Sunday, April 29, 2012

Flashback, April 1812: George Clinton Death Starts VP Melee


The greatest gift Mitt Romney may have received by sewing up the GOP primaries at this point is time—not merely time to build fences to his party’s restless right wing, but to vet his potential Vice-Presidential running mate. His overriding rule should be to observe the Hippocratic dictum, “First, do no harm.”

The Democratic-Republican Party of Thomas Jefferson and his allies did not adhere to this precept. Even the “Father of the Constitution,” James Madison, Jefferson’s lieutenant and eventual successor in the White House, disregarded it to his peril, paying no attention to the necessity of stability in the Vice-Presidency, and 200 years ago this month he experienced some of the consequences of that failure.

The death of 72-year-old George Clinton on April 20, 1812 removed one headache for Madison—what to do with a running mate, once a workhorse of the party, now more of a broken-down nag, who could not be counted to take his side. At the same time, this first Vice-President to die in office opened another issue: how to avoid another running mate too old/unfit/unsuited for the job, let alone succeeding to the Presidency in an emergency.

It’s one of the ironies of American history that a politician who figured in every national election from 1788 to 1808 is now nearly entirely forgotten by the public. (Quick: Did Trivial Pursuit ever feature him as the subject of a question? Jeopardy? Cash Cab?)  Say the name “George Clinton”—heck, even type it into Google—and you’re likely to get all the information you want about a certain musician, but comparatively less on the man who who inaugurated a tradition: New York governors who looked in their mirror and glimpsed a future President. (Maybe a few names will give you the idea: DeWitt Clinton--George's nephew--William H. Seward, Theodore and Franklin Roosevelt, Thomas Dewey, Nelson Rockefeller, Mario and Andrew Cuomo...)

It’s a further irony that, because of the pathological fear of a repetition of the election of 1800—a Vice-Presidential candidate with enough appeal of his own to constitute a threat to the ticket’s head in a disputed contest—Jefferson and his party helped mold a system in which the running mate became a toothless, superannuated nonentity.

The politician who had given Jefferson such a bad scare, Aaron Burr, could not have presented a more vivid contrast with his successor. He might have been a rogue who shot Alexander Hamilton in a duel, but when he bid farewell to the Senate over which he had presided in his single term as Vice-President, the urbane Burr left hardly a dry eye in the chamber with his vigor and eloquence.

The Senate couldn’t have been more disappointed by his successor. There was, for one thing, Clinton's voice—which might have been  readily audible on Revolutionary War battlefields he commanded 30 years before, or in the New York legislatures he dominated as a governor—but had diminished in volume in the Senate. Moreover, his social and listening skills were poor, as noted by the inveterate diarist of the Senate, the Federalist William Plumer of New Hampshire:

The Vice President preserves very little order in the Senate. If he ever had, he certainly has not now, the requisite qualifications of a presiding officer. Age has impaired his mental powers. The conversation and noise to day in our lobby was greater than I ever suffered when moderator of a town meeting. It prevented us from hearing the arguments of the Speaker. He frequently, at least he has more than once, declared bills at the third reading when they had been read but once—Puts questions without any motion being made—Sometimes declares it a vote before any vote has been taken.  And sometimes before one bill is decided proceeds to another.  From want of authority, and attention to order he has prostrated the dignity of the Senate. His disposition appears good,—but he wants mind and nerve.”

As the election of 1808 approached, Clinton made no secret that he wanted the Presidency itself. He had gone alone with the greatest grumpiness in accepting the consolation prize of the Vice-Presidency when the popular Jefferson ran for reelection in 1804. No such compunctions stood  in his path in 1808. 

Jefferson himself, however, would not allow his faithful friend, Madison, now Secretary of State, to be bypassed. The caucus of Democratic-Republicans meeting in early 1808 chose Madison for the Presidency. Clinton, not liking this at all, allowed a boomlet for himself to rise in New York. With his usual highly amused eye for the spectacle of history, Henry Adams (great-grandson of the first, comically frustrated Vice-President, John Adams) related  the resulting scene in his History of the United States During the Administrations of Thomas Jefferson:
“Before long, the public was treated to a curious spectacle. The regular party candidate for the Vice-presidency became the open rival of the regular candidate for the Presidency. Clinton’s newspapers attacked Madison without mercy,  while Madison’s friends were electing Clinton as Madison’s Vice-president.”


Clinton was an even worse fit for Madison than he had been for Jefferson. In 1811, Madison  requested congressional approval for renewing the Bank of the United States. The vote ended up tied, one of those rare but constitutionally mandated instances when the Vice-President could vote. Madison was annoyed by Clinton’s vote against the measure, and that frustration grew worse when the nation found itself  in severe difficulties the following year, when the War of 1812 required massive expenditures.

With Clinton unable to attend any Congressional sessions in early 1812, the possibility loomed larger that his office would be vacant. Candidates began jockeying for position, and Clinton’s death removed the need for any subtlety in such maneuvers.

At first, the Democratic-Republicans turned to John Langdon, a former Senator from New Hampshire, but he declined on the sensible grounds that, at age 70, he was too old and ill. The caucus then turned to a comparative spring chicken, 67-year-old Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts.

This was not the office Gerry had wanted. Collector of the port of Boston was what he had in mind, as it would help him retire the debts dogging him. 

Madison, however, saw not a potential tax collector but a potential V-P, for several reasons:

1    1)  He had been involved in politics all the way back to the 1770s, when he served on the Continental Congress;

2    2) Clinton notwithstanding, Madison thought that Gerry’s advancing years would make it unlikely he’d want the Presidency himself at this point in his career, thereby ensuring that the Presidency would pass to another  Virginian, James Monroe;

3    3) Again unlike Clinton, Gerry was sure to provide a favorable vote for the administration. In fact, he was perceived as so partisan that, when he signed off on an electoral reapportionment scheme that, some suggested, resembled a salamander, the “gerrymander” was suggested as an alternative--thus giving rise to an eternal neologism.

Gerry did not help Madison secure Massachusetts in the election—a fact that the Virginia Dynasty should have anticipated since Gerry had lost his own re-election bid as governor, necessitating his need for a different job. But far worse was about to happen. 

By the summer of 1813, not only was Gerry seriously ill, but so, under the pressure of waging a war, was Madison. The distinct possibility loomed that, with the nation in a struggle for survival against its old British enemy, both the President and Vice-President would be either physically incapacitated or dead. 

Fortunately, Madison rallied. Gerry, however, continued to weaken, and in November 1814 he died, just as Clinton had, while in office.

James Monroe had only marginally better luck with his running mate. Daniel Tompkins, another former New York governor (see what I just saying a few minutes ago about seeing a future President in the mirror), hounded by debt like Gerry, began to drink heavily. Tompkins was out of the Vice-Presidency for only a few months when he, too, perished.

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