Opinions

A look at McKinley, the man growing smaller in Denali's rearview mirror

Alaskans, especially Alaska Natives, greeted President Obama's restoration of the name Denali from Mount McKinley in August with applause. Yes, William McKinley had been president, Alaskans conceded with a shrug, but he played no role in Alaska history.

Before the last shadow of the name "McKinley" disappears from North America's highest peak, let's pause to recognize him as a man who not only became president but made a powerful impression on the Americans of his time.

McKinley was born in Niles, Ohio, in 1843, the seventh of nine children. His parents were strict Methodists to whom sin was a living threat -- no card playing, no dancing, no drinking. McKinley grew up sheltered, and his lack of worldliness extended into his twenties. Presented with a cup of ice cream, the law student confessed he didn't know what it was.

At 18, McKinley joined the Union army and fought in the Civil War as a cavalryman. Infrequently under fire, he showed bravery on the occasions demanding it. He rose to major in part through his performance, in part through frank ambition. McKinley was determined to rise.

After the war, he entered the practice of law in Canton, Ohio, and then Republican politics, becoming a congressman, the governor of Ohio and president of the United States -- victor in the presidential elections of 1896 and 1900.

Today, McKinley receives attention from scholars of presidential assassinations, the Spanish-American War and the role of big money in politics. He was the third president assassinated between 1865 and 1901, the president who led the nation into war with Spain before presiding over an America empire extending from Puerto Rico to the Philippines and the beneficiary of the largesse of plutocrats -- organized by his friend, Ohio industrialist Mark Hanna -- who showered his presidential campaigns with cash, twice ensuring the defeat of Democrat William Jennings Bryan.

McKinley lived in an era of emerging mass media. There are tens of thousands of newspaper and magazine stories about him, often accompanied by photographs. There also is film, easy to find on YouTube.

ADVERTISEMENT

The family history, the political history, the news stories, photos, film did not prepare me for the central judgment Margaret Leech passed on him in her Pulitzer-Prize winning biography "In the Days of McKinley." Writing in the 1950s, when men and women who encountered McKinley still could be found, Leech concluded he had achieved something rare for any man -- McKinley was widely beloved.

Ronald Reagan is another example of a president beloved, but Reagan seems to have been a wholesaler. McKinley was a retailer.

McKinley was not a tall, handsome man who became an exceptional orator and stage presence. Rather, he was of medium height for his time, sturdily built with a steady voice that reinforced his solid appearance. One on one, he achieved an intimacy White House visitors found magical. Through words, gestures and bearing, he momentarily convinced his callers they were the center of the universe.

As president, McKinley presided over a national web of patronage, and especially early in his first term, he spent days hearing petitioners for government jobs. He eventually began to feel disdain for this routine, particularly the necessity of telling petitioners "no," "no" and "no" time and again. But he never revealed his feelings. People who walked away with no ringing in their ears were not angry at McKinley. They felt sorry for him as he seemed wounded by his inability to satisfy his supplicants. This phenomenon was recorded too many times to be disbelieved.

How did he do it? He may have been an exceptional actor, but more importantly, he had a generous heart and a sweet temperament. His heart and temperament were reflected in the care he gave his wife, Ida, an invalid who suffered from epilepsy. The president was never far from her, always at her call.

McKinley had the ability to talk about duty, honor, country without sounding stuffy. After accepting an administrative position in the Philippines, William Howard Taft, a future president, said, "I went under the influence of Mr. McKinley's personality, the influence he had of making people do what they ought to do in the interest of public service."

McKinley's intellect did not match his temperament. His IQ was certainly adequate, but biographer Leech believes that by the time he began practicing law, he assumed he knew everything necessary to succeed. He wasn't a reader, he wasn't a writer beyond memos and speeches. He lacked curiosity and imagination. Prayer was more congenial to him than rigorous intellectual analysis.

As president, he spent more time focusing on the Pacific than any of his predecessors. What to do about Hawaii, the Philippines, China? McKinley wanted to behave honorably while protecting American interests, especially business interests. At times his words and deeds were contradictory.

He had a similar difficulty in addressing the "trusts" -- the giant companies symbolized by men like John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie and Mark Hanna. McKinley could see the injustice of amassed wealth and the abuses that followed, but he was not willing to act. Taming the trust went against his vision of the American way, which seemed fair to him if business provided workers with a full dinner pail.

McKinley was shot and killed in Buffalo, New York, in September 1901 while attending the Pan-American Exposition. He was 58. The killer was a deranged anarchist who easily evaded McKinley's modest security. On Sept. 14, Vice President Theodore Roosevelt was sworn in as his successor.

Seven hundred Indian chiefs and braves, including Geronimo, were in Buffalo for an Indian Congress, part of the exposition. Leech says they painted their faces and filed past the flower-banked casket, leaving a "crudely lettered square of pasteboard" on which they expressed their grief.

"The rainbow of Hope is out of the sky. Heavy clouds hang about us. Tears wet the ground of the tepees. The palefaces are in sorrow. The Great Chief of the Nation is dead. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!"

Michael Carey is an Alaska Dispatch News columnist.

The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com. Send submissions shorter than 200 words to letters@alaskadispatch.com or click here to submit via any web browser.

Michael Carey

Michael Carey is an occasional columnist and the former editorial page editor of the Anchorage Daily News.

ADVERTISEMENT