Calvin Coolidge is one of the most complex and perplexing of American political figures. Historians and political scientists who have evaluated his years as a Massachusetts political leader have been quite positive in their assessments. One leading biographer wrote that Coolidge "true to his upbringing, avoided ostentation in office, gave evidence of 'thoroughgoing simplicity' and was a good Governor, worthy of the best traditions of the Commonwealth" (Fuess, 1940, p. 199). Another concluded that "Coolidge had acquitted himself well as Governor. He had, in fact, been an effective, responsible and conscientious Governor, one well above average of post-war governors in the various states" (McCoy, 1967, p. 82). Governor Dukakis, in his own presentation this afternoon, gave strong support to this view. Calvin Coolidge and Michael Dukakis are the only two Massachusetts Governors in American history to win their party's nomination for the office of President of the United States. Although they are of different parties and although their terms in office were separated in time by more than half a century, the more recent of these Governors offers strong praise for the record and accomplishments of his predecessor. The consensus seems clear and strong that as a Massachusetts political leader, Calvin Coolidge was effective, successful and most impressive.

As for Coolidge's presidential years, history has not been kind. Presidential polls have rather consistently ranked him well down the list of American Presidents. As examples, in 1972, the Maranell survey ranked him 30th out of 34 presidents in overall accomplishments. Twenty-two years later, the Sienna Research Institute placed him 36th out of 41 presidents in quality of performance. In 1996, the Schlesinger Poll rated him 30th out of 39 presidents in overall performance. Also, scholarly writing often has been negative. Rose describes Coolidge as expressing "his commitment to the principle of a do-nothing Presidency by publicizing that he slept eleven of every twenty-four hours that he was in the White House" (1988, p. 22) while Neustadt states simply that Coolidge had no "drive" (1990, p. 204). Warren writes that "Coolidge voluntarily abdicated the leadership which the Constitution intended that the chief executive should exercise..." (1964, p. 146). Bailey states that Coolidge "lacked both imagination and idealism" and was a below average President (1966, p. 317). Murray cites Coolidge as a "figure-head" President (1973, p. 143) and Plesur refers to Coolidge's presidential performance as "lackadaisical" (1974, p. 188).

The contrast in evaluations of Calvin Coolidge is striking. The industrious Governor somehow became the lackadaisical President. The politically able Chief Executive of Massachusetts somehow became the politically inept Chief Executive of the United States. It is almost as though the historians and political scientists are evaluating two different persons--and, in my view, in a very real sense, they are.

It is my belief that Calvin Coolidge, as a man and a President, was dramatically and profoundly affected by an event which occurred during his first year in the White House and which proved to be thoroughly traumatic for the relatively new Chief Executive. In July, 1924, just one month after his nomination by the Republican Convention for the office of President of the United States, President Coolidge lost his younger son, sixteen year old Calvin, Jr. to blood poisoning. That death, made even more painful by experiences suffered during his own childhood years, plunged the President into a deep depression from which he never fully recovered (Gilbert, 1998; 1988).

The Childhood Years

Calvin Coolidge was born in Plymouth Notch, Vermont on July 4, 1872, the son of John and Victoria Coolidge. John Coolidge, twenty-seven at the time of his son's birth. was intelligent, prosperous. interested in politics and involved in local political life. Victoria, a year younger than her husband, was a caring but sickly woman who would die before she reached forty. Very soon after Calvin's birth, John Coolidge was elected to the Vermont legislature and spent part of each year in Montpelier, separated from his family. The frequent letters he wrote home, however, reveal warmth and affection for his wife, son and eventual daughter (Coolidge Collection, MS I.I.). Typically he began each letter with the salutation "Dear Vic and Baby" or "Dear Vic and Calvin," often urged them "to take good care" of themselves and told them that he longed to see them and wished that he were with them at home.

Young Calvin's parents put great stress on developing the traits of reliability and responsibility in their son. Under their guidance and by their example, Calvin became a serious, conscientious and industrious boy. Although neither a natural leader nor a standout as scholar or athlete, Calvin was reliable and hard-working. His father wrote that "If I left any work for my son to do while I was away, I was always sure of finding it done when I came back" (Coolidge. 1923, p. 7). One of his teachers agreed by commenting, "If I said, do that, he did it, not half did it. With Cal, law and order began with strict obedience to parents, no questions asked" (Coolidge, 1923, p. 10).

