Footnotes of History: Henry Wilson

In less than a week, I am graduating from college and leaving the Boston area for the foreseeable future, so I've been making a point of checking off a few remaining things I wanted to do in these parts, including visiting the Cobblery that once belonged to Henry Wilson, 18th Vice President of the United States.

Several years ago a friend of mind had told me about the Shoe Shop (which I want to call a Cobblery, because it's just sounds better), and I have been meaning to visit it ever since. Last week, I finally made my way over.

I braved a slight drizzle to take this picture.

I knew nothing about Henry Wilson, and what I know now has been gleaned entirely from his Wikipedia page. Here are a few choice facts:

1. He was the running-mate of Ulysses S. Grant.
2. He died in office.
3. Before entering the political world, he worked as a cobbler in Natick, Massachusetts.
3. He was a Radical Republican.
4. His birth name was Jeremiah Jones Colbath.

Let me repeat that last one. His birth name was Jeremiah Jones Colbath. Wikipedia does not delve deeper into why he changed his name, nor does it clarify why he chose the infinitely less cool name of Henry Wilson.

In any case, my brief sojourn into the world of Henry Wilson has made me think more about people I like to call "Footnotes of History." Close to the action of major historical events, but not important enough that schoolchildren will grow up hearing your name. There's something that really appeals to me about men like this, who once were prominent and well-known, but have since drifted into obscurity. Maybe it's because, like my youthful fascination with John R. Tanner, former governor of Illinois and lecherous soap opera villain, obscure historical figures don't come with as much baggage, and therefore it's easier to project whatever characteristics you want to on them.

In the case of Henry Wilson, as soon as I saw his birth name was Jeremiah Jones Colbath, I conjured up an image of a young lumberjack in rural New Hampshire who had killed the debauched son of a prominent businessman who had dishonored his sister , and so he changed his name, moved to Natick, and became a cobbler in order to escape his criminal past. I seriously doubt I could have had the same reaction if I heard that Teddy Roosevelt's birth name was Edward Kimberly.

But that's the fun of Footnotes. The holes in their biography are opportunities for some (most likely completely inaccurate) theorizing. For all I know, Henry Wilson just hated the name Jeremiah and wanted a name that was less of a mouthful. But I like the idea that there's a crazy story lurking behind his seemingly ordinary facade.

That Time I Was on Jeopardy!

Me and Alex Trebek*

Over a year ago I took the online test for the Jeopardy! College Tournament. Friday night, my episode aired.

I mention this because in that year my entire time actually playing Jeopardy! clocked in under a half hour. That half hour was preceded by hours of waiting in a green room, building the anticipation. So when the half hour was over and I had lost, it was difficult to process.

Obviously, losing is never fun. I would be lying if I said I was thrilled to be knocked out after the first round. But now that I've seen the episode myself and had some time to think it over, I'm proud of what I accomplished.

Namely, that I managed to answer the questions I really cared about. This included a daily double about Crime and Punishment, my first ever Russian novel and the book that snowballed me into becoming a Russian major.

This was me when I got this question.

Then there was this gem:

Of all the presidents, I guess it makes sense that Millard Fillmore would be the one to show up on Jeopardy! He's best known as the obscure president with the funny name, but after last summer, I will always remember him as the one with the cardboard cutout.

I pose with Millard outside his home in East Aurora, NY.

But what I'm happiest about isn't really the questions I got right, or that I managed not to completely embarrass myself during the interview portion (although that was nice too). The thing that I'm most proud of is that I was myself. Like most people, I don't like to see myself on camera or hear recordings of my own voice, because I find it hard to believe that's what I really sound like, or that's how I really act.

When I watched myself, I didn't feel that way, because the Laura on TV was pretty much the same Laura I am every day. If a complete stranger watched me on Friday, I feel like they got a sense of what I'm actually like. This may not seem like a big deal, but it meant a lot to me.

Before I end this blog post, there's a lot of people I'd like to thank, starting with the Wellesley College community. The amount of support and encouragement I've gotten from the faculty, staff, students, and alumnae of Wellesley College has touched and humbled me. I feel so blessed to be a part of such an extraordinary community. I want to especially thank everyone who came to viewing in Collins Cinema on Friday night. You guys really made my day.

We watch Wheel of Fortune before Jeopardy! starts.

I would like to give special thanks to my ex-roommate/neighbor/non-biological sister Makenna, for making sure that when I got back from LA, this was awaiting me:

Next, I would like to thank all my aunts, uncles, and cousins who joined me on a weekly basis for google hangout study sessions. I had a blast, and also learned a lot (especially about baseball). I would like to give a special shout out to my Aunt Kay, who sent me a care package that included a stack of People magazines, sunglasses, and most importantly, sunscreen. If it were not for her, I would have been sunburned and miserable on national TV.

