McKinley, according to Theodore Roosevelt (via Edmund Morris)

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/presidents/william-mckinley-1417412.html.
(Yes, I'm citing a UK paper for a pic of an American President.)

Mt. McKinley was renamed Denali. It's notable to me, personally, because my cousin Carolyn had just visited Alaska. We were discussing the mountain last week, and how Denali is the local name for the mountain.

According to history books, it was named by explorer Dickey. Later, however, he claimed to name it after McKinley to troll the miners (free silver people) that had harangued him for days with their politics. (Note to self: campsites are probably terrible places to have long-winded political argument.)

As expected, Ohio Republicans are freaking out, though their arguments contain some anachronisms.

Now, McKinley was president over a hundred years ago, and like many presidents who died in office, he was probably most remembered in our history texts for dying in office. Sometimes such an untimely end often cheats some presidents of greater prominence and admiration (see James A. "I-write-math-proofs-in-my-spare-time-when-I'm-not-working-my-way-out-of-poverty-or-fighting-corruption-or-defeating-superior-confederate-forces" Garfield). But in McKinley's case, he had the good fortune of dying in office and being overshadowed by a charismatic and influential successor.

To be fair, McKinley was wildly popular at the time of his death. He presided over a period of economic prosperity (rightly or wrongly attributed to "sound money" policies and protective tariffs). America had just fought the Spanish-American War and won decisively. This was the first major war fought by America against a foreign power since the Civil War, and so it played an often understated role of helping unify the country together in a way that Reconstruction and the Gilded Age hadn't, or couldn't.

His policies? Well, pretty pure Gilded Age stuff. But you can read about that elsewhere; Morris paints a far more interesting image of the man.

Some delightful quotes on McKinley from The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt, by Edmund Morris. (Bold emphasis added by me.)


McKinley as a drug-addled empty suit

Swaying gently against the cushions of the Presidential carriage, relaxed after a day of stiff formalities. William McKinley appeared to best advantage. Locomotion quickened his inert body and statuesque head, and the play of light and shade through the window made his masklike face seem mobile and expressive. Roosevelt could forget about the too-short legs and pulpy handshake, and concentrate on the bronzed, magnificent profile. From the neck up, at least, McKinely was every inch a President--or for that matter, an emperor, with his high brow finely chiseled mouth, and Roman nose. "He does not like to be told that it looks like the nose of Napoleon," the columnist Frank Carpenter once wrote. "it is a watchful nose, and it watches out for McKinley."

Not until the President turned, and gazed directly at his interlocutor, was the personal force which dominated Mark Hanna fully felt. His stare was intimidating in its blackness and steadiness. The pupils, indeed, were at times so dilated as to fuel suspicions that he was privy to Mrs. McKinley's drug cabinet. Only very perceptive observers were aware that there was no real power behind the gaze: McKinley stared in order to concentrate a sluggish, wandering mind." (612)


McKinley as a less-than-competent political leader (beholden to moneyed interests)

"The November Congressional elections were disastrous for the Republican party, due mainly to an unpopular tariff measure which William McKinley [then Speaker of the House] had pushed into law at the end of the last session. With prices on manufactured goods rising daily, voters threw the culprit out of office--severely damaging his presidential prospects--and filled the House with the largest Democratic majority in history." (436)


McKinley as a bought-and-paid-for pol

Mrs. Storer was a wealthy and formidable matron whose eyes burned with religious fervor, and whose jaw booked no opposition from anybody--least of all William McKinley, whom she considered to be in her debt. The Presidential candidate had gratefully accepted $10,000 of Storer funds in 1893, when threatened with financial and political ruin. Mrs. Storer was now, three years later, expecting to recoup this investment in the form of various appointments for her near and dear. (563)*


McKinley as a Jefferson Davis/flip-flopper/opportunist

"Not since the campaign of Crassus against the Parthians," in Roosevelt's later opinion, "has there been so criminally incompetent a General as Shafter." [the commander of forces invading Cuba during the Spanish-American War] Yet it was hard in the early days of June 1898 not to sympathize with that harassed officer, for President McKinley was proving an exceedingly erratic Commander-in-Chief. Bent, apparently, on acting as his own Secretary of War, he had been sending Shafter contradictory orders ever since the Battle of Manila. Dewey's overwhelming victory had turned both the President and Secretary Long into war-hawks overnight; their first reaction ot the news had been to endorse Roosevelt's naval/military invasion plan, over the objection of Commanding General Miles, on 2 May. General Shafter was ordered to prepare for immediate departure from Tampa (although the Volunteers were still in training), and on 8 May the President had increased the project landing force from ten thousand to seventy thousand. But then McKinley discovered that there was not enough ammunition in the United States to keep such an army firing for one hour in battle, and an urgent cancellation order flew to Tampa. Shafter's force force was scaled down to twenty-five thousand by the end of May, and the telegrams from Washington became querulous: "When will you leave? Answer at once" Shafter wired back that he could not sail before 4 June." (655-656)

*To be fair, sucking up to her is how the celebrated Theodore Roosevelt got his appointment as Assistant Secretary of the Navy.