Young Calvin was a shy, quiet child who did not join in the rough-housing of his peers. He was discouraged from dancing and had it made clear to him that he could make few mistakes (McCoy, 1967, p. 8). His behavior was such that only rarely did he need or encounter punishment. But on those rare occasions when discipline would come, normally from his paternal grandmother who he later described as "a true daughter of the Puritans" (Lathem, 1968, p. VII, it would take a rather unpleasant form. McCoy tells us that he would be "shut up in a dark, cobwebby attic," and adds, "it was little wonder, as a result of his upbringing, that he was shy,' (McCoy, 1967, p. 9).

While young Calvin's childhood was similar to that of many other Vermont boys, it was also a childhood marked by an unusual degree of sadness and disruption. His father was away from home during part of his earliest years through election to public office. His mother was quite sickly, probably suffering from tuberculosis, and died when he was only twelve. Calvin perhaps blamed himself for her death (McCoy, 1967, p. 5), possibly because his birth and childhood exacerbated her frailty. Of her death. Coolidge later wrote:

When she knew that her end was near she called us children to her bedside, where we knelt down to receive her final parting blessing. In an hour she was gone. It was her thirty-ninth birthday ... We laid her away in the blustering snows of March. The greatest grief that can come to a boy came to me. Life was never to seem the same again. (Coolidge, 1929, p. 13)

As President, Coolidge often mentioned his mother to Colonel Edmund Starling, his closest secret service agent, speaking "of his deep affection" for her, "of her fair-haired beauty, of her love of flowers, of her understanding of him, and of the help she gave him in the problems he faced from day to day" (Starling, 1946, p. 211). Starling reported that Coolidge "communed with her, talked with her, and took every problem to her." The President once told him, "I wish I could really speak to her ... I wish that often" (Starling, 1946, p. 212).

A few years after his mother's untimely death, Calvin's sister Abigail (Abbie), who was three years his junior and with whom he was very close, died of apparent appendicitis at the age of fourteen. When his sister's condition had turned critical, Calvin left school and returned to his home where he stayed "beside her until she passed to join our mother" (Coolidge, 1929, p. 47). After returning to classes, however, at the Black River Academy where his sister had also been a student, the future President wrote to his father and admitted that "It is lonesome here without Abbie" (Fuess Collection, MS 1.3). For a shy boy to lose his closest companion, his only sister, must have been an extraordinarily painful experience, especially since his beloved mother had passed away just a few years earlier.

Calvin Coolidge carried the imprint of his early years well into adulthood. The Puritan virtues of thrift, hard-work and civic responsibility were the guiding principles of his early life. Yet his faithfulness to those principles as a child did not spare him from the pain of bereavement resulting from the premature deaths of his mother and sister and his faithfulness to those principles as an adult would not spare him from the pain of bereavement resulting from the premature death of his young son.

Earlier today, we were offered an analysis of Calvin Coolidge as a Massachusetts political leader--about his great ability, his conscientiousness and his many successes. I would now call attention to his years as a national political leader because these years are pivotal.

National Office

During the summer of 1920, Senator Warren G. Harding of Ohio became the Republican nominee for President of the United States on the ninth ballot at the Republican National Convention in Chicago. Calvin Coolidge was chosen for second place on the Republican ticket as an act of revolt against party leaders in the Senate by angry convention delegates. Also, as Governor of Massachusetts, he provided geographical balance to the ticket and had become something of a celebrity during the Boston Police Strike which he had handled with firmness and resolve. As Coolidge himself later wrote, "No doubt it was the police strike of Boston that brought me into national prominence. That furnished the occasion and I took advantage of the opportunity." (Coolidge, 1929, p. 141).

The Harding-Coolidge ticket enjoyed a landslide victory. Now Calvin Coolidge was walking on the national political stage and rose to the occasion. As Vice President, he attended meetings of the Cabinet regularly and impressed the Washington community with his conscientiousness and hard work. Coolidge was at his desk from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m. every day, even when the Senate was not in session. This practice was so unusual for Vice Presidents at the time that one Washington official remarked:

That's a new one on me ... I've seen Vice Presidents who were busy attending luncheons and dinner parties. But those other Vice Presidents never had much else to do. They never received any mail to talk about. Presidents seemed to forget them completely. No one ever thought of consulting them. As the weeks sped on, they became more and more forgotten. I think it must be different this time. It is different (Boston Sunday Post, March, 1921, p. 43).

