or her makeup was a little off, people would point and say, “That’s Lillian Russell. She’s not at all beautiful when you’re close to her.”

 

Robert Fulton's Steamboat Clermont Changed Transportation in America

When Robert Fulton launched the *Clermont* in 1807, he didn’t just set a boat afloat—he set the wheels of progress in motion, changing the course of history and revolutionizing transportation forever. The story of Fulton’s invention of the steamboat is a tale of innovation, determination, and a little bit of showmanship.

Born in Pennsylvania in 1765, Robert Fulton wasn’t always destined to be an engineer. He started out as a painter, but his passion for mechanics and innovation soon took over. After a brief stay in Europe, where he dabbled in designing canals and early submarines, Fulton turned his attention to steam-powered boats. The concept wasn’t entirely new—people had been tinkering with steam engines for a while—but no one had found a way to make them practical and efficient for regular use on the water until Fulton came along.

Enter the Clermont, the brainchild of Fulton’s engineering genius and financial backing from Robert Livingston, a wealthy American diplomat who saw the potential in steam navigation. Fulton’s design was a carefully thought-out plan that combined a sturdy hull with a reliable steam engine, no small feat in the early 19th century. As a result, he faced his share of skeptics, who thought the whole idea was little more than a bit of hot air.

But Fulton wasn’t about to let a few naysayers rain on his parade. On August 17, 1807, the Clermont was ready for her maiden voyage, set to travel from New York City to Albany on the Hudson River. The 150-mile journey was a bold move, considering most people had never seen a boat move without the help of wind or human muscle. And let’s not forget, this wasn’t just any river cruise—Fulton had invited the who’s who of New York society to witness the event. The pressure was on.

As the Clermont fired up her engine and began chugging upriver, the spectators on the banks were reportedly stunned into silence. Some were in awe, others in disbelief, and a few even panicked, convinced that the devil himself powered this strange contraption. But as the Clermont gained speed, reaching a then-astonishing five miles per hour, it became clear Fulton had pulled off a remarkable fete.

The journey to Albany took around 32 hours, including an overnight stop, but it was a resounding success. The Clermont marked the beginning of a new era in transportation. By proving steam-powered boats could be efficient and reliable, Fulton opened new possibilities for trade, travel, and commerce, particularly along America’s vast network of rivers and canals. The steamboat quickly became the backbone of the burgeoning American economy, facilitating the movement of goods and people at speeds that had never been possible before.

Fulton’s Clermont wasn’t perfect—she was noisy, clunky, and far from luxurious—but she was a game-changer. Over the next few years, Fulton and others refined the design, and steamboats crisscrossed America’s waterways, from the Hudson to the Mississippi, transforming the landscape and knitting the young nation together in ways previously unimaginable.

But what really made Fulton a legend wasn’t just his technical know-how—it was his vision. He saw the potential for steam power to revolutionize more than just transportation. He foresaw a future where steam engines would drive industry, commerce, and innovation on a scale hard to imagine in his time. And while the Clermont may have been his most famous creation, Fulton’s legacy is much larger, encompassing the very idea of progress itself.

Explorer Henry Hudson

 

Born around 1565, Henry Hudson grew up in a world obsessed with finding new trade routes, particularly the elusive Northwest Passage—a supposed shortcut from Europe to Asia through the Arctic. It was the ultimate prize for any explorer, and Hudson was determined to find it or die trying.

In 1607, he set sail on his first big expedition, aiming to find a northern passage over the top of the world. Spoiler alert: he didn’t find it. Instead, he ran into a lot of ice. Undeterred, Hudson tried again the next year. And guess what? More ice. But Hudson wasn’t about to let a little frostbite stop him.

By 1609, Hudson was working for the Dutch East India Company and changed tactics. Instead of going north, he sailed west across the Atlantic, hoping to find a passage through North America. This time, he stumbled upon a big river. Not just any river, but the mighty one that would later be named the Hudson River in his honor. Hudson explored the river all the way to what is now Albany, New York, paving the way for Dutch colonization in the region.

