Was Ulysses S. Grant An Alcoholic? An Analysis of Claims Made by Ron Chernow

Photo Credit: Library of Congress

Ulysses S. Grant has often been portrayed in textbooks and popular histories as an alcoholic, a drunkard, or at the very least someone who enjoyed a good drink from time to time. It may be safe to say that there is no other figure in U.S. history whose drinking habits have been put under such a close microscope and gossiped about so often. No matter what historians have previously said or will say in the future about Grant’s drinking, the topic will always play a role in his life story.

When drinking claims emerged during Grant’s lifetime, he steadfastly refused to publicly address them. He believed that acknowledging these rumors with even a basic denial gave them a legitimacy they didn’t deserve. As such, historians have relied on what Grant’s contemporaries have said about the matter. Readers of Grant scholarship should proceed with caution, however. One quickly learns that the available evidence is limited and contradictory. Much of what has been said about Grant’s drinking was stated after he died in 1885, sometimes even forty and fifty years after an alleged episode occurred. Hardly any primary source evidence exists that is contemporary to Grant’s actual experiences. It is also not surprising that the harshest critics of Grant were the ones who were most vocal about his alleged drinking problem. Although historians at the turn of the twentieth century were more apt to take the most negative claims at face value and label Grant an alcoholic, recent historians are in most cases more hesitant to place that label on him.

Ron Chernow’s latest biography on Ulysses S. Grant is a largely positive interpretation of the man, but he unfortunately throws caution to the wind and makes Grant’s “alcoholism” a central aspect of his story. In Chernow’s interpretation, Grant fought alcoholism throughout his life. Most notably, Chernow claims that Grant’s alcoholism was a “disease,” the first time such a claim has been made by any Grant scholar. These drinking problems are actually a redeeming aspect of Grant in Chernow’s telling, however, because they demonstrate how Grant fought through his personal demons while achieving greatness and becoming the single most important figure in 19th century American history.  Chernow also takes pains to make a distinction between someone who was an alcoholic and someone who was a drunkard. He suggests that a drunkard drinks all the time and that an alcoholic could hypothetically not drink regularly but go on sporadic binges where they temporarily lose all functionality. Chernow defends Grant from claims of being a drunkard but places him directly in the alcoholic camp. While the difference between the two concepts makes sense to me, I suspect that most readers of Chernow’s book will not pick up on this distinction and conclude that Grant had a serious and consistent drinking problem. Ultimately I think it’s fair to say that most people today use the terms “alcoholic” and “drunkard” interchangeably.

In my opinion, Chernow engages in sloppy research and excessive psychoanalysis that hampers his interpretation of Grant’s drinking. Grant himself would probably read Chernow’s drinking claims and wonder who the book was written about. Most Grant historians–myself included–would argue that Grant DID drink and that he may have drank to excess at times. But we would caution that describing Grant as an alcoholic or a drunkard is an exaggeration of the limited historical evidence we have to make such a conclusion. What follows in this essay is a point-by-point analysis of Chernow’s claims about Grant’s drinking before the Civil War. Since it is generally understood that Grant’s worst lapses with alcoholism occurred during this part of his life, I figured it would be best to keep the focus relatively narrow and leave interpretations of Grant’s relationship with alcohol during the Civil War and his presidency to others.

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Claim 1: A heavy drinker during the U.S.-Mexico War

Page 58: It is consistent with Grant’s later drinking patterns that he abstained from alcohol during combat periods, when he was actively engaged and shouldered responsibility. “I never saw Grant under the influence of liquor at all,” said one solider. “I know he did drink a little, but that was pretty good whisky he had.” Another person noted he “never drank to excess nor indulged in the other profligacy so common in that country of loose morals.” But idleness, boredom, and the loneliness of occupation mixed a toxic brew of emotions that slowly led him into temptation and people noticed an abrupt change. One Ohio soldier wrote home in May 1848 that Grant was “altered very much: he is a short thick man with a beard reaching half way down his waist and I fear he drinks too much but don’t you say a word on that subject.” A more damning recollection came from his friend Richard Dawson, who said Grant “got to drinking heavily during or after the war.” Right after his return from Mexico, he encountered Grant and said he “was in bad shape from the effects of drinking, and suffering from mania a potu [delirium tremens] and some other troubles.”

Footnotes: “Interview with J.D. Elderkin,” Hamlin Garland Papers, Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library S2 B54 F13; Letter from John Rowe to his wife, May 12, 1848, Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library S2 B4 F10; Letter from Richard Dawson to Hamlin Garland, July 17, 1896, Hamlin Garland Papers.

Comment: This passage is the first of many passages in which Chernow attempts to portray a sense of certitude about Grant’s drinking to readers when in reality the available evidence is speculative, uncertain, and contradictory. His assertion that Grant only drank during periods of down time belies the fact that a “combat period” can start at any point in a time of war. That fact is only magnified later when Grant takes over command of the U.S. Army during the Civil War and is tasked with managing a major war effort with multiple field armies, more than one million soldiers, and the contingencies of an evolving war where plans could change in an instant. Just ask Dwight Eisenhower. The 1848 letter from Rowe is the strongest evidence to corroborate any claims that Grant did in fact drink, but it’s worth questioning whether one letter from the Mexican-American war is enough evidence to verify whether Grant’s drinking constituted a serious problem akin to alcoholism.

The other letters and interviews conducted by Hamlin Garland (who wrote a biography of Grant in 1898 based on these interviews) are contradictory. They must also be taken with a grain of salt considering that they were conducted fifty years after the Mexican-American war. How is Richard Dawson’s 1896 letter considered a “damning recollection” when the two other sources Chernow cites from the 1890s said that Grant didn’t drink to excess? What about Dawson’s recollection gives it more legitimacy than the other recollections?

Another noteworthy consideration is that Brooks Simpson’s 2000 biography of Grant, Triumph Over Adversity, also quotes Rowe and Elderkin to acknowledge that Grant drank (p. 44-45), but he avoids speculation or theorizing about Grant experiencing an abrupt change in his behavior or excessive drinking patterns during the Mexican-American War.

