The modern Congress also operates in the shadow of the American presidency. To the extent that the average citizen focuses on the national government, he or she reads online publications or watches podcasts about the chief executive—where he travels, when he speaks, how he tweets. In an era of personality-driven news, no personality looms larger than the president of the United States. Ceaseless news coverage, provided on multiple platforms 24/7, ensures that virtually every aspect of the president’s life and career is grist for the mill.
Few members of Congress receive, or warrant, such extensive media attention. Thus, to the uninitiated, Congress is less important than the president in our constitutional system of government because it operates, with rare but notable exceptions, outside our line of sight. And yet Congress is a co-equal branch of government, deriving its powers from Article I of the U.S. Constitution. Love it or hate it, the institution is a source of incredible power that affects the lives of every American, as well as people around the world. Just as David McCullough advised, it behooves us to rectify our lack of knowledge.
Accordingly, Congressional Giants explores the careers and achievements of fourteen influential leaders—men who either held formal positions within the chambers of Congress, such as Speaker of the House of Representatives or Senate majority leader, or who served on important committees at crucial times—to understand how they used their power to enact legislation that changed the course of history. Each of the figures discussed here was a giant in his day, widely recognized as a master legislator with a deep knowledge of both the institution and of human nature.
It is important to note that some members’ achievements might be diminished with the benefit of hindsight, especially when viewed through the harsh lens of presentism. Take Stephen A. Douglas, the prominent nineteenth-century Illinois senator, as a prime example. When viewed from the safe confines of the twenty-first century, his moral blindness in authoring the Kansas-Nebraska Act of 1854 is breathtaking, and it disqualifies him from membership in the pantheon of great American statesmen. Let us admit this unpleasant fact upfront: he was an apologist for slavery and an acknowledged racist, a man who fell on the wrong side of history. We need not argue the niceties of this judgment. The record is clear. The premise of this book, however, is not that anyone should reassess Stephen A. Douglas with an eye toward rehabilitating his place in history. The thesis is not that anyone discussed within these pages is a misunderstood humanitarian. Rather, the point is that Douglas, for all of his well-documented flaws, was a legislator of the first rank when the criterion is his ability to effect his will on Congress. In other words, later generations might disapprove of his agenda, but he merits inclusion in the book because he was so successful in figuring out how to use the institution to suit his purposes. We can reach a similar conclusion about everyone discussed within these pages. We may not always share their values or approve of their motives, but we can appreciate their legislative prowess.
As for the process of selecting members to label as the most influential leaders of Congress in American history, reasonable minds can differ on who should be included or omitted. In 1955, the U.S. Senate attempted to address the issue by creating a select committee tasked with identifying five former senators to be commemorated with portraits displayed in a Senate reception room. Committee members ranked senators based on “legislative accomplishments” or, in some instances, “courageous negation.” After much wrangling and debate, the committee narrowed the list to sixty-five senators who should be honored, but the names had to be pared down further. On May 1, 1957, the committee revealed the names of the senators who would be honored: Henry Clay of Kentucky; Daniel Webster of Massachusetts; John C. Calhoun of South Carolina; Robert La Follette Sr. of Wisconsin; and Robert A. Taft of Ohio. In 2004, the Senate added Arthur Vandenberg of Michigan and Robert F. Wagner of New York. Each of these men is discussed in this book or in a companion volume, Congressional Lions: Trailblazing Members of Congress and How They Shaped American History.2
No single work, or even a series of works, can rectify all the deficiencies that David McCullough identified. We still know too little about Congress and its members. Much work needs to be done in this area. Yet Congressional Giants is a place to start.
As I have learned many times, no one writes a book without considerable assistance. First and foremost, I appreciate the help of past and present editors at Lexington Books, including Kate Tafelski, Emily Roderick, Bryndee Ryan, Joseph Parry, and Alison Keefner. Without their time and talents, this book would never have appeared.
As I started on the journey, Jennifer Knerr reviewed an early version of the book proposal and provided advice on the organization and methodology. I also benefited from the efforts of the staff of the Horace W. Sturgis Library at Kennesaw State University (KSU), who provided guidance with the interlibrary loan process. KSU was my academic home from 1998 until 2019, and Sturgis library personnel assisted me on most of my books.
Family and friends provided support and assistance, especially Dr. William Donald Richardson, my mentor and dissertation director at Georgia State University, who is now a distinguished professor emeritus at the University of South Dakota. Dr. Richardson started me on the road to a life of the mind, and I will be forever in his debt. I also thank my lifelong friends Keith W. Smith, whom I have known for more than thirty-five years, and Chuck Redmon, whom I met more than twenty-seven years ago when we worked at the same company. Thanks also to Shirley Hardrick, housekeeper and babysitter extraordinaire, and Gabriel Botet, a full-time creative free-spirit and part-time babysitter.
I also extend heartfelt appreciation to family members who are fellow writers: Walter Russell Mead (cousin), Christopher A. Mead (cousin), Robert Sidney Mellette (cousin), William W. Mellette (uncle), and Jim Wise (cousin). They have inspired and encouraged me throughout the years.
Monroe, Georgia
December 2019
NOTES
1. David McCullough, The American Spirit: Who We Are and What We Stand For (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2017), 6.
2. Additional information on the committee deliberations can be found in Richard A. Baker, Traditions of the United States Senate, prepared under the direction of Nancy Erickson, Secretary of the Senate (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 2007), 23–24.
Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, and John C. Calhoun
Three statesmen dominated American politics for the first half of the nineteenth century, and no book on influential leaders of Congress would be complete without including a chapter on the trio. Known collectively as the “Great Triumvirate,” Henry Clay of Kentucky, nicknamed “Prince Hal,” Daniel Webster of Massachusetts “Black Dan,” and John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, “Cast-Iron Man,” served in both houses of Congress, as well as in the position of secretary of state, the premier post in the executive cabinet. Each man harbored ambitions to become president of the United States, and yet each fell short. Despite their failure to ascend into the top position, however, these three men could properly be called, in the words of one historian, “heirs of the founders.”1
Henry Clay
The eldest of the three, Henry Clay, was born in Virginia on April 12, 1777, less than a year after the Second Continental Congress declared independence from Great Britain. He became emblematic of the restless American who abandons the eastern states to try his luck on the frontier. After studying law under the legendary William & Mary professor George Wythe, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and mentor to Thomas Jefferson, Clay headed west to make his way in Kentucky, which had recently joined the Union. He married into a wealthy Kentucky family, ensuring that he would possess the financial means to make his way in politics, which was not a lucrative field. Clay and his wife, Lucretia, eventually produced eleven children, seven of whom predeceased him.2