In 1610, he embarked on his final and most fateful voyage, this time under the English flag. He ventured into what we now know as Hudson Bay, thinking he might have finally found the long-sought passage. But winter was coming, and it wasn’t just ice that threatened Hudson this time—it was his own crew.

Trapped in the bay by the freezing weather, tensions ran high. The crew, fed up with the harsh conditions and Hudson’s relentless pursuit of the nonexistent passage, mutinied. In a tragic turn of events, Hudson, his teenage son, and a handful of loyal crew members were set adrift in a small boat, never to be seen again. The mutineers made it back to England, but Hudson’s fate remains one of history’s great mysteries.

Despite his tragic end, Henry Hudson’s name lives on. He may not have found the Northwest Passage, but he opened unknown parts of the world to exploration and helped set the stage for European colonization in North America. So, the next time you find yourself crossing the Hudson River or hearing about Hudson Bay, remember the man who got lost trying to find a shortcut but ended up making his mark on history, anyway.

Actress Marie Tempest (Part 2)

 

Imagine the bright lights of London’s West End, the roar of the crowd, and at the center of it all, a woman who could make you laugh, cry, and fall in love with the theater all over again. Marie Tempest was an actress, trailblazer, and the undisputed Queen of the Stage.

Mary Susan Etherington, born in London on July 15, 1864, was destined for greatness, though you wouldn’t have known it from the start. Her father was a clergyman and expected his daughter to follow a more traditional path. But Mary had a spark, a twinkle in her eye, and a voice like no other.

Mary’s parents sent her off to the Royal Academy of Music to train as a classical singer. That was the plan, but the thing about plans is they often change, especially when young girls and the theater are thrown into the mix. A few short years later, Mary changed her name to Marie Tempest—stepped onto the stage, and there was no turning back.

Fast forward to 1885. Marie Tempest, age 21, was about to make her mark on the world of musical theater in Dorothy, a light-hearted operetta by Alfred Cellier. And then, the magic happened. Dorothy ran for over 900 performances. Marie dazzled audiences with her voice, her charm, and a stage presence that was impossible to ignore. Overnight, she became the darling of London’s West End.

Actress Marie Tempest (Part 1)

 

Marie Tempest was a bundle of contradictions. A dramatic actress, a comedienne, and a woman trying desperately to be taken seriously.

She toyed with reporter Cecil Chisholm while trying to make a point about women’s suffrage.

“You don’t suppose that the little feather-brained dolls are ever fascinating.” Tempest batted her eyes at the reporter. “There are women who shouldn’t have a vote, you know. There are far too many people with a vote already.” Of course, she didn’t say it, but implied men are calculated in this equation.

“And how would you choose your voters in Marie Tempest-land?”

“By examination, of course.” The starlet winked at him, explaining potential voters should be tested on history, politics, and other important issues of the day.

“Well, er . . . aren’t you thinking the impossible—a rational education?”

Tempest shook her head, implying she was done with the subject.

From there, the conversation turned to acting. Marie couldn’t understand young kids today. They just wanted to get on stage and be done with it. She felt rehearsal was more important than acting. It’s how you learn, grow, and develop your part. Unfortunately, too many of the young actresses she worked with dismissed rehearsing as unnecessary and a waste of time.

Marie laughed at the idea of becoming an overnight success. “A good comic singer is born, not made.” So, the preparation is “endless, calling for years of the closest study before even a slight success can be achieved.”

Actress Ada Rehan

 

Ada Rehan was born to be in the spotlight. The Irish-born beauty who dominated American theater with her charisma, wit, and fiery performances was nothing short of a sensation. Rehan could set the stage ablaze with a single glance and leave audiences begging for more.

Born on April 22, 1857, in Limerick, Ireland, Ada Crehan (she dropped the ‘C’ later for that extra flair) moved to America as a child. The theater bug bit her early, and by the age of 16, she was already treading the boards. But it wasn’t until she joined forces with the infamous theatrical manager Augustin Daly that Ada became a superstar.

Daly’s Fifth Avenue Theatre became Ada’s kingdom, and she ruled it with an iron hand. She quickly became the leading lady of his repertory company, dazzling audiences with her versatility and magnetic stage presence. Whether she was playing Shakespeare’s sassy heroines or leading the charge in contemporary comedies, Ada made every role uniquely her own. Let’s just say, when Ada Rehan was on stage, you knew you were in for a wild ride.