 

Claim 2: Grant’s Alcoholism is a Disease

Page 67: Julia [Dent Grant’s] prolonged absence during the winter of 1849-50, coupled with a dearth of challenging work, proved a formula for trouble for Grant. Heavy drinking was commonplace in frontier garrisons, making it difficult for Grant, stranded in Detroit, to abstain. The problem was neither the amount nor the frequency with which he drank, but the dramatic behavioral changes induced. He and Julia kept a pew in a Methodist church led by Dr. George Taylor and perhaps realizing his newfound responsibilities as a father, Grant sought counsel from his pastor about his drinking. “I think that Dr. Taylor helped Grant a great deal,” said Colonel James E. Pitman. “It was said that he had a long talk with Grant at that time and told him that he could not safely use liquor in any form and Grant acknowledged this and took the [temperance] pledge and thereafter used no liquor in Detroit.” This episode makes clear that Grant, from an early age, acknowledged that he had a chronic drinking problem, was never cavalier about it, and was determined to resolve it. This overly controlled young man now wrestled with a disease that caused a total loss of control, which must have made it more tormenting and pestered his Methodist conscience.

Footnotes: U.S. Grant Homepage (website), “Interview with Colonel James E. Pitman,” (undated) William Conant Church Papers.

Comment: The claim that Grant suffered from alcoholism by 1850 and that it was a disease is the most extreme claim by Chernow about Grant’s drinking. What makes the claim all the more amazing is that it is based on a single interview with an acquaintance fifty years after Grant had been stationed in Detroit with the U.S. Army. (William Conant Church, like Hamlin Garland, interviewed Grant acquaintances and published a biography in 1897). Readers should also note Pitman’s acknowledgement that he heard these claims about Grant secondhand. “I think” Dr. Taylor helped him, he admits. “It was said” that Grant had a long talk with Dr. Taylor.

Chernow cites no sources from Dr. Taylor himself, Grant, or anyone else from 1849-50 to further corroborate Pitman’s claims. While Chernow is undoubtedly right that drinking was common in frontier garrisons, the evidence he presents does not conclusively demonstrate that Grant experienced “dramatic behavioral changes.” What, exactly, were those behavioral changes, and how did they affect Grant? Was he loud, angry or violent? Chernow invokes Grant’s new fatherhood and his “Methodist conscience” as weighing heavily on him, but again lacks sources to corroborate this ambiguous psychoanalytical claim. What does having a “Methodist conscience” even mean in the first place? And most of all, how can Chernow reasonably diagnose Grant with a “disease” based on the words of one acquaintance who spoke on the subject about fifty years after Grant had been stationed in Detroit?

A comparative analysis of Grant’s alleged drinking behaviors compared to other frontier soldiers and a citation of secondary research such as Reginald Horsman’s Feast or Famine: Food and Drink in American Westward Expansion or W.J. Rorabaugh, The Alcoholic Republic: An American Tradition would have enhanced Chernow’s analysis by providing much needed context about nineteenth century drinking culture and Grant’s role within that context.

 

Claim 3: Grant Injures Himself From Drinking Too Much

Page 68: During the winter of 1850-51, Grant slipped on ice and injured his leg in front of the house of Zachariah Chandler, a big, imposing man soon to be Detroit’s mayor. Grant had the courage to file a complaint against Chandler, claiming he violated a city ordinance demanding that residents keep their sidewalks free of snow and ice. During the trial, Chandler taunted Grant: “If you soldiers would keep sober, perhaps you would not fall on people’s pavements and hurt your legs.” One wonders whether Chandler hinted obliquely at rumors of drinking by Grant. Although the jury found Chandler guilty, he was fined a laughable six cents, perhaps suggesting the court agreed with Chandler’s insinuation that excessive alcohol consumption had accounted for the fall.

Footnotes: Albert D. Richardson, A Personal History of Ulysses S. Grant (1868), p. 134.

Comment: This claim is questionable. In The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant, Volume 1, a transcript of Grant’s deposition in this case is included on page 195. The deposition states that the person who “did neglect to keep his Side walk free and clear from Snow and Ice on Jefferson Avenue” was actually Antoine Beaubien, not Zachariah Chandler. A footnote in the Grant papers states that “a printed form with space provided for offense and date” with Beaubien’s name is at the Detroit Historical Museum. No mention of an angry outburst about drunk soldiers is mentioned in the document. This information suggests that Richardson inserted Chandler’s name into the document for dramatic effect. Why Chernow cited Richardson instead of The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant in his footnote is a mystery. Chandler’s quote and the assumption that the court fined the guilty party only six cents because they knew Grant was drunk are dubious claims that are not supported by the original deposition paper. In sum, we don’t know why Beaubien was fined only six cents for his offense.

 

Claim 4: Grant Takes a Temperance Pledge Because He Knows He’s an Alcoholic

Page 69: Loneliness, ennui, frustration, inactivity—such unsettled feelings always conspired to drive Grant to drink. Luckily, he recognized his alcoholism just as the temperance movement gathered strength, and he embraced this new faith with fervor. “I heard John B. Gough lecture in Detroit the other night,” he told a Sackets Harbor [New York] friend, “and I have become convinced that there is no safety from ruin by drink except from abstaining from liquor altogether.”

Footnotes: Hamlin Garland, “Grant’s Quiet Years at Northern Posts.”

Comment: Here again is a dubious claim from an article published by Garland after Grant’s death and long after Grant was in Detroit. While we have a quote allegedly from Grant in which he admits he can’t handle alcohol, once again there is nothing else to corroborate those words other than what someone said fifty years later in the 1890s. Moreover, that friend was thousands of miles away in New York when the alleged drinking problems occurred and the temperance pledge was made, meaning that the unnamed friend didn’t actually see any of this taking place at the time. No direct quotes or letters from Grant at the time further complicate matters. This lone source may or may not be true, but it is not definitive.