5AM. Studying hard at Boston Logan.

I would also like to give a quick shout out to my Academic Team coaches of the past: Mrs. Fernbacher, who looked at a quiet seventh grader and saw a competitor; Mrs. Case, Miss Roberts, and Mr. Ohl, who taught me how to win graciously and lose gracefully; and Caroline Hsu, my first Academic Team captain, whose intelligence is only outstripped by her kindness -- you continue to inspire me to be a better student and a better person.

Most importantly, I would like to thank my parents and my brother, who came and watched me at the studio. My brother took time off from discovering the mysterious of the universe to watch me play a game show, and to top it off knew the words I needed to hear most when I was done ("You didn't bet irrationally.") My dad drove me all over southern California, from San Dimas, to the Richard Nixon Birthplace, to Malibu, and when I'd finished my taping told me I did great (and meant it). Finally, I want to thank my mom, who ordered me room service, did my hair, and told me she was proud of me for showing my grit (and meant it). You guys are the best, and I love you all so much.

Finally, I would like to thank the cast and crew of Jeopardy! I had a great time, and I truly appreciate the amazing opportunity they gave me.

Thanks for reading! Now please enjoy these photographs of my time in California:

Paul and I express our love for San Dimas
(So-crates style)

I do the Richard Nixon in front of the helicopter
that took him out of Washington post-resignation.

I pose with Brezhnev and Krushchev at the
Richard Nixon Presidential Library in
Yorba Linda, CA.

Paul and I pose at the site of Jim Rockford's trailer in Malibu.

My first time in the Pacific Ocean.

*Many people have pointed out to me that this photo looks photoshopped. I chalk this up to the difference in skin tone between me and Alex Trebek. It should be noted that this photo was taken after the make-up lady "warmed up" my skin tone by four shades. I can only imagine what this photo would have looked look otherwise.   

Mr. America

I have always wondered who actually reads Tiger Beat magazine. I know I never did, nor did anyone I knew growing up. Yet it’s always there in supermarkets and drug stores, garishly advertising the hot new teen heart throbs.

Although I like to pretend I have superior taste, I get excited to go to the laundromat just so I can read some gossip rags.  Because I am a massive nerd, my secret dream has been to have a gossip magazine for historical figures.

Maybe it’s just the inherent silliness of judging historical figures on such superficial grounds. Maybe it’s the strange bit of cognitive dissonance that occurs when you find a dictator strangely attractive. Maybe it’s the understanding that as much as we like to think we’re able to see past the outer shells of people, looks are, and to some extent always have been, a factor in the relationships people have with others, and by extension, leaders with the people they lead. We may mock John Edwards for his $300 haircut, but Queen Elizabeth wore heavy makeup to hide her small pox scars, and Louis XIV like to show off his shapely legs. It may be frivolous, but historical gossip is also revealing in a way that reading about economic policy can never be.

What gams!

When compared to their counterparts in the European monarchies, American presidents are a boring group. As far as I know, nobody swam in fountains with dolphins or delighted in gifts of tall men in uniform. But if I had my way and was running the historical version of People, my first act would be a ranking of presidents, not by greatness or popular acclaim, but purely by sex appeal.

I have given this ranking more thought than I should have. My first few attempts were difficult, because I tried a top down approach, which is tricky when dealing with a beauty contest. So instead I tried to rule out the presidents who just couldn’t make the cut, starting with a personal favorite, James Madison, who was both too slight and too sour-faced to ever be misconstrued as handsome. Also in this category are John Adams, who was both short and stout, and Martin Van Buren, who was known as something of a dandy despite his goblin-like face. Rounding out the category is James Buchanan, who looks like a rooster about to peck out your eye in just about every picture of him.

I rest my case.

The next category I refer to as “meh.” Neither decidedly ugly nor attractive, they’re just pretty average. The vast bulk of presidents fall in this category, including James Monroe, John Tyler, James K. Polk, Zachary Taylor, Chester A. Arthur, Benjamin Harrison, Grover Cleveland, Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, Woodrow Wilson, Warren G. Harding, Herbert Hoover, Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, Richard Nixon, Jimmy Carter, George H. W. Bush, and Bill Clinton.

Perhaps the most distressing category is the handsome-when-young crowd. I was walking through the American Wing of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, when I came across a Copley portrait of a young John Quincy Adams. I was surprised to note he not only did not look like a Komodo dragon, he was actually shockingly handsome. 

