Ulysses S. Grant may have won the Civil War, but he couldn’t conquer a frigid threat to his second presidential inauguration.
Let’s face it, a president’s second swearing-in rarely matches the excitement of the first. People are easily bored by repetition. Second marriages, second mortgages, even second helpings of casserole all have a “been there, done that” feel to them.
Organizers gave it their best shot. They planned events filled with Victorian Era pomp and pageantry. Yet the bugaboo that haunts seasonal outdoor events made everything fall apart in a spectacular disaster.
When the sun rose on Tuesday, March 4, 1873 (presidential inaugurations weren’t held on January 20 until 1937), the temperature was a glacial 4 degrees Fahrenheit. When President Grant took the oath on the Capitol’s East Portico at noon, the mercury had only climbed to 20. (It still holds the record for the coldest March day ever in Washington, D.C.)
The wind howled across Capitol Hill so loudly, even people on the platform couldn’t hear Grant’s Inaugural Address. And the wind chill made it feel like 30 below zero.
A thoughtful person might have considered pulling the plug on the inaugural parade. But not Grant. He was Old Army, after all. So what if it was a little cold? Tough it out! Thus, the parade went ahead as planned, and the Arctic blast took its toll. West Point cadets and Annapolis midshipmen hadn’t been provided overcoats. Several collapsed from hypothermia.
Grant did contribute to inauguration history by reviewing the parade from the White House. Until then, the emphasis had been on the procession that escorted the president-elect to Capitol Hill. From Grant onward, it shifted to the post-inauguration parade. The minute it was over, everyone rushed indoors and warmed up. They needed their strength, because the greatest fiasco was yet to come.
Ever since the first Inaugural Ball was held for James Madison in 1809, the gala had grown larger and larger, causing increasing headaches for organizers. By 1833, two balls were needed for Andrew Jackson. William Henry Harrison had three in 1841. Grant’s first ball in 1869 was held in the Treasury Building’s northern wing. But even that wasn’t large enough. So organizers went big this time. They constructed a temporary wooden structure in Judiciary Square to hold everyone under one roof. It was a good plan and it might have worked, too, if planners hadn’t skipped one tiny detail.
The building had no heating system. But since Grant hadn’t canceled the parade, there was no way he would pull the plug on the big ball.
So official Washington bundled up in overcoats and gloves, mufflers and scarves, put on their party faces and plunged into one of the most miserable social affairs ever held in the capital.
Folks could barely dance with all those outer garments. There wasn’t much music anyway: It was so cold some instruments wouldn’t play. Eating wasn’t an option since champagne froze and the food was blocks of ice. And that wasn’t the worst part.
Some planner lost to history decided chirping from cages with hundreds of canaries perched overhead would add extra gaiety to the evening. But it only produced added misery. The bitter temperature killed many of the little birds. More than 100 frozen corpses dropped on horrified partiers.
That was the last straw. At midnight, the ball’s hosts ran up the white flag and sent everyone home.
Grant’s second inauguration was a disaster from start to finish, and it proved a fitting start for his equally disastrous second term. Though personally honest, he surrounded himself with scoundrels whose corruption caused scandals. Reconstruction turned especially ugly, and Grant’s party lost control of Congress in the 1874 midterms.
At least the lesson of Grant’s frozen debacle wasn’t lost on subsequent inaugurations. When the mercury plunged to 7 degrees for Reagan’s 1985 second swearing-in (the coldest January 20 inauguration ever), the oath was administered indoors, the parade was canceled, and his inaugural balls (all nine of them) were snugly held inside buildings with central heat.
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.