 

Claim 5: Grant is Drunk at Sea

Page 52-53: The situation [in the ship to San Francisco in 1852] was ripe for a resort to alcohol, and Grant was innocently abetted by the ship’s captain, James Findlay Schenck, who was profoundly impressed by him. Grant “seemed to me to be a man of an uncommon order of intelligence. He had a good education, and what his mind took hold of it grasped strongly and thoroughly digested.” Schenck, with no inkling of his drinking history, recalled Grant’s “excellent taste for good liquors. I had given him the liberty of the sideboard in my cabin, and urged him frequently never to be backward in using it as though it were his own, and he never was. Every night after I had turned in, I would hear him once or twice, sometimes more, open the door quietly and walk softly over the floor so as not to disturb me; then I would hear the clink of glass and a gurgle, and he would walk softly back.” These late-night raids on Schenck’s liquor cabinet fit Grant’s later pattern of private, late night indulgence in alcohol. It seemed as if with Julia’s absence the discipline of the temperance movement and the ringing exhortations of John Bartholomew Gough crumbled during a tumultuous week at sea.”

Footnote: Ohio Daily Journal, January 27, 1880.

Comment: As with other claims, Schenck offers these thoughts long after the event in question and no contemporary sources are quoted. Grant was still alive when this article was published, but like all other claims about his drinking Grant refuses to publicly comment about it. Maybe he drank on this trip, maybe he didn’t. Is it enough evidence to diagnose Grant an alcoholic?

 

Claim 6: Grant Drunk Again at Fort Vancouver

Page 76: For someone prone to depression, the everlasting rain and snow, combined with enforced confinement [at Fort Vancouver in 1852 and 1853], were sure to prey on his mind. He began to suffer cramps in his legs and feet in the damp, frigid climate, a possible symptom of alcoholic neuropathy.

Footnote: Allen and Bookey, “The After effects of Alcoholism.”

Comment: A purely speculative claim. Once again Chernow does not cite from Grant’s papers, which include the actual letter Grant wrote to his wife about his health issues while stationed at Fort Vancouver. Below is what he told Julia on December 19th, 1852. Does it suggest Grant was suffering from alcoholic neuropathy? (from The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant, Volume 1, p. 277):

I am, and have been, perfectly well in body since our arrival at Vancouver, but for the last few weeks I have suffered terribly from cramp in my feet and legs, and in one hand. You know I have always been subject to this affliction. I would recover from it entirely in a very short time if I could keep in the house and remain dry. My duties however have kept me out of doors a great deel, and as this is the rainy season I must necessarily suffer from wet and cold.

Grant acquired malaria at some point earlier in his life, most likely during his boyhood years in Ohio or during the U.S.-Mexico War. Frequent fevers, migraine headaches, and joint pains are very common with someone suffering from a case of malaria. There is also a chance that Grant was dealing with some sort of arthritic pain. In my reading of this letter I believe it does not in any way prove that Grant’s pains had anything to do with drinking. The Allen and Bookey article simply describes alcoholic neuropathy and is not very helpful for helping us understand why Grant was sick at this moment in the winter months of late 1852. What is also strange about Chernow’s interpretation is that he describes Grant as dealing with “enforced confinement” at Fort Vancouver. In reality, Grant had opportunities to earn extra money outside of his work with the Army and actually enjoyed life in Washington Territory so much that at one point he actually attempted to move the rest of his family from St. Louis to Fort Vancouver.

 

Claim 7: Grant is a Lightweight Whose Behavior in the West Becomes Erratic

Page 80: Grant drank less often than other officers but went on “sprees” consistent with his lifelong tendency to engage in sporadic binge drinking. “He would perhaps go on two or three sprees a year,” said Lieutenant Henry C. Hodges, “but was always open to reason, and when spoken to on the subject, would own up and promise to stop drinking, which he did.” The problem was not the frequency with which Grant drank but the extreme behavioral changes induced. Officer Robert Macfeely observed: “Liquor seemed a virulent poison to him, and yet he had a fierce desire for it. One glass would show on him,” his speech became slurred, “and two or three would make him stupid.” Alcohol loosened up Grant’s tightly buttoned personality, giving him a broader, often jovial emotional range; the charge of being “stupidly” or “foolishly” drunk would recur with striking regularity in future years. Rumor mills hummed busily in the small, insular peacetime army before the Civil War, and when Grant made a public spectacle of himself, those who glimpsed him in this silly, sloppy state never forgot the sight.

Footnotes: Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B4 F10. Letter from Henry C. Hodges to William C. Church, January 5, 1876; Simpson, Triumph Over Adversity, 58; Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B24 F15. “Interview with General Robert Macfeely,” Hamlin Garland Papers (undated).

Comment: Previous Grant historians before Chernow such as Simpson, Lloyd Lewis, and Charles Ellington tend to universally agree that Grant drank to some extent—and possibly to excess—while stationed in the west with the Army from 1852-1854. Chernow cites Simpson in this passage, but Simpson’s own interpretation in Triumph Over Adversity is noticeably more reserved than Chernow about the ways Grant’s drinking affected him. Simpson states that “Many officers had fallen victim to alcohol; there seemed nothing terribly out of the ordinary about Grant’s behavior except that he could not handle nearly as much liquor as did some of his harder-drinking peers.” That is a remarkably different interpretation than Chernow, who suggests that Grant acted silly, sloppily, and with a “jovial emotional range,” whatever that might mean. Once again, it’s hard to make a definitive statement about Grant’s drinking in the absence of contemporary sources and a larger contextual analysis.