Coolidge viewed his role as presiding officer of the Senate as giving him the right to decide not only who was to have the floor at any specific time but also what legislation was to he considered by the Senate (Cronin, 1975, p. 213). This latter view discloses an unusually expansive view of the vice presidency and a rather strong political personality.

On August 2, 1923, President Harding died suddenly in San Francisco of cardiovascular disease. After midnight on August 3, the oath of office was administered to Calvin Coolidge by his father, a notary public. During the trip back to Washington later that morning, the new President stopped to visit the grave of his mother. He later wrote that "It had been a comfort to me during my boyhood when I was troubled to be near her resting place, even in the dead of night. Some way, that morning, she seemed very near to me" (Coolidge, 1929, p. 177).

The Presidency

Calvin Coolidge's ascension to the Presidential office was impressively smooth. He moved swiftly and sure-footedly to consolidate his hold over the reigns of government and to establish rapport with both the liberal and conservative factions of the Republican Party (Goodfellow, 1969, p. 115). In an effort to present an image of stability to the nation, the new Chief Executive determined at once that all of President Harding's Cabinet officers should remain in office at least until the present term of office came to an end and held his first regular Cabinet meeting just eleven days after his accession to the White House (Moran, 1970, p. IO).

Coolidge was sensitive to the political realities that confronted him as a new President and demonstrated both strong political acumen (Burns, 1965, p. 295) and a well-developed publicity sense (Cornwell, 1965, p. 74). He promised to meet with the press often, telling journalists, "I rather look forward with pleasure to having you come in twice a week, in order that I may talk to you, give you a little of the idea I may have of what the government is trying to do, and satisfy you, insofar as I can, on the questions that you ask" (Quint and Ferrell, 1964, p. 20). The Boston Globe commented on September 2, 1923, that "the veterans, and there are correspondents here who have seen Presidents come and go for a quarter of a century, declare that thus far President Coolidge is more communicative than any man, with the possible exception of Theodore Roosevelt, who ever sat in the White House" (Boston Globe, September 2, 1923, p. 37). In his vigorous cultivation of the press, Coolidge went so far in March, 1924 as to ask reporters to make suggestions to him on possible appointees for the position of Secretary of the Navy (Quint and Ferrell, 1964, p. 23).

Almost immediately after he became President, Coolidge invited two key congressional leaders to meet with him at the White House. During that meeting he asked the two men to recommend to him a personal secretary who understood "the political work of the President's office and who knew Congress and its members" (McCoy, 1967, p. 151). Another function for such a secretary was to help the new President secure the 1924 Republican Presidential nomination.

During his first months in office, Coolidge worked assiduously but, like other presidents, not always successfully at cultivating Congress. One of his earliest steps was to pardon those who had been convicted of violating the Sedition Act during the Wilson Administration. He issued this pardon over the objections of officers of the American Legion (Goodfellow, 1969, p. 147) as well as of the Attorney General because he felt that the Congressmen and Senators who favored the pardon could be important legislative allies (McCoy, 1967, p. 197). In September, 1923 he announced that a prominent administration critic, Senator Robert LaFollette, was always welcome at the White House and said that he hoped he could rely on the Wisconsin Senator to support his programs (Murray, 1969, p. 502). Two months later, he wrote a letter to each Republican Senator asking for suggestions for appointments to administrative offices (McCoy, 1967, p. 197). The President breakfasted with members of Congress to sound them out and to show good will and in March, 1924, launched a series of White House dinners for congressional leaders as a way of developing greater rapport with them and eliciting their help in the enactment of his programs. Even though unsuccessful in his support for the 1923-1924 Mellon Tax bill, Coolidge took an active and firm interest in trying to secure congressional approval of it (Goodfellow, 1969, p. 203-237).

In addition to these legislative activities, President Coolidge also showed initiative and flexibility in the realm of international relations. Soon after becoming President, he healed a three-year breach in U.S.-Mexican relations by recognizing the government of Mexico and by requesting funds to settle claims springing from the 1914 American occupation of Vera Cruz. Also, he announced that his administration would welcome an international meeting on matters of international law, particularly on the rights of neutrals and rules for submarine warfare. When parts of Japan suffered a severe earthquake and typhoon, Coolidge dispatched the Pacific fleet with aid so quickly that the American ships arrived on the scene even before their Japanese counterparts. The new President's personal expression of sympathy was the first received from any foreign head of state by the Japanese emperor (McCoy, 1967, pp. 178, 179).