How did this happen?

I had a similar moment with Gerald Ford, who played football and modeled as a young man. Also in this category were William McKinley and James Garfield, who were teen heartthrobs if their old daguerreotypes were any indication. Without his beard, Rutherford B. Hayes bears a strong resemblance to Daniel Day-Lewis, disproving the Abraham Lincoln Rule of “chicks dig the beard.”

William McKinley in Civil War Uniform

James Garfield

Rutherford B. Hayes, pre-beard

Then there’s the category of weirdly appealing. In this category is Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who I don’t think of as being actually handsome, but had an aristocratic air that pushes him out of “meh”. He is joined in his category by Millard Fillmore, also known as the president most likely to win an Alec Baldwin look-alike contest.

Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired.

There’s also Calvin Coolidge, whose stoic manners and lean figure both originated from his roots as a farm boy in Vermont. According to the fine people of the Calvin Coolidge State Historic Site, Coolidge was stronger than he looked if his skill at hay pitching was any indication, an activity that required superior upper body strength (aka biceps).

Swoon.

My smallest category is the intellectual types, consisting of Thomas Jefferson and Barack Obama. They both have the tall, slim, elegance that complements their cerebral styles.

Next up is the ruggedly masculine crowd, those guys who weren’t really handsome, but have appeal nonetheless. Leading off this group is Ulysses S. Grant, whose military credentials give him that aura of manliness necessary to belong to this group. George W. Bush also squeaks into this category thanks to his famously intense running sessions that made him one of our most physically fit presidents. Also in this group is the Great Emancipator himself, who even at the age of 55 could still wield an axe like nobody’s business. That kind of strength can make up for a lot. 

6 foot 4 inches of pure muscle.

Without a doubt the master of this group is Andrew Jackson. Although he had a face so long and narrow it makes John Kerry look like Jack Black, Jackson has a record of ultra-masculinity that more than compensates for his undeniably strange face.

Would you date this man?

However, Jackson is not the ultimate presidential man’s man. That distinction goes to the granddaddy of them all: George Washington. The father of our country was a man who could command a room; at 6’3” and 210 pounds, he towered above his contemporaries. He was an avid foxhunter and known for his bruising rides across his estate (read: strong thighs). These attributes cancel out his notoriously awful teeth.

The final category is where the real contenders are: the actually handsome men. While I cannot deny other presidents have appeal, the remaining men are undeniably attractive people (if such a thing really exists). Ronald Reagan kept his movie star good looks well into his 70s. Not only did his toned physique make the older ladies swoon, it most likely saved his life. As my 10^th grade history teacher creepily loved to point out, Reagan’s highly developed pectoral muscles helped slow the assassin’s bullet that very easily could have claimed his life.

Man of steel.

Another obvious choice for the best looking president is John F. Kennedy. His youth alone marks him as a prime candidate, a fact further reinforced by his womanizing reputation. However, several factors prevent him from becoming an instant winner. Firstly, as my brother is always quick to point out, his face looks like a handsome face that was squashed to 2/3 its original size. Another mitigating factor to Kennedy’s sex appeal is not widely known: Kennedy was a very sick man. He suffered from a kidney disease in addition to a bad back that required braces and an incredible cocktail of drugs.

The F stands for Foxy.

Other than Kennedy, the man who is generally regarded as the most handsome president is Franklin Pierce. With his cascade of dark curly hair and square jaw, Pierce makes quite the impression. He was also well known for his gregarious personality that made him popular in Washington, although later in life he suffered from depression and alcoholism.

Hubba-hubba.

However, the top of my personal list is the under-represented William Henry Harrison, based mostly on a portrait of him at Grouseland in Vincennes, Indiana. But if there's anything I've learned from my attempt at ranking presidential sex appeal, it's that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.

William Henry Harrison: General. President. Heartthrob.

Except for Martin Van Buren. Nobody finds that attractive.

Hawt.

Presidents + Gingerbread = Amazing

So apparently, somebody made gingerbread versions of presidential houses, which successfully combined two of my favorite things. My personal favorite: gingerbread Sherwood Forest, home of John Tyler.

You can see the rest of them here.

Mission Accomplished

As most of you have probably guessed, I was able to complete my goal of visiting a house for every president before the end of the summer! 

Because I like to keep things exciting I visited my last presidential home, the Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace in New York City, on my way back to college for the fall semester. Now that I'm on my winter break, I finally have some time to reflect back on the entire experience.

The only word I can honestly use to describe last summer is magical. I have always wanted to travel and see more of the world, but my journey showed me that I never really even knew my own country. I went to so many wonderful places and met amazing people. But there are two people who I want to take the time and thank.