 

Claim 8: Grant Becomes a Regular at the Saloon Near Fort Humboldt

Page 84: Unfortunately for Grant, alcohol was ubiquitous at Fort Humboldt. Once morning drills ended, officers resorted to whiskey and poker to pass the time. “Commissary whisky of the vilest kind was to be had in unlimited quantities and all partook more or less,” said a military wife. To deal with his private sadness and mitigate the pain of migraine headaches, Grant got into the habit of drinking more frequently, often stopping for alcoholic refreshment at a local saloon or a general store run by James T. Ryan. [Colonel Robert] Buchanan’s adjutant, Lewis Cass Hunt, said Grant “used to go on long sprees till his whole nature would rebel and then he would be sick.” Echoing comments made elsewhere, a beef contractor named W.I. Reed claimed Grant drank less often than other officers, but with more harmful consequences for “with his peculiar organization a little did the fatal [work] of a great deal . . . he had very poor brains for drinking.”

Footnotes: Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B24 F7. “Interview with General Henry Heth,” Hamlin Garland Papers; Library of Congress. William C. Church Papers, Box 2. “Interview with W.I. Reed.”

Comment: Not much to say here other than the fact that the source material for these claims, like many others, is based upon recollections from the 1890s. They may or may not be true, and at the very least they suggest that Grant partook in alcoholic drinks while stationed in the west. I image no such thing exists, but sales records and ledger books from James T. Ryan’s general store would constitute primary source documents with more reliability than the sources Chernow cites.

 

Claim 9: Grant Admits Drinking Excessively While Stationed in the West

Page 85: While Grant laid down the preferred version of his resignation [from the army] in his Memoirs, where he never breathed a syllable about his drinking problems to posterity, he was more candid in later private conversations, telling Civil War chaplain John Eaton that “the vice of intemperance had not a little to do with my decision to resign.” To General Augustus Chetlain he admitted that “when I have nothing to do I get blue and depressed, I have a natural craving for a drink, when I was on the coast I got in a depressed condition and got to drinking.”

Footnotes: Jean Edward Smith, 88; Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B54 F7, “Interview with General Augustus Chetlain, Hamlin Garland Papers (undated).

Comment: Smith’s citation on page 88 of his book quotes John Eaton’s 1907 book Grant, Lincoln, and the Freedman, which was a memoir about Eaton’s time as a Civil War chaplain. In the absence of anything in Grant’s papers about this episode, readers are forced to determine whether to take Grant’s word or the words of Eaton and Chetlain. Chernow clearly puts more trust in the words of the latter two. Again, the evidence is contradictory and circumstantial.

 

Claim 10: Grant is Forced to Resign from the Army Because of His Drinking Habits

Pages 85-86: Overwhelming evidence suggests that Grant resigned from an alcohol problem. Lewis Cass Hunt told several people how Buchanan sent him to reprimand Grant after one drinking episode. As Colonel Granville O. Haller heard the tale, Hunt told Grant that Colonel Buchanan would “withdraw the drinking charge if Grant didn’t offend again—he had Grant write out his resignation, omitting the date.” There was an “explicit understanding that if Grant forgot his pledge, Buchanan would forward his resignation and save Grant the odium of being cashiered by a General court martial.” The journalist Benjamin Perley Poore later confirmed that Buchanan had warned Grant, “You had better resign or reform,” to which Grant responded, “I will resign if I don’t reform.”

One Sunday morning, Grant showed up at his company’s pay table under the influence of drink. Bristling at this display, Buchanan told Hunt to buckle on his sword and lay down the law to Grant, warning that if he did not resign, he would face a court-martial. According to Colonel Thomas M. Anderson, who heard the story from Hunt, “Grant put his face down in his hand for a long time and then commenced writing something . . . Grant said that he did not want his wife to know that he had ever been tried . . . Grant then signed his resignation and he gave it to the commanding officer.” Some of Grant’s friends, convinced he would have been acquitted, pleaded with him to stand trial. Henry C. Hodges said the regiment deemed Buchanan’s action ‘unnecessarily harsh and severe.’ Rufus Ingalls, Grant’s old roommate at West Point and Fort Vancouver, believed that since Grant had not been incapacitated by drink, he would have been exonerated, but he confirmed that Grant refused to stand trial because “he would not for all the world have his wife know that he had been tried on such a charge.” The idea that Grant feared Julia’s wrath makes one wonder whether she had extracted a strict promise from him to refrain from drinking altogether.

During the Civil War, Thomas M. Anderson discussed Grant’s resignation with Robert Buchanan, then his commander in the Army of the Potomac. “I was very intimate with Col. Buchanan & had my first information as to the Humboldt episode . . . from him . . . . I remember absolutely the Col. Buchanan told me distinctly that he had condoned a similar offense in Grant before he fired, or as he said permitted his resignation as a favor.” From discussions with Lewis Cass Hunt, Anderson, later commander at Fort Vancouver, added that “Hunt had warned Grant not to show up intoxicated at the pay table and had even volunteered to go in his place, but Grant had refused.”

Footnotes: Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B54 F10. Letter from Ben Parley Poore to Hamlin Garland, August 1, 1885; ibid, S2 B4 F9-11. Letter from Thomas M. Anderson to Gen. Charles King, January 20, 1915; ibid, S2 B4 F10. Letter from Henry C. Hodges to William C. Church, January 5, 1876, William C. Church Papers; ibid S2 B54 F30. Letter from Thomas M. Anderson to Hamlin Garland, August 15, 1896, Hamlin Garland Papers.