Ada wasn’t just a powerhouse on stage; she was known for her off-stage antics and a string of romantic escapades that kept the gossip mills churning.

Marilyn Monroe The Blonde Bombshell

 

Marilyn Monroe was the ultimate symbol of glamor, sex appeal, and star power. Her life was a rollercoaster of fame, fortune, and controversy. But behind that dazzling smile and sultry eyes was a woman whose life was as dramatic as any blockbuster film.

Born Norma Jeane Mortenson on June 1, 1926, in Los Angeles, Marilyn’s early life was anything but glamorous. She bounced around foster homes. By the time she was a teenager, Marilyn had already married her first husband, Jim Dougherty. But let’s be real—Marilyn wasn’t cut out to be a homemaker. She quickly caught the eye of photographers, and it wasn’t long before she was striking a pose as a model.

Marilyn’s rise to fame was meteoric. After a few minor roles, she scored the lead in the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Her iconic performance of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” made Marilyn a household name, and she soon became Hollywood’s ultimate sex symbol.

But being the world’s most desired woman wasn’t all diamonds and designer gowns. Marilyn’s love life grabbed many of the headlines. She tied the knot three times, but each marriage was more tumultuous than the last. Her second husband, baseball legend Joe DiMaggio, was reportedly obsessed with Marilyn—but not in a healthy, romantic way. It’s said he was insanely jealous of her fame and the men chased after her. Their marriage ended in less than a year, but the drama didn’t stop there.

General Fighting Joe Hooker

 

Everyone called Joseph Hooker Fighting Joe, but he was never comfortable with that sobriquet. “It sounds to me like a fighting fool,” he said. “People will think I’m a highwayman or a bandit.”

His men liked him well enough, but his fellow officers had their doubts. Hooker often spoke before he thought. He called Lincoln “incompetent” and proclaimed the saving hope of the country required a “military dictatorship.”

The day before Lincoln appointed Hooker commander-in-chief, Ambrose Burnside recommended that the president dismiss him from the military. He accused Hooker of creating dissent among his fellow officers and suggested he was nothing but a big bugaboo who “made statements which were calculated to create incorrect impressions.”

Like many of his fellow West Point classmates, Hooker fought in the Mexican and Seminole Wars, then resigned from the peacetime army hoping to find success in civilian life. He tried his hand at farming, real estate speculation, and even took a crack at politics in California, but nothing seemed to work for him.

When the civil war broke out, Hooker rejoined the army as a brigadier general and served at Williamsburg, South Mountain, and then at Antietam.

Everyone agreed, Joseph Hooker cut the most dashing figure in the Union army. He was tall and handsome, with big blue eyes and long flowing blonde hair. If that didn’t make him stick out like a sore thumb, picture the general dashing everywhere on the battlefield sitting astride a big white stallion.

General John Pope appeared to have a man-crush on Hooker. “He remembered him as a handsome young man, with a florid complexion and fair hair, and with a figure agile and graceful.” As a corps commander, with his whole force operating under his own eye,” said Pope, “it is much to be doubted whether Hooker had a superior in the army.”

 

General George McClellan in the Civil War

 

Ulysses S. Grant captured the essence of General George McClellan when he said, “McClellan to me is one of the mysteries of the war.” If only he’d been more decisive, more eager to fight, and less worried about the size of the forces opposing him. If only he enjoyed a better relationship with Abraham Lincoln.

There were so many what ifs, so many could have beens, and should have beens.

 We’ll never know what McClellan could have accomplished. Instead, we know where he went wrong

Lincoln appointed George McClellan general-in-chief of the Union Army in November 1861. After five months of inaction, he removed McClellan as general-in-chief on March 11th but left him in command of the Army of the Potomac. 

 Six days later McClellan began his Peninsular campaign setting in motion the largest-ever American expeditionary force. After a series of battles, McClellan came within four miles of reaching Richmond. Then things began to unravel. 