Night Shift

After much tearing of clothes and gnashing of teeth, I'm actually, finally, going to Northern California for a short vacation. Headed to Fremont and Garberville. Fremont should be familiar to most of you -- it's Bay-area ish. Garberville is in Humboldt County. My cousin there is a "pharmacist",y which I mean she is actually a pharmacist, perhaps the only legitimate one in the area.

This has been an... interesting 24 hours.

First, my departure time. For whatever reason, I thought it would be a good idea to leave Monday evening. My septagenarian aunt can make the trip to Fremont in one day, but I thought I might need two. The initial "plan" (scare quotes appropriate in this case) was to spend the night around Fresno, spend the day in Yosemite, and the head to Fremont for dinner. But just as plague changed the course of human history, it changed the course of this human's story.

I guess you could say
(•_•) / ( •_•)>⌐■-■ / (⌐■_■)
The trip got off to a bumpy start.

So the " "plan" " became "head up I-5 until you get tired. I had to pull over after an hour because I had to field some questions about O. Henry's use of vocabulary in "The Gift of the Magi". The student is in 9th grade honors English -- but it's pretty tough. Solid vocab chops and a healthy appreciation of puns are needed. I'm actually pretty proud of how I was able to explain, and the student was able to understand, how the author uses beggar as a verb, and why it's funny. Explaining jokes is never a surefooted endeavor, but I managed to not shoot myself in the foot, or put said foot in my mouth, and the mother's offer for compensation for remote tutoring effectively that someone else would foot the bill for the hotel tonight. (O Henry? I don't owe him anything!)

So here's where it gets interesting. I got a text around midnight from the brother of that student indicating he needed help on his first calculus assignment. On that auspicious note I pulled off at Gorman and into a closed McDonalds lot to send off some texts.

A guy approached my car and asked, "Hey, can you roll down the window?"

I stared at him for a good second or two, and obliged.

He then tells me a story about how he and his buddy got stranded on their dirtbikes. I'm glad I checked my cynicism for half a second, because he seemed to be asking for more than a couple bucks for gas. He wanted a ride.

His name was Dante. I suppose a more bemused deity might've sent a Cain.

Now, prior to the trip, I did stop by at the library and picked up some audiobooks. Among the offerings was Malcolm Gladwell's Blink. I didn't take it, because I had read it a few years ago. But I suppose the principles he was outlining were operating, because I said yes before I really had processed anything.

He got in, and we started driving toward a dark, dead-end street, to "meet his friend guarding the bikes". I mentally thought, "Okay, this is going to be interesting."

As it turns out, Dante took over watch duty of the bikes. Ricardo and I ended up driving to their car, which, as it turns out, was about ten miles away over rough roads. It was then that I was able to realize why I had trusted Dante enough to give him a ride. If I'm honest, these were factors:

1. seemed clean-cut, middle-class
2. white
3. offered me money for help
4. I was by myself, and so the direct consequences of robbery/murder would be limited to me.

But perhaps the most important one: he actually had on all the protective gear. Either he was who he said he was, or he was a serial killer particularly committed to playing the part. I respect method actors.

I got to know the two guys a bit. They each have a strong internal locus of control. Ricardo had been in a terrible accident in 2009. A drunk driver had nearly killed him. Doctors warned him against pushing his body too hard, but he found that surfing, dirt biking, and rock climbing were better than Percocet. Ricardo was now a civil engineer for a private water company in Ventura. I knew less about Dante's background, but he had been in the army and had used his navigation skills to help them get out. (Ricardo's bike had started breaking down and a trip that had been planned for five hours turned into a fourteen hour ordeal.)

Through it all they had no fears of dying in the desert, either from biking itself or exposure. They had conserved their water, and had topped off their gas tanks. Before Ricardo's bike had started breaking down, they had been taking trails that involved tight turns exposed to 60-foot drops. Ricardo had tried to jury-rig a solution, but found that the bolt in his shifter had practically fused.

He calmly said, "I knew I wasn't going to die. If we had been trapped overnight, I would've dug a hole to help keep warm." They did have their phones, but had held off from calling 911. (The ranger station had closed at 5pm.)

Ricardo had said that another guy who usually joined them had declined to go today, as a mutual friend had died dirt biking the day before.

I happened to have two peaches in a cooler, and gave it to them. They were grateful. They offered me money again, but I just gave them my card. Somehow, I felt it would be good for me to stay in touch with them.

Hours later, I finally checked into a motel, where I had paid twice as much as I had expected, and where I found WiFi problems that compelled me to squat in the lobby at 5 in the morning. I started whining, furious that I was working on student questions, furious that the blase night receptionist was spraying for roaches in the lobby while I worked, and generally tired and pissed.

Then I thought, goddamn it, Ryan. You don't really pay attention to what goes on around you, do you?