Comment: This entire passage is a hot mess of secondhand recollections. It is far from “overwhelming,” as Chernow suggests. There are no official Army records confirming a possible court martial for Grant. Haller, Poore, and Anderson cannot be relied up since they were not there to see what actually happened and were commenting fifty years later on what they heard secondhand. Moreover, where’s any commentary from Buchanan? It is also noteworthy that not everyone present at Fort Humboldt at the time agreed that Grant had a drinking issue. Some believed there was no evidence to corroborate the claim were confident he would be acquitted of all charges of drunkenness. The fact that several people recalled Grant having some sort of drinking habit must be taken seriously, but whether it was worse than what other officers engaged in or if it was the true cause of Grant’s resignation cannot be fully corroborated with the source material Chernow employs. Simpson in Triumph Over Adversity stated the following (p. 61):

Exactly why Grant [resigned] remains in dispute. Certainly he had spoken of resignation as the only way to reunite his family. But others insisted that there was more to the story—that Grant had too often overindulged in alcohol, and he had been under the influence while on duty on payday, enabling Buchanan to finally force him out of the army under the threat of a court-martial. What exactly happened between Grant and Buchanan remains unclear (there are no contemporary documents extant to support the court-martial story) . . . Old Buck didn’t like [Grant], and any slip gave the post commander the opportunity to make Grant’s life even more of a hell than it already was. After all, as Rufus Ingalls later declared, Buchanan ‘was prejudiced against Grant & was an infernal old martinette & a d—a old S. of a B.’ Gossip being what it is, officers likely embellished the story in repeating it, until the image of a drunkard drummed out of service (possibly under the threat of a court-martial) was firmly fixed in the minds of many people, most of whom had never met Grant. He never shook the stories; they would haunt him for the rest of his life. Whatever action Buchanan took or threatened to take, if any, he didn’t have to try very hard to persuade Grant to do what he had long contemplated in any case.

Simpson’s interpretation does a much better job of acknowledging the fact that historians simply don’t have the evidence to corroborate the claim that Grant resigned because of excessive drinking at Fort Humboldt.

 

Claim 11: It was a Well-Known Fact Among Army Officers that Grant Was an Alcoholic

Page 86: During the Civil War, both sides knew what had unfolded at Fort Humboldt. As the Union general James H. Wilson wrote: “It is a part of the history of the times that [Grant] had fallen for a season into the evil ways of military men serving on the remote frontier and that his return to civil life was commonly believed to have been a choice between resignation and a court-martial.”

Footnotes: James H. Wilson, The Life of John Rawlins (1916), p. 18.

Comment: James “Harry” Wilson was a disgruntled office-seeker and anti-Grant Republican during Grant’s presidency who hated the man with a passion. During and after Grant’s life Wilson worked to spread rumors of his drunkenness and corruption in an effort to tarnish his reputation. His book on John Rawlins claims that Rawlins was responsible for the bulk of Grant’s military victories and that Grant unfairly received all of the glory. As with so many other sources Chernow employs, readers must ask, “is this a reliable source that can be trusted?” Charles Calhoun’s book, The Presidency of Ulysses S. Grant (2017) explores Wilson’s efforts to undermine Grant in depth.

 

Claim 12: Secretary of War Jefferson Davis Knew Grant was an Alcoholic

Page 87: Unfortunately, [Secretary of War Jefferson] Davis considered the matter settled, and his reply [to Ulysses’ father Jesse Grant] delicately evaded the true reason behind the resignation. He observed that since Ulysses had “assigned no reasons why he desired to quit the service, and the motives which influenced him are not known to the Department,” he would let the decision stand. Grant’s failure to specify a reason for departing from the army strengthens the suspicion that drinking lay at its root.

Footnotes: William McFeely, Grant (1981), 56.

Comment: Chernow suggests that Secretary of War Jefferson Davis knew the reason why Grant decided to resign from the Army in 1854 and deliberately withheld that info from Grant’s father, but he does so without providing evidence that Davis was aware of Grant’s drinking problems, or that Davis even knew who Grant was prior to his resignation. Davis, headquartered in Washington, D.C., would have had to have heard something from an officer at Fort Humboldt, and his letter to Jesse Grant suggests that he had heard nothing of the kind. McFeely simply cites Davis’s letter to Jesse Grant, so Chernow’s speculations here are entirely his own. Once again, Chernow fails to cite Grant’s papers and instead relies on other books about Grant.

It is not at all clear how Grant’s letter of resignation and his omission of any explanation for why he was resigning somehow “strengthens” the theory that he left because of drunkenness any more than it weakens an equally plausible theory—corroborated by Grant’s letters at the time—that he resigned simply because he hadn’t seen his family in over two years and had been considering a departure from the Army for months beforehand. Furthermore, it would be odd for the War Department to award Grant a promotion to Captain and a new commission on the same day he resigned if he had been dogged by persistent drinking claims and dereliction of duty. Ultimately the absence of any mention of alcohol in Grant or Davis’s letters does not confirm that drinking was the primary factor leading to Grant’s resignation, or that Jefferson Davis knew anything about it and deliberately withheld that info from Grant’s father.

 

Claim 13: Rampant Speculation and Excessive Psychoanalysis

Page 91: From his home in Covington, Kentucky, Jesse responded [to Grant’s resignation] by dispatching his middle son, Simpson, to New York to fetch Ulysses and settle the hotel bill. It seems rather odd that Jesse chose to send an escort instead of simply arranging credit for Ulysses. One possible solution to this mystery lies in a letter written by Frederick Law Olmsted, the renowned designer of Central Park and other urban parks, to his wife at the end of the Civil War. Olmsted had just spent an evening with Major Ralph W. Kirkham, who recalled that during the summer of 1854 he and Winfield Scott Hancock were stationed at Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis “when a letter was received from [Simon Bolivar] Buckner telling them that he had found Grant in New York. Grant had resigned, arrived in New York, got drunk, got into a row and been locked up by the police. Buckner relieved him and supplied him with means to go to his father in Missouri [sic].” The story, if true, may suggest why Grant, who was so desperately homesick and eager to see his wife and children, dallied in Manhattan until late summer and why his brother came to retrieve him. A careful search of the sketchy New York court records for the period fails to provide any confirmation of the story.

Footnotes: None provided

Comment: Clearly this story is extremely speculative and another example of a secondhand source written years after the fact by a person who wasn’t there. We don’t know why Grant’s father acted the way he did in this moment. The claim therefore must be taken with a huge grain of salt and probably dismissed as a reliable source. One wonders why such speculation even needed to be included in the book given the fact that no evidence could be offered to corroborate it besides Chernow’s own speculations on the matter. Other Grant biographers such as Simpson, Ron White, Joan Waugh, Jean Edward Smith, and several other past historians avoided any mention or speculation about the Olmsted letter in their studies. Chernow should have as well.