On December 6, 1923, President Coolidge delivered in person his first Annual Message to Congress. This was rather unusual because presidential addresses to Congress at that time were rarely delivered by the president personally. This was also the first Presidential Address in history to be broadcast on radio and "Silent Cal," which was the nickname given him because of the economy of speech he showed with visitors and even with persons whom he met in lighter social situations (Kallenback, 1966, p. 278), proved to be an effective radio performer (Cornwell, 1957, p. 268; Barber, 1980, p. 231; Goodfellow, 1969, p. 65). In that address he presented Congress with a litany of legislative requests and set forth his own position on a wide variety of subjects in unmistakable terms. Coolidge urged the establishment of a Permanent Court of International justice, the abolition of certain kinds of taxes, the expansion of the civil service system, the abolition of the right to issue tax-exempt securities, the resumption of the opening of intercoastal waterways and the enactment of oil slick laws. He also urged that Congress appropriate funds for medical courses at Howard University, set up reformatories for women and for young men serving their first prison sentence, provide for the recodification of navigation laws, expand health care for veterans and establish a separate Cabinet-level Department of Education and Welfare (Israel, 1967, pp. 2642, 2645, 2646, 2648, 2649, 2651). In all, Coolidge made almost thirty identifiable requests to Congress in his first annual message.

Additionally, it is interesting to note the forceful, direct and unequivocal language used by Coolidge as he made his first requests to the legislature. As examples, he told Congress that: "I favor the establishment of [a Permanent Court of International justice] and I commend [this proposal] to the favorable consideration of the Senate, with the proposed reservations clearly indicating our refusal to adhere to the League of Nations," "I do not favor the cancellation of the foreign debt;" "I recommend that Congress appoint a small joint committee to consider offers, conduct negotiations, and report definite recommendations [on Muscle Schoals];" "I recommend that the field force for prohibition enforcement be brought within the classified service."

Both the language and substance of Coolidge's first Message to Congress portended a President who was comfortable in his role as President and who did not shirk his responsibilities as legislative leader. The image conveyed by that first Message conjures up memories of Coolidge as Massachusetts Governor and seems out of harmony with the image of Coolidge so commonly held today. Indeed, a reading of Coolidge's first Message to Congress indicates a strong, even activist, Chief Executive urging a rather extensive and detailed agenda on the legislative branch. Even liberal Senator William E. Borah of Idaho, who had consulted with Coolidge frequently during the Fall of 1923 (Goodfellow, 1969, p. 113), was pleased with his first message, commending him for his "program and courage" (Maddox, 1966-1967, p. 774).

Two days after his address to Congress, Coolidge announced his candidacy for the Republican Presidential nomination. One reason for his early announcement was to dissuade other Republican hopefuls from entering the race. The new President clearly wanted the nomination of his party for a term in his own right. One of his first acts as President, after all, had been to appoint to his staff as personal secretary a political operative from Virginia, C. Bascom Slemp, whose primary responsibility was to work toward Coolidge's nomination and election in 1924. The Coolidge drive for nomination proceeded without serious obstacle with the President bolstering his political advantage by adroit use of the patronage power (Barber, 1980, p. 15). Several potential rivals felt that the President had the nomination all but won and decided to avoid entering the fray. One of the other hopefuls, former Illinois Governor Frank Lowden, remarked that Coolidge was revealing himself to be "an accomplished politician and able" (Hutchinson, 1957, p. 534).

As was the case during his gubernatorial years, Coolidge now showed himself to he a hard working executive. The Boston Traveler reported that during his first year as President, he was almost constantly at his desk..." (Boston Traveler, July 30, 1924, p. 120). A perusal of his calendar on a typical day bears out this report. He arose at 6:30 a.m., reviewed the morning papers at 6:40 and met with staff members before breakfast at 7. After eating breakfast at 7 with Mrs. Coolidge, his day from 9 am. until after I p.m. was punctuated with some sixteen appointments (with 24 individuals) and time for correspondence. Returning from lunch at 2, Coolidge had additional appointments and official obligations which carried him through to 6 p.m. After dinner he had a 30 minute meeting with Senator Lodge, bringing to an end a rather long official day (Boston Herald, August 7, 1923, p. 114).