First, my dad, who created the best (and most detailed) travel itineraries. I honestly could not have physically seen everything I saw without his help, since the only way to see seven historical homes in one day is to keep to a strict schedule. He even got in on the action and saw many of the homes with me and gave insightful commentary on the places we visited. Basically, he's awesome.Thanks, Dad!

And my mom. She's a bit internet shy, but without her I wouldn't have gotten very far. I mean this both metaphorically and literally since she drove me all over the country. She also took the photos you see gracing this sight, used all her considerable charm to soften a few surly tour guides, and was the best travel companion anyone could ask for. She is wholly unaware of how remarkable she is, and thinks my mission is a perfectly normal way to spend a summer. In short, she's extraordinary. 

As you can tell, my parents are BA. In lieu of an actual photo of them, I am going to stick in a picture of the next best thing, historical BAMF couple John and Abigail Adams.

Kicking ass and taking names since 1764 

For now, I'm going to continue adding to this blog as I write about my experiences at presidential houses across the country, so stay tuned!

Life in the 1%

I have infiltrated the ranks of the 1%, and so far my report is that being in the 1% is awesome.

As readers of this blog know by now, my family isn't big into flight. We drive basically everywhere. When we do fly, it's always in economy class and no checked bags. While I don't hate air travel, being violated by the TSA is not high on my list of things I like to do. 

But thanks to my soon-to-be canonized father and his stockpile of frequent flyer miles, I am about to do something I have never done before: fly First Class.

Already I can tell flying First Class is amazing. I got a free checked bag! The airline people are not horrifically rude to me! I get to go ahead in lines (when I remember I can use the preferred ones)! They didn't care that I wore my sunglasses into the creepy voyeuristic X-ray machine (that one actually concerns me a bit)! 

I expected flying First Class to be nicer, since it's so much more expensive. What I didn't expect was to feel like something of an impostor. I am not the kind of person who flies First Class. I'm the person who sits in economy, usually sandwiched between a chatty businessman and a gassy Australian (true story). It's going to be hard to go back.

I have come to an important conclusion: I need to get rich so this can become a more regular experience. 

Southern Comfort

I realized after my last couple of posts, someone could get the impression that I had a miserable time in The South. Nothing could be further from the truth. I had a great time and found many things to like and love about the places I went. So, for the sake of accuracy, I have compiled a list of things I enjoyed about The South.

1. Friendliness
Having grown up in an area of Pennsylvania where the locals can most charitably be described as reticent, I appreciated the general atmosphere of friendliness in The South. People were helpful and sweet and willing to just have a nice chat with a stranger.

Even the mules are friendly in the South.

2. Their accents
As I stated in my previous post, I have always wanted to say "y'all" naturally. I seriously envy those who can.

3. Barbeque
I love barbeque. I also have no idea what the difference between good barbeque and bad barbeque is. Trying to find restaurants, people would tell me the barbeque someplace was decent, but when I ate there, it would taste amazing. Because of this, I ate more barbeque in a five day period than I usually do in six months. 

4. Fireworks stores
Fireworks are illegal in Pennsylvania, but vendors in Pennsylvania can sell fireworks to people in New Jersey, even though fireworks are also illegal in New Jersey (ah, the beauty of a country of laws). I say this to make it clear I have seen fireworks warehouses before. I have bought fireworks in a fireworks warehouse before.

If you love fireworks (and if you don't, you really don't know what you're missing), go south. I saw more billboards and stores related to fireworks in five days in the south than the rest of my life put together. Not only was there a heavy concentration, each place was big, usually about the size of a small airplane hangar. My excitement never dwindled with each sighting, so now about 10% of our pictures from the trip are of fireworks warehouses.

Sadly, none of those pictures were actually good.

5. The insane concentration of historical markers
Anyone who has read this blog has probably figured out that I'm a massive history nerd. When I see a historical marker, I get excited. I soon learned being a history lover in the South was like being wine lover in Napa. In Charles City, Virginia I saw four markers within ten feet of each other. The sight was so overwhelming, I almost swooned, or at least let out an undignified squeal of excitement.

I was almost run over in the process of getting this picture.
It was worth it.

6. The opportunity to finally experience song geography

As a music lover and college radio DJ, I love me a theme playlist. My southern tour gave me my best opportunity yet to indulge in my propensity for geographically themed songs. Carolina in My Mind, Sweet Home Alabama, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down (both versions!), and basically every Pretty Girl song were all played at some point. However, my proudest accomplishment was the realization that there is a geographical error in the song Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show: Johnson City is actually to the east of the Cumberland Gap.