 

So there you have it. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations and thanks for reading.

Cheers

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How History and Memory Converge to Make Sense of The Past

Photo Credit: https://sites.google.com/a/worth.org.uk/worth-school-activities/history-society

History is the process by which individuals and societies make sense of the past. Although they are often used interchangeably, the terms “History” and “The Past” are not mutually exclusive. “The Past” is the verified, factual information we know about past events in human history. We know, for example, that the Declaration of Independence was written in 1776. “History,” however, is the process by which we document, contextualize, and interpret the meaning of a particular event. Why was the Declaration of Independence written? Who wrote it? What was going on in the world at the time of its writing? What social, economic, religious, and political forces inspired the document’s author? What were the consequences of its publication? These are the types of questions historians ask when researching and interpreting “The Past” to make an informed historical argument about something like the writing of the Declaration of Independence.

Memory plays a necessary and crucial role in creating history. “Memory” is the process by which individuals and societies choose to remember (and forget) their pasts. Memories are created after an event has taken place and take the form of oral recollection, art, public iconography, and many other expressions of personal reflection. How did Thomas Jefferson remember his role in writing the Declaration years later? What did members of the Continental Congress think of the event? How did citizens of the colonies remember hearing about the Declaration of Independence? What monuments, statues, markers, and plaques were created to commemorate the event? What messages did these icons attempt to convey to viewers about the Declaration? How is the Declaration remembered by society today? These are the types of questions historians and memory scholars ask when researching how present-day conditions simultaneously shape and are shaped by past events. History and memory intersect to tell us what happened in the past, and what it means for us today.

What are the distinctions between history and memory? Is there a distinction between the two? Scholars disagree on this question, but I think there are distinctions, albeit very subtle.

Take the case of the veteran’s recollection of a wartime experience twenty years after a significant battle. The truthfulness of that soldier’s recollection may not be fully verifiable based on the evidence that was created from the time in which the battle originally took place. His or her recollection may contradict the official battle report created at the time (“The Past”), or it may include details that were previously omitted. Sometimes the recollection may even unintentionally confuse or invent crucial details with the passage of time. Nevertheless the veteran’s memory exists as a “personal truth” for him or herself; an individual process by which the soldier copes with, comprehends, and understands their experiences in that battle. The tricky task for the historian is to determine whether the veteran’s recollection should be incorporated into the body of evidence being used to interpret the history of that battle. Is the recollection reliable? Does it help advance the story? Does it help or hinder the historian’s effort to make sense of The Past?

Historian Jonathan Hansen argues that history advances through hypothesis while memory evolves over time but never really advances. I like that description because memories of a given event will change over time (a new personal reflection or the erection of a new monument, for example) but those memories may not be verifiable in the same way a historical fact can be through a hypothesis.

Much of what we understand about The Past is based on memory, which simultaneously informs and muddles the historical process. As such, the concept of “Truth” does exist within the historical process, but it takes multiple forms. The International Coalition of Sites of Conscience defines four different forms of “Truth”: forensic truth (The factual, verifiable past), personal truth (a personal memory), social truth (a collectively held truth as expressed through art, public iconography, political speechs, etc.) and healing truth (a collective process of historical reckoning such as South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission).

The above description is how I understand the distinctions between The Past, history, and memory.  These three phenomenons constantly interact and shape each other, leading to the creation of individual and collective understandings of past events that in many cases contain multiple truths for us to learn from.

Cheers

Hannah Simpson Grant’s Influence on Ulysses S. Grant

I fielded an interesting question the other day about Ulysses S. Grant and the people who influenced him throughout his life. The visitor asked me where and how General Grant developed the cool, calm, and steely demeanor that has long been a part of his popular lore. How was Grant able to handle the horrific bloodshed and danger of war in such a collected manner, never getting too high or too low about the state of affairs during his generalship and presidency?

It’s a fascinating, complex question with multiple answers that are suitable, but I think the visitor was surprised when I suggested that Hannah Simpson Grant may have played a role in her son’s overall disposition.

Historians don’t know a lot about Hannah Grant, and few primary source documents exist that are from her perspective (here’s an 1879 newspaper interview with her that is interesting yet ambiguous). What is know about Hannah and how she carried herself is very similar to that of her oldest son. Consider the below passage from Brooks Simpson’s book Ulysses S. Grant: Triumph Over Adversity, 1822-1865 (2000):

Hannah Grant went about her chores and responsibilities quietly, so much so that one must search carefully for her traces. [Ulysses Grant’s friend] Dan Ammen recalled that she was “a cheerful woman, always kind and gracious to children.” But affection–or at least open displays of it–were rare in the Grant household. Ulysses told Ammen that he never saw his mother cry. Nor did Hannah brag as was her husband’s custom: she was modest, retiring, and restrained. Unlike [Grant’s father] Jesse, she “thought nothing you could do would entitle you to praise,” as one observer recalled.” (7)

Insert “Ulysses” where “Hannah” is mentioned and the similarities are pretty clear.

Cheers

How Historians and Musicians Receive Similar Training in College

Yours Truly Performing at Off Broadway in St. Louis. Photo Credit: Rick Miller Photography

Over the years numerous friends and family, knowing that I studied history in college and now work as a public historian for a living, have come to me with a range of questions about people and events from the past. I think more often than not I have failed to give them a satisfactory answer to their questions. That’s because in most cases they’ve asked questions about time periods in which I have only a basic and limited understanding. As fascinating as I find the Roman Empire, the Medieval Era, the Great Depression and the New Deal, and other periods in history, I just don’t have the specialized knowledge to give an accurate, informative answer in most cases. And yet oftentimes these questions are prefaced with a comment like, “you’re a historian, so you should be able to help me…”

The reality is that most professional historians specialize in a particular time period, and that time period can be quite small in scope depending on the individual historian’s interests. I think non-historians sometimes assume that the primary goal of studying history is the accumulation of facts. As historian David McKenzie pointed out on Twitter, historical knowledge for many is “simply cramming facts into one’s head to be spit out at a moment’s notice.” While learning facts and establishing historical accuracy are certainly important facets of any history degree program, there are many other elements of good historical practice. This includes (but is not limited to) the ability to search for and interpret the larger context surrounding a particular event, the need to understand change over time, the importance of crafting solid research questions, the talent to be a good reader, writer, and speaker, and the training needed to become well-versed in both primary and secondary source material of a particular, specialized historical era.

