I have written before that if John Quincy Adams’ presidency had been as notable as his career in public service before and after he was president, he likely would have been on Mt. Rushmore.  He was, arguably, America’s greatest secretary of state — in that position he, not President Monroe, wrote the Monroe Doctrine that gave America primacy in the Western Hemisphere, and he engineered several treaties that brilliantly, and peacefully, gained America increased territory and prestige.

He was also among the greatest politicians ever to serve in Congress, which he did after he was president, entering the House of Representatives in 1831.   There “Old Man Eloquent,” as he was called, led the opposition to slavery, working tirelessly, and ultimately successfully, to end the so-called “gag rule,” which had allowed Congress to “table” — to put aside without debate or vote — the many petitions Congress was receiving demanding slavery’s end.

And in 1848 he passionately opposed then-President James Polk’s war with Mexico, which Polk had provoked in order to gain the Mexican-held California and New Mexico territories, thereby completing America’s continental expansion to the Pacific.  Adams supported America becoming a continental nation, but he also knew that these territories, forcibly taken, would exacerbate the conflict over slavery as southerners and northerners argued over whether the new states that would eventually be created from these territories would be free or slave states.  Adams also objected to Polk’s outmaneuvering Congress to start the war, clearly violating Congress’s exclusive constitutional war-declaration authority.

Which is why Adams yelled “No!” when, in February of 1848, the Speaker of the House called for a vote to honor the U.S. officers who had waged the war.  Rising to explain his vote, Adams suddenly collapsed from a stroke.  He died two days later, on February 23, 1848.

The upshot of which was that “No” was the last word Adams uttered in public even though, as a proud Whig, he was a positive progressive.  Like all Whigs he called for an activist government that supported “internal improvements,” meaning funding for new roads, bridges and canals to better move goods and services across the country.  He also advocated government support for science, education and industry, as well as legal recognition of rights for Indians, blacks and women.

Interestingly, Adams’ views on all of these issues were shared by another proud Whig who, in 1848, was also a member of the House of Representatives.  Abraham Lincoln was his name and unlike Adams his congressional career was undistinguished — he served just one term.  Then again, unlike Adams, his presidency from 1861 to 1865 was the most notable in our history.  So notable, in fact, that it made him a shoo-in for Mt. Rushmore.

This week (Jan. 20) in 1961, John F. Kennedy was inaugurated as our 35^th president, and his tragic death by assassination notwithstanding, his was a mediocre presidency that, undeservedly, became the stuff of legend — in part because of his assassination.

The myth of “Camelot” is well known; the handsome, inspirational president cut down in his prime, thereby cutting short a good presidency destined for greatness.  In truth, however, the Kennedy administration, while long on rhetoric, was short on accomplishments.  Indeed, in the latter category, historians point to the establishment of the Peace Corps, the injection of purpose — and funding — into the U.S. space program, and tax cuts that helped stimulate the economy.

Yet on the big issues of the day, Kennedy was either AWOL, or blundered badly.  On Civil Rights he was a reluctant president who kept a low profile on an issue that he thought would hurt him politically, especially in the segregationist South, which in 1961 was the core of the Democratic Party.  Kennedy played hard to get with civil rights leaders such as Martin Luther King, Jr., meeting with them only infrequently and usually surreptitiously, and although he made the perfunctory noises about civil rights legislation, it was his successor, Lyndon Johnson, who actually had the muscle, and the moxie, to enact the 1964 Civil Rights legislation into law.

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There is a reason why Franklin Delano Roosevelt was elected president four times.  Yes, on the domestic front he inspired hope, but most of his “New Deal” economic policies at best were ineffective and at worst actually prolonged America’s economic depression.   And, yes, he was a great war leader, but he had already been elected president three times before his war leadership even came into play.

The reason for FDR’s political success was quite simply that he was a master politician and gifted communicator, who could disarm his political opponents and puncture their ideological and political balloons with a skill few politicians have ever matched.  No better example of this skill can be found than his appearance, this week (Sept. 23) in 1944, before the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, while campaigning for re-election (once again).  After giving his prepared remarks Roosevelt addressed a rumor, spread by his Republican opponents, that on his return trip from the Aleutian Islands earlier that year, Roosevelt discovered he had accidentally left behind his dog Fala, and had ordered a Navy destroyer to return to the islands and fetch his beloved Scottish Terrier — costing the taxpayers $20 million.

In a half-amused, half- indignant voice, FDR responded, “These Republican leaders have not been content with attacks on me, or my wife, or on my sons … they now include my little dog Fala.  Well, of course, I don’t resent attacks, and my family doesn’t resent attacks, but Fala does resent them. You know, Fala is Scotch, and being a Scottie, as soon as he learned that the Republican fiction writers, in Congress and out, had concocted a story that I had left him behind … and had sent a destroyer back to find him at a cost to the taxpayers of two or three, or eight or twenty million dollars, his Scotch soul was furious. He has not been the same dog since. I am accustomed to hearing malicious falsehoods about myself … But I think I have a right to resent, and object to, libelous statements about my dog.”

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