 Joseph Johnston attacked McClellan’s army at Seven Pines and Fair Oaks when the Union army was fractured by flooding on the Chickahominy River. Shortly after that, Johnston got injured in the fighting, and Robert E. Lee took command of the Army of Northern Virginia.

 That was a game-changer. 

 Lee threw his forces at McClellan in a series of battles that became known as the Seven Day’s Battles. McClellan’s phobia of being out manned got the better of him. He imagined he was up against 200,000 men, over twice as many as the 85,000 troops Lee had. When he was convinced that he could not take Richmond, McClellan withdrew his troops to a safer position.

 Meanwhile, while McClellan dawdled in the Peninsula, Lee thrashed General John Pope at the Second Battle of Bull Run. After that, Lincoln put McClellan in charge of the fortifications and troops surrounding Washington. In doing so, he harbored many doubts. “To entrust to him the rescue of the army from its demoralization was a good deal, like curing the bite with the hair of the dog,” said Lincoln.

 Two months later, McClellan battled Robert E. Lee at South Mountain and Antietam—then decided his army was too weak to chase down Lee’s beaten army. Abraham Lincoln grew incensed, calling the Army of the Potomac “McClellan’s bodyguard.” When McClellan repeatedly refused to give battle, Lincoln replaced him with Ambrose Burnside.

 That opened the door for Burnside’s defeat at Fredericksburg.

General Winfield Scott in the Civil War Anaconda Plan

 

Lieutenant General Winfield Scott was better known to his men as “old fuss n feathers,” and the name fit him perfectly. Scott was as close as the Americans had to a genuine hero. He had fought with distinction in the War of 1812 and the Mexican War. In 1832, he completed the treaty ending the Black Hawk War that purchased six million acres from the Sac and Fox nations. Scott enforced Andrew Jackson’s Indian Removal policy during that same decade and removed the rest of the Five Civilized Tribes to Indian Territory west of the Mississippi River. No American military commander other than George Washington had accomplished so much.

 

Winfield Scott was a corpulent, seventy-three-year-old worrywart when the Civil War rolled around. Everything had to be just so for the old general. So, he planned everything down to the last detail and prepared for every contingency.

 

When Abraham Lincoln asked Scott to draw up a plan for the war, he created the Anaconda Plan. Like the slithery South American serpent, it would wrap its coils around the Confederacy and slowly strangle them into submission.

 

The Anaconda Plan combined a blockade of Southern ports by the navy and a joint army and navy campaign down the Mississippi, and then to control New Orleans and the Mississippi River. Its object was to split the Confederacy in half and squeeze them like an Anaconda snake.

 

The problem was that Scott’s plan was overly ambitious and did not mesh with the administration’s policies for the war. It required the Union to patrol over 3500 miles of coastal land from Virginia to Mexico, an almost impossible task for a navy with only eighty-two vessels.

 

No one doubted General Scott’s plan was good or would get the job done. Unfortunately, the Anaconda Plan was too much like the old general himself. It was slow, fat, and hungry, and it would take forever to get results.

 

And, if there was one thing Abraham Lincoln did not have, it was time. Lincoln’s entire game plan counted on a short, bloodless conflict that would wind up within ninety days. At the end of that time, Lincoln expected both sides would shake hands and carry on as if nothing had happened.

Surrender at Appomattox Court House April 9, 1865

 

On April 9, 1865, Robert E. Lee, commander of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, met with Union General Ulysses S. Grant in the parlor of the McLean House in Appomattox, Virginia, to discuss the terms of surrender.

Grant offered generous terms, allowing the Confederate soldiers to return home with their horses, which were essential for the upcoming planting season, and officers could keep their sidearms. This magnanimity helped ease tensions and laid the groundwork for the nation’s reunification.

The surrender at Appomattox didn’t end the Civil War, but it effectively sealed the Confederacy’s fate. Other Confederate forces soon followed Lee’s lead in the weeks that followed. The moment at Appomattox symbolized not just the conclusion of military hostilities, but also the beginning of the long and challenging process of Reconstruction, as the nation sought to heal from the wounds of war.

Today, Appomattox Court House stands as a national historical park, preserved to commemorate this turning point in American history. Visitors can walk the grounds where the surrender took place and reflect on the sacrifices made by both sides.