When I struggle to answer my friends’ and family’s questions, I point out that historians are in some ways similar to musicians. My area of expertise is nineteenth century U.S. history–particularly the Civil War Era–and that is my “musical instrument,” so to speak. You wouldn’t say “oh, you’re a musician! Go over and play that guitar” without first asking that musician what instrument they play and if they could play guitar. And just because a musician can play guitar doesn’t mean they can play tuba or do a freestyle rap on the spot. The situation is similar with historians. I can talk about the Battle of Shiloh or the Civil Rights Act of 1866, but I’d have a more difficult time giving a detailed answer about, say, the Battle of D-Day or the Civil Rights Act of 1964. As much as I’d love to give detailed answers and remarkable facts about every event in human history, the limits of human intelligence require a more specific and concentrated focus.

Music education students in college are required to learn how to play a string instrument, a brass/woodwind instrument, and sing in a choir regardless of their prior expertise. They also learn music theory and develop an ability to read sheet music whether it’s in treble clef or bass clef (or alto clef!). As future teachers of band, orchestra, and choir in a k-12 setting, this training prepares them to help students learn how to play an instrument, read sheet music, and perform together in an organized creation of musical sound. History students at the undergrad level receive a similar curriculum in that they take courses in U.S., European, and World history during their training. They receive a broad instruction that enables them to educate younger students about a wide swath of human history. But like the musician with a specific instrument that they specialize in and perform with in concerts, the historian finds a time period to specialize in and contribute to through public talks, the creation of scholarship, and, in my case as a public historian, by interpreting history to a wide range of publics.

Cheers

 

NCPH 2018: Where Do We Go From Here?

Last week I attended the 2018 Annual Meeting of the National Council on Public History in Las Vegas. It was my fifth straight NCPH conference and my first time in Las Vegas, which in itself was quite a treat as I took some time to take in the city’s sights and sounds. As a pretty active member of NCPH I ended up spending lots of time during the conference in committee meetings and planning for my own presentation in the session, “Rewiring Old Power Lines: The Challenge of Entrenched Narratives.” I did have the chance, however, to attend a range of sessions during the conference. Overall I enjoyed my experience and left with a lot of satisfaction about my participation in NCPH. I do have questions and concerns moving forward, however. What follows are three thoughts about the conference and the state of public history:

What is the meaning of the term “Community”?: One of the strong points of attending NCPH conferences is that presenters are constantly exploring ways to bring the ideals and values of public history to new audiences. Every year there seems to be passionate discussion about three different questions:

1. How to rewrite narratives to incorporate the perspectives of previously marginalized historical actors in interpretive programs.

2. How to bring new audiences to public history sites, particularly young people and people of color.

3. How to establish a community-oriented culture of inclusion and equity at public history sites.

I believe these concerns are fundamental to the public history profession, and they’ll always play an important role in how the field defines itself. Effectively addressing these questions is a great challenge without clear answers. I confess, however, that this year I felt like some of the conversations I heard were akin to listening to a song on repeat. Sometimes I felt like asking, “okay, these concerns are valid, but I’ve heard these same thoughts for the past five years. What are we actually doing to push the field in a new direction?”

Part of the problem, I think, is that the term “community” is sometimes thrown around in an irresponsible way. Like the term “general public,” there really is no such thing as a “community.” There are only “communities,” and any discussion about “meeting the needs of the local community” really should be pluralized. Take, for example, my hometown of St. Louis. St. Louis County has 90 municipalities, all of which have their own histories and present-day needs. St. Louis city is a separate legal entity from the county and has its own neighborhoods and ethnic enclaves. Nearby Jefferson County and especially St. Charles County have experienced explosive suburban growth over the past twenty years. Several counties in Illinois also have a close association with St. Louis. All of these areas fall under the term “St. Louis Metro Area,” but as a public historian I can’t really talk about “meeting the needs of the St. Louis community.” The area is too big and the population is too unique to be described in historical terms as a single community. Ferguson, Chesterfield, and Affton are all in St. Louis County, for example, but have different histories and different needs. In reality there are some communities in St. Louis that are well served by their public history institutions and others that are not. So when we talk about meeting the needs of a local population, we need to start from the premise that there are many communities in a given locality we should be reaching out to and serving.

Concerns about Mid-Level Professionals: I think NCPH has done a wonderful job of making its annual meeting a welcoming place for graduate students and new professionals. Both groups benefit from a mentoring program, a special outing the first night of the conference, the Speed Networking session, and an environment that is friendly to new attendees. In general I think students and new professionals get a lot out of the NCPH Annual Meeting.

As I experience my own transition away from the term “new professional,” however, I’ve been thinking more and more about mid-level professionals and what the organization is doing to meet their needs. Those of us who have been in the field between four and ten years are most likely still in the field because we were fortunate to find jobs to support ourselves. But what happens when you’ve got your foot in the door with that entry-level position but can’t move up? I am greatly concerned about the number of mid-level professionals that I spoke with that are struggling to find career growth and new opportunities to put their skills to practice. For many, there is no career track to speak of. Throughout the conference I thought about a former cohort from graduate school who left the public history field to find a job in sales a couple weeks earlier. Another NCPH conference-goer who recently retired mentioned that his position isn’t being filled. I also admit to my own concerns about my future in public history.

What can NCPH do to help mid-level professionals find the career growth they seek? I’m not sure, but it’s my hope that the Professional Development Committee (of which I am co-chair) along with other NCPH committees can begin discussing strategies for the future. Additionally, while I could not attend working group 2, “Negotiating Power Lines: Economic Justice and the Ethics of Public History,” the tweets from that panel were fascinating and hint at some interesting ideas about promoting better pay for public historians.