This is not the schedule of a lackadaisical President. Instead, Coolidge's long hours of work during his early months in the White House reveal not only the demands of the Presidency but also the fact that he enjoyed the office greatly. A secret service agent reported that "the President would almost tiptoe around, touching things and half smiling to himself." He acted "as if he were a small boy whose daydreams of being king had suddenly been made real by the stroke of a magic wand." (Starling, 1946, p. 207).

In early summer, 1924 the Republicans nominated Calvin Coolidge for President. This was one of his greatest personal triumphs. Barely, however, had he had time to enjoy his victory when tragedy struck. It was a tragedy that would badly undermine his presidency and overwhelm the rest of his life.

A Death in the Family and its Aftermath

On Monday, June 30, 1924, the President's two young sons played tennis on the White House tennis courts. No one knew at the time how important that tennis game would prove to be in the course of history. The younger boy, Calvin Jr. was in a hurry to play that day and wore sneakers but no socks. As he played, he developed a blister on one of his toes. By the time the White House physicians had seen his toe, the boy was suffering from pathogenic blood poisoning. The President and First Lady were informed immediately of his condition and, of course, were very concerned.

That evening President and Mrs. Coolidge had as a dinner guest the Republican Vice Presidential nominee, Charles Dawes. Dawes says this of that sad experience: "while I did not realize that there was anything serious about Calvin's illness, I think the President must have sensed it from the first. He seemed to lose all interest in the conversation and the dinner soon ended." As Dawes was leaving the White House, he happened to pass Calvin's room and looked inside. The boy "seemed to be in great distress. The President was bending over the bed. I think I have never witnessed such a look of agony and despair as was on the President's face" (Timmons, 1953, p. 231).

The condition of the President's younger son deteriorated steadily and just one week after that fateful game of tennis, he died at Walter Reed Army Hospital. His body was brought back to the White House where he lay in state in the East Room. Since his father was Commander-in-Chief of the nation's armed forces, Calvin Jr. was accorded a military honor guard. The East Room was filled to overflowing with floral arrangements that had been sent by heads of state and by ordinary citizens throughout the country.

One of the President's White House physicians, Dr. Joel Boone, discloses that after the boy's wake had ended, the President came quietly downstairs in a dressing gown, walked into the East Room, and stood in silence beside the casket in which his son was lying. For a long time, the President gazed silently at the boy's face and gently stroked his head (Boone Papers).

The next day, when Calvin's casket was closed and removed from the White House, the President's surviving son reveals that his father broke down and sobbed, "they're taking our boy away" (Coolidge, 1997). The President simply was overcome with grief Afterward, a friend who visited him in the Oval Office reported that Coolidge wept openly, with tears running down his face, while he kept repeating, "I just can't believe it has happened. I just can't believe it has happened" (Lathem, 1960, p. 140). When on July 9 he received the undertaker's bill for young Calvin's burial, the usually prompt-paying President ignored it for three months, a sign perhaps that he could not yet accept the fact of the boy's death (Goodfellow, 1969, p. 313-319).

While President Coolidge's personal grief at his young son's death is understandable, his deep reaction to the loss precipitated a political crisis since he seems to have intertwined inseparably Calvin Jr.'s death with his Presidency. A reading of his autobiography reveals four distinct and very important themes.

First, Coolidge blamed himself and his own political ambitions for creating the environment in which his son died. He wrote:

We do not know what would have happened to him under other circumstances, but if I had not been President, he would not have raised a blister on his toe, which resulted in blood poisoning, playing lawn tennis on the South Grounds (Coolidge, 1929, p. 190).

President Coolidge may well have experienced another kind of guilt feeling that not uncommonly afflicts bereaved individuals. Lindemann writes, "The bereaved searches the time before the death for evidence of failure to do right by the lost one. He accuses himself of negligence and exaggerates minor omissions" (Lindemann, 1944, p. 142). The months before young Calvin died were busy ones for the new President. Not only was he beginning a new administration but also he was launching a campaign for the 1924 nomination and election battles. Time for his sons was necessarily limited. It is understandable, then, that Coolidge's political successes and his great enjoyment of the Presidency, followed almost immediately by his son's death, might create in his mind severe guilt feelings and those guilt feelings would appear to be verbalized clearly in the President's autobiography.

