It had stopped snowing when Franklin Pierce stepped onto the Capitol’s East Portico on March 4, 1853. A large crowd huddled below, eager to witness him become president of the United States.
It should have been the happiest moment of President Pierce’s life. Instead, it came amid his darkest period. While he managed to make inauguration history, his ceremony was notable for who wasn’t there.
To understand how Pierce wound up in that unpleasant predicament, it’s important to remember he never sought the presidency in the first place.
The darkly handsome and charismatic 48-year-old New Hampshire native was the youngest person to become president up to that time. He got on the fast track early and zoomed upward: lawyer, state legislator, congressman, senator, Mexican-American War general. His future seemed limitless. There was just one problem.
His devoutly religious wife hated two things Pierce loved: politics and drinking. (His opponents snidely called him “The Hero of Many Bottles.”) The couple fought — a lot. Their first two children died early, leaving only Benjamin: bright, bubbly “Benny,” the one joy they shared.
Pierce left politics in 1842 to practice law. That should have been the end of his story. Instead, the presidency came to him.
Democrats were growing increasingly divided over slavery. Their 1852 national convention was a bitter, ugly, deadlocked affair. Someone finally suggested Pierce as a compromise candidate, chiefly because he’d been gone from Washington for a decade and hadn’t offended anyone on either side. He was nominated on the 49th ballot. Informed he had become the Democratic standard-bearer, Pierce was astonished. Jane fainted. And things only got worse from there.
After winning a resounding victory that November, Pierce coaxed an extremely reluctant Jane into going to Washington by convincing her it was best for Benny’s education.
Six weeks before Inauguration Day, the family was taking a train trip when the unimaginable happened. An axle broke, their car tumbled down an embankment, and 11-year-old Benny was killed before his parents’ eyes. He was the accident’s only fatality. The Pierces had just lost their last child.
Jane was inconsolable. Thinking Benny’s death may have been God’s judgment for Pierce’s willingness to become president, she refused to accompany him to Washington.
So Pierce was alone on the Capitol portico that Friday afternoon in 1853. Even incoming Vice President William R. King was missing. He was dying of tuberculosis in Cuba. (Congress passed a special act allowing him to be sworn-in on foreign soil, but he died soon afterward.)
Pierce contributed to inauguration history by becoming the first president to affirm his oath rather than swear to it, placing his hand on a law book rather than a Bible. He also was the only president who ever delivered his inaugural address from memory.
But as Pierce spoke, the snow returned, heavier than before. The crowd finally gave up and went home. Only a handful of people remained at the end. The weather grew so bad the inaugural parade was scrubbed. Pierce had already nixed holding an inaugural ball out of respect for Benny. So, that was simply that.
In one last bit of misfortune, outgoing first lady Abigail Fillmore had dutifully endured the frigid ceremony from start to finish. She caught a cold that turned into pneumonia and died before month’s end.
Pierce assembled one of the best Cabinets in history. It was a good thing because they played a crucial role in keeping the federal government running over the next four years. Paralyzed by grief, Pierce was little more than a caretaker president. He spent much time alone, drowning his sorrow in alcohol.
Jane moved into the White House two years later, but was practically an upstairs ghost. She rarely attended social functions (appearing only briefly when she did), preferring to stay in her bedroom and write tearful letters to her dead children.
Historians rate Pierce among our worst presidents for failing to stop the nation’s slide into civil war. But given his enormous burden, could anyone else have done better?
J. Mark Powell is a former broadcast journalist and government communicator. His weekly offbeat look at our forgotten past, “Holy Cow! History,” can be read at jmarkpowell.com. Thinking of submitting an op-ed to the Washington Examiner? Be sure to read our guidelines on submissions.