Props to South African Public History: A significant highlight of the conference was having the chance to attend session 36, “South African Recovery from Cruel Pasts: Using Creative Arts to Visualize Alternatives.” Members of Rhodes University’s Isikhumbuzo Applied History Unit came all the way from South Africa to present at the conference, and it was a real treat. Historian Julia Wells and historians/performers Masixole Heshu and Phemelo Hellemann discussed the 1819 Battle of Grahamstown and efforts by the Applied History Unit to bring this history to life through creative arts, including poetry, storytelling, and pantsula dancing, a type of dancing invented in South Africa in the 1950s and 1960s. Dancers Azile Cibi and Likhaya Jack demonstrated pantsula dancing for all participants, and for the first time at a conference I ended dancing myself! They also demonstrated scenes from a play the Applied History Unit developed to portray the story of “Pete,” a native South African who was able to save his mother, a POW during the Battle of Grahamstown, and return her from bondage (true story). The session was extremely fascinating and a real treat to attend.

(Another thing I noticed about this session was that the presenters went into the crowd, introduced themselves, and thanked each audience member for attending their session. I was struck by the kindness of this small act and think presenters at future history conferences should embrace this practice).

All in all, NCPH 2018 was a great time and I look forward to next year’s meeting. For now, it’s back to the grid.

Cheers

Yes, I Am A Historian Who Cares About the Truth

A real photo of WWII soldiers raising an American Flag https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raising_the_Flag_on_Iwo_Jima#/media/File:WW2_Iwo_Jima_flag_raising.jpg

Phil Leigh, a Civil War author and blogger who I’ve never heard of or interacted with before, criticizes me in a recent blog post about the Confederate flag on his website. The issue begins with an essay by Andy Hall. Noticing that a popular photo-shopped image of a World War II Marine in the Pacific with a Confederate flag was going viral on social media, Hall did some quick research and clearly demonstrated that the photo was a fake. I re-blogged the essay here because I appreciated Hall’s detective work and efforts to correct misinformation on the internet. By sharing it on this blog, however, I seemed to have fallen into Leigh’s bad graces.

Leigh argues that both Hall and I ignore tangible evidence that some white southern soldiers flew the Confederate flag during WWII and that they flew it as a genuine expression of southern pride. He also points to a different post of his where he shares nine real images of WWII soldiers with Confederate flags.

Okay, great, but that wasn’t the point of Hall’s post or why I shared it here. Neither Hall nor I deny the existence of Confederate flags among WWII soldiers, and Hall did not write the post with the intention of providing an overview of the flag’s use during the war. The point of the post was to highlight a deliberate attempt to falsify history for the purpose of promoting a contemporary political position and a preferred version of history. The post also highlights how quickly misinformation spreads on social media. If you want to use images of WWII soliders flying Confederate flags, share the real pictures, plain and simple. Why distort the past to promote Confederate heritage today? It’s lazy and dishonest.

Leigh is not finished with me, however. In a detour of his critique of Hall, he also criticizes my recent essay for the Journal of the Civil War Era about Civil War gift shops and concludes that “[Sacco] sees no reason why items displaying the Confederate flag should be sold in Civil War museum gifts shops.” Again, that was not the point of the essay. My argument is that memory scholars and public historians need to undertake a more critical analysis of the items that are sold in these spaces. What do those items say about the ways people remember the Civil War? What are the values of a given historic site, and how do gift shop items reinforce or detract from those larger values and mission of a site? That is not the same as saying all Confederate flags must go, and I even concluded the essay by saying that a “one-size-fits-all solution” to the questions I raise does not exist. If Civil War gift shops want to continue selling Confederate merchandise, great. I think it is more than fair, however, to put that merchandise under a critical lens and push museums to think about gift shops as an extension of their mission. My point is not to engage in “political correctness” or an outright ban on selling Confederate flags, which Leigh and his commenters suggest.

On top of these critiques, Leigh feels the need to point out my employment status to his readers, although he does not do the same for Hall. One wonders why he feels the need to do that other than to suggest that my employer creates a bias that prevents me from practicing honest history, or that I have some sort of alternate motive for writing about history besides seeking truth and understanding. Perhaps there’s a different way to interpret Leigh’s mention of my employment status, but I do find the action very odd regardless.

Let’s get to the bottom of this strange discussion and put it to rest: altering historic photos for the purpose of promoting a contemporary political cause or a preferred version of history is wrong. Sharing these photos online is doubly wrong, and the image in question that Hall exposed as being photo-shopped has unfortunately gone viral. Hall was right to correct it, as he’s done with a lot of bad history over the years on his blog. Why does Leigh feel the need to criticize Hall instead of the people who create and share false history? Furthermore, it’s rather pretentious for someone who does not know me to title their post “Which Historian Cares About the Truth?” and then subtly suggest that I (and Andy Hall) don’t. You’ll have to forgive me if I find such an approach obnoxious and bothersome. It’s one thing to say “I disagree with your conclusions,” but another thing entirely to say that I don’t care about the truth.

I welcome comments of the former variety, but not of the latter. Mr. Leigh suggests readers view both of our essays and draw their own conclusions, and I encourage the same.

Cheers

Exit Through the Gift Shop: Historical Memory and Gift Shops at Civil War Historic Sites

Photo Credit: Nick Sacco

My latest essay for the Journal of the Civil War Era’s blog went live last week. I wrote about gift shops at Civil War historic sites and the urgent need for memory scholars to analyze the ways these spaces shape visitor experiences at historic sites. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback so far and I hope the essay will lead to a more sustained and substantial dialogue on how gift shops can better serve the mission of a given public history site.

I have a lot of other exciting writing projects and upcoming presentations going on at the moment and I’ll let you know about those initiatives in a future post. For now, enjoy the above essay and let me know what you think in the comments section.

Cheers