Second, Coolidge was tormented by the fact that although he was President of the United States and presumably so powerful, he still was powerless to help his own son. Thus, he wrote in his autobiography, "in his suffering, he was asking me to make him well. I could not" (Coolidge, 1929, p. 190). The President made the same remark in a conversation with William Allen White, telling the Kansas editor, "when he was suffering he begged me to help him. I could not" (White, 1938, p. 308). With the power to command armies and navies and to direct subordinates to do as he wished them to do, the President still did not have the power to do what he most wanted--to save the life of his own son.

Third, Coolidge interpreted his son's death as a sign that he was being punished for being President. He wrote, "I do not know why such a price was enacted for occupying the White House" (Coolidge, 1929, p. 190). Perhaps, however, he did know, at least subconsciously. When he became President, he was no longer the simple Vermont boy. He had delighted in the trappings of office rather intensely--being the center of attention, having more clothes than other Presidents, enjoying the presence of secret service men around him and even insisting on riding alone in his automobile while aides rode behind in other vehicles (Hoover, 1962, p. 239, 235, 132). The chief White House Usher at the time found that Coolidge displayed more "egotism, self-consciousness or whatever you call it" than any of the nine Presidents he had served (Hoover, 1962, p. 232). Subconsciously, President Coolidge may have viewed his son's death as God's punishment for such frivolous and ostentatious behavior.

Fourth, and perhaps most important, Coolidge seems to have lost real interest in politics and the presidency after his son died. Again, his own words are revealing and speak eloquently of his double loss --" when he went, the power and glory of the Presidency went with him" (Coolidge, 1929, p. 190). Just before voters went to the polls in 1924, Coolidge told his father that he would never again be a candidate for public office (McCoy, 1967, p. 251). Grace Coolidge went so far as to say that the President "lost his zest for living" as a result of his son's death (Ross, 1962, p. 286).

In the 1924 election, Coolidge won a sweeping victory, after a campaign in which he did strikingly little on his own behalf (Goodfellow, 1969, p. 322). However, his friends thought that he was now a changed man who could not forget or escape from grief (Fuess, 1940, p. 350). To the press, Coolidge remarked, "I expect we shall observe Christmas at the White House about the same as usual. My boy John is coming home from college ... I expect the observance of the holidays will be about the same as usual. The only difference, which will be apparent to all of you, is that three of us will be present, rather than four, as in the past" (Quint and Ferrell, 1964, p. 40). To one of his associates, Coolidge remarked.......... when I look out that window, I always see my boy playing tennis on that court out there" (Fuess, 1940, pp. 350-351). One visitor to the White House was astonished to hear him [the President] say, as if his visitor might not have heard the news: "How are your boys? One of my boys has gone" (Ross, 1962, p. 123).

His dead son obviously was very much on the President's mind. On December 22, 1924, he wrote his father, saying "I wish you a Merry Christmas. If only Calvin were with us we should be very happy." On the following day he wrote again to his father, "Now John is home I miss Calvin more." Two months later, on February 26, 1925, he told his father, "You and John and I are all that is left" and soon afterwards, he began writing that it was time to begin sending flowers to little Calvin's grave (Lathem, 1968, pp. 197, 198, 200, 204, 205). Shortly before Christmas, 1925, a year and a half after young Calvin's death, the President wrote his father a strangely brooding letter. "It is getting to be Christmas time again. I always think of mother and Abbie and grandmother and now of Calvin. Perhaps you will see them all before I do, but in a little while we shall all be together for Christmas" (Lathem, 1968, p. 216). Coolidge was then only fifty-three years of age but saw death as impending.

It is very interesting to note that Grace Coolidge's response to her son's death was of a quite different sort. Although deeply grief-stricken, the First Lady nevertheless seemed more positive and less morbid in her reactions. Several of her letters bear witness to her mood. In a letter dated August 3, 1924 to one of her closest friends, Mrs.R.B. Hills, she made this reference to her son's funeral:

As we stood beside the grave, the sun was shining, throwing long, slanting shadows and the birds were singing their sleepy songs. Truly it seemed to me God's acre ... I came away with a peace which passeth understanding, comforted and full of courage.

On December 9, 1924 she wrote again to Mrs. Hills, saying "...always he [Calvin Jr.] seems to be just ahead of me and I can see his smile." Still another letter to Mrs. Hills, this one dated January 3, 1925, told that "we couldn't see our Calvin but we could think of him and how happy his first Christmas in heaven must be" (Letters of Grace Coolidge, Coolidge Collection). A few years after young Calvin's death, his mother wrote this poem in his memory:

You, my son
Have shown me God
Your kiss upon my cheek
Has made me feel the gentle touch
of Him who leads us on.
The memory of your smile, when young
Reveals His face
As mellowing years come on apace.
And when you went before,
You left the gate of heaven ajar
That I might glimpse,
Approaching from afar
The glories of His grace.
Hold, son, my hand
Guide me along the path,
That coming.
I may stumble not
Nor roam,
Nor fail to show the way
which leads us home.

While Mrs. Coolidge stressed these hopeful and optimistic themes, speaking of her "peace which passeth understanding," of her son's smile, of his happiness in heaven and of his allowing her to glimpse the glories of God's grace, the President spoke of missing his dead son, of still seeing his son playing tennis on the White House tennis court, of soon joining his son in death and even of having his son die as a price for occupying the White House.

Perhaps President Coolidge's state of mind following young Calvin's death can best be seen in an episode recounted by his secret service bodyguard, Colonel Starling. Starling writes that early one morning when he came to the White House, he saw a small boy standing at the fence, his face pressed against the iron railings. He asked him what he was doing up so early. The boy looked up at him, his eyes very sad. "I thought I might see the President," he said. "I heard that he gets up early and takes a walk. I wanted to tell him how sorry I am that his little boy died." Starling took the boy by the hand into the White House grounds and soon the President came out. "I presented the boy to him. The youngster was overwhelmed with awe and could not deliver his message, so I did it for him. The President had a difficult time controlling his emotions. When the lad had gone and we were walking through Lafayette Park, he said to me: "Colonel, whenever a boy wants to see me, always bring him in. Never turn one away or make him wait" (Starting, 1946, p. 224).

In personal terms, it was extremely unfortunate for Coolidge that his son had died. The loss of a child for most parents is the most difficult of all losses. Secundy tells us that "strong emotions are often displayed overtly for a longer period of time" and "overt psychiatric problems may result more frequently" (Secundy, 1982, p. 181). In a political sense, however, the President's loss was the nation's. Moreover, it was compounded by the fact that it occurred so early in his presidency. Coolidge lost much of his interest in politics and much of his political self-confidence just at the moment he most needed those qualities. The change in his behavior as President is clear.

Both as Governor of Massachusetts and during his first year as President, Coolidge was an active and able "Chief Legislator." He tried hard to cultivate important legislative leaders and presented a rather detailed list of legislative requests for enactment. However, after his son's death in July 1924, Coolidge lost interest in working with Congress and despite the fact that his own party controlled both Houses, his relationship with the legislature became steadily more strained. The practice of consultation with congressional leaders that he had followed during his first year in the White House was largely abandoned in subsequent years. He generally ignored individual members of key committees and made no attempt to influence their votes on pending legislation. The interchange he did have with members of Congress tended to be social and devoid of substance. He shunned strategy sessions with allies, occasionally even offended them, and refrained from trying to assist them in their labors.

The same attitude of disengagement can be seen in Coolidge's post-1924 Messages to Congress. Unlike his first Message as President, these Messages were not even delivered in person but rather read to both Houses by clerks (Schlesinger, 1965, p.xvii). Also their language was quite unlike that of his first Message cited earlier. The language of his Messages in 1925, 1926, 1927 and 1928 was vague, non-committal and deferential, indicating an uncertain and withdrawn Chief Executive. A few examples should indicate their flavor. "It is for Congress to decide whether they judge it best to make such a reduction or leave the surplus for the present year to be applied to retirement of the war debt" (1925); "if a sound solution of a permanent nature can be found for this problem, the Congress ought not to hesitate to adopt it"(1926); "it is believed that a thorough-investigation and reconsideration of this proposed policy by the Congress will demonstrate that this recommendation is sound and should be adopted" (1927); "I recommend that a survey be made by the proper committees of Congress dealing with this subject, in order to determine whether legislation to secure this consolidation is desirable" (1928) (Israel, 1967, pp. 2692, 2696, 2723, 2732).

His great popularity with the American people and his Republican majorities in both the House and Senate did not translate into legislative success for Calvin Coolidge. In general, after 1924, Coolidge deferred to a Congress which largely ignored him.

The change in Coolidge's leadership style can be seen also in the increasing delegations of authority he made to members of the Cabinet. Two episodes illustrate his new pattern of behavior. During a crisis in relations with China, the acting Secretary of State came to the White House to consult with the President. Coolidge told him, "I don't know anything about this. You do ... and you're in charge. You settle the problem and I'll back you up" (Fuess, 1940, p. 406).

On another occasion, Secretary of Labor Davis tried to learn through a subordinate, whether the President approved of some action he had taken in the Labor Department. When the relevant papers were offered to the President, he refused to read them and said, "You tell ol' man Davis I hired him as Secretary of Labor and if he can't do the job I'll get a new Secretary of Labor" (Starling, 1946, p. 209).

Undoubtedly the best description of Coolidge's relationship with his cabinet can be gleaned from the President's own words. At a meeting with the press on April 15, 1927, Coolidge remarked "There isn't any division in the Cabinet over the policy that is pursued in China. I don't think that would be possible in my Cabinet. The way I transact the Cabinet business is to leave to the head of each Department the conduct of his own business" (Quint and Ferrell, 1964, p. 73). As Governor of Massachusetts, he had consolidated more than 100 state agencies into 20 in an effort to increase his control over them and enhance effectiveness. Now, as President, he allowed his Cabinet members to go their own way.

It is the absence of active executive and legislative leadership in Coolidge's administration that has produced the generally negative evaluation of his presidency by scholars. However, his performance after his election to the presidency in 1924, just a few months after the death of his son, is at striking variance with his political performance prior to young Calvin's death. In his earlier career, he had been diligent and shrewd in his political activities. As a member of the Massachusetts House of Representatives, he had won attention for always being present at Committee meetings and at sessions of the House, for never missing the opening prayer, for thoroughly investigating every matter before his Committees and for always voting. As President of the State Senate, he was seen as a respected and able legislative leader, one who urged his colleagues to work hard for their constituents. As Governor of Massachusetts, he had turned in an effective performance and had established himself as a nationally known and highly praised political leader. During his first year in the White House, he dazzled the country, took control of the Republican Party in a way that won widespread praise and often showed flashes of the leadership style that had served him so well in Massachusetts.

After the summer of 1924, however, significant changes in the Coolidge Administration began to be seen. The President withdrew noticeably from interaction with Congress and showed little inclination even to participate in the activities of the Departments of his own government. His workdays began to shrink in length and his naps grew considerably longer and more frequent. Sadly, his shrewdness turned to disinterest, his involvement turned to indifference and his well-developed leadership skills were abandoned.

The American Psychiatric Association has established diagnostic criteria for major depressive episodes. They include: (1) dysphoric mood or loss of interest or pleasure in all or almost all usual activities and pastimes, (2)insomnia or hypersomnia, (3)fatigue, (4)feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt, (5) recurrent thoughts of death, and (6) indecisiveness (American Psychiatric Association, 1981, pp. 213-214). In the period following his son's death, President Coolidge demonstrated patterns of behavior which corresponds to each of these criteria. After July 1924, he lost interest in politics and the presidency, his sleeping practices became more pronounced and his naps more extensive, he lacked energy and often experienced exhaustion, he blamed himself for Calvin's death and anticipated and spoke regularly of his own, and he delegated more and more of his executive responsibilities to others and showed irritation when subordinates asked him to act.

Conclusion

As a young boy growing up in Vermont, Calvin Coolidge had been taught to be industrious and reliable and to do faithfully the day's work. But being true to those principles as a boy had not spared him from the deaths of his beloved mother and sister. Being true to those principles as a national political figure had not spared him from the death of his beloved son. Overwhelmed with grief, President Coolidge was a changed man after July 7, 1924. As he himself wrote so revealingly, when Calvin Jr. died, "the power and glory of the presidency went with him." One of his closest associates wrote all too accurately when he described the death of Coolidge's sixteen-year old son as being "the supreme tragedy" in this President's life. It was a tragedy from which he never fully recovered.

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