Presidents and their Secrets

It was late spring 1893, and Congress was getting ready to wind down and leave Washington before the city's miserable heat, humidity and mosquitoes arrived in full force. The Washington papers, ever curious about the plans of its recently re-elected president (to his second, albeit non-consecutive, term), reported that the Clevelands would spend the summer at their rented home in the cooler farming section of the city (yes, there once was such a place - now known as the Cleveland Park section because the Clevelands had lived there).

Then, just a few weeks after the First Family's plans were announced, a new report came forward - Mrs. Cleveland would prefer to take her daughter, Ruth, to the family's summer home at Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts, to keep her away from Washington's oppressive heat. And, by the way, the portly president was now on a new diet, the Banting program, to lose weight.

Such was the start of a presidential cover-up that remained a secret until 1917. The truth was this: President Cleveland had a cancerous growth in his mouth and required immediate surgery. Cleveland insisted upon complete secrecy because the country was on the verge of economic collapse (not unlike what we have recently experienced financially these past two years - although it was the man, J.P. Morgan, who literally bailed out the U.S. Treasury back then, not the other way around as happened in 2008 when the U.S. Treasury bailed out the company founded by Morgan). Cleveland feared that the country would collapse completely if the true state of his health were revealed to the public and to possible financiers abroad.

Mrs. Cleveland's departure to Massachusetts was the start of the ruse. The cover-up continued with Cleveland leaving Washington, ostensibly to go on a fishing trip, on the yacht of his close friend, Commodore Benedict. The surgery was performed on the yacht as it lay anchored off of New York City, and Cleveland convalesced there until he could be safely deposited at Buzzards Bay.

Newspaper reporters became suspicious when the president remained out of contact for as long as he did, but a cool and unflappable Frances Cleveland assured the reporters that her husband was enjoying some time away from Washington. The seriousness of the growth found in Cleveland's mouth necessitated a second surgery, again performed secretly, as well as the fitting of a rubber jaw so that the president could speak clearly.

A diligent reporter for the Philadelphia Eagle actually uncovered the full story in late August, but the White House successfully prevailed with the paper's editor to have a retraction printed before the information became widespread. The public never fully knew the truth about their very, very sick president until one of the dental surgeons, Dr. W.W. Keen, published his account of the events in a 1917 issue of the Saturday Evening Post (ostensibly with the approval of Mrs. Cleveland).

Many of us routinely question the veracity of reports coming from the White House - regardless of the occupant - because time has shown that not all information from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is completely truthful. Modern presidents could learn a thing or two from the second Cleveland administration - their tactics of concealment would rival anything a modern day politician might contrive to prevent a story from becoming known to the public.

Sleeveless First Ladies

I still have the March 2009 issue of Vogue magazine. Granted, part of the reason I'm hanging onto it is that I am a notorious pack rat. Throwing away anything that I think might have a future use is against my nature. But I have specifically saved this issue, because First Lady Michelle Obama, wearing a sleeveless dress, is on the cover.

When the March issue of Vogue appeared on the stands, Mrs. Obama had only been First Lady for about six weeks. Even so, she had already started a buzz in the fashion world because of her taste in clothing, and, especially, her tendency to wear sleeveless dresses. I read the commentaries on her "sleevelessness" with a sense of bemusement. Some things never change.

One hundred and twenty-three years earlier, in mid-1886, another First Lady was making headlines because of her sleeveless attire. That First Lady was Frances Folsom Cleveland, a young, lithe, extremely attractive woman, who had returned from her pre-wedding trip to Paris with a trunk-ful of new clothes. Naturally, her new role as the nation's First Lady was a two-edged sword: her beautiful and stylish attire would be on display during Washington's social season, and her clothing would be the subject of much discussion.

Her sleeveless dresses, with their low necklines, were indeed a subject of much discussion. The most outspoken group was the Women's Christian Temperance Union, which sent her a letter asking her to dress more modestly as an example for young women throughout the United States. The letter from the WCTU was especially curious, considering that Frances was a professed teetotaler, and that her college roommate was the niece of the WCTU's founder, Frances Willard. (The WCTU never did take a full liking to the nation's First Lady; it also criticized her for using a bottle of champagne to christen a ship, suggesting she should have used something non-alcoholic.)

Sleevelessness was not the only thing that Washington's society writers noted about the First Lady when it came to fashion. They found it newsworthy that she removed her bonnet when she attended theater - which was quite regularly - and started a trend that was ultimately seen as respectful to those who sat behind women wearing large hats that normally blocked the view of the stage.

The one "fashion statement" that was attributed to Frances, but which, in fact, she had nothing to do with, was the elimination of the bustle. That rumor was started one hot summer day in 1887 when there was no real news and a reporter needed to file something with his paper. He announced that Mrs. Cleveland's new wardrobe would no longer feature the bustle, and women's clothiers immediately packed the contraptions away in the basement. When Frances returned to Washington in the fall and embarked on a shopping trip, she asked for a bustle. "But Mrs. Cleveland," the sales clerk informed her, "ever since you stopped wearing the bustle, we took the remaining ones we had and put them in the basement. No one is buying them any more!"

"In that case," Frances replied, "I guess I really will have to stop wearing them." And she did.

Frances never waffled on her views about sleeveless dresses and low necklines, though. Her 1899 official portrait, by the artist, Anders Zorn, renders her in a sleeveless gown with just the right amount of decolletage to still be considered modest.

Why Write About Frances Folsom Cleveland?

"Why did you pick her?" is a question I am asked nearly every time someone hears about my book, "Frank: The Story of Frances Folsom Cleveland, America's Youngest First Lady." It's a fair question. Frances is not, as one person told me, "in the upper constellation of first ladies": that stratospheric region inhabited by Jackie Kennedy, Eleanor Roosevelt, Dolley Madison and Abigail Adams. The fact that Frances was considered a hostess on par with Dolley Madison has long been forgotten, and the uncanny parallels with Jackie Kennedy have never been fully drawn.

There are quite a few "firsts" associated with Frances. In addition to being the nation's youngest first lady, she was the first to marry a sitting president in the White House; the first First Lady to give birth to a baby in the White House; and the first to remarry after her husband died (Jackie Kennedy is the only other first lady to do so).

There are the forgotten "firsts": a kindergarten in the White House for preschool children; the first First Lady to graduate from college; one of the first two female trustees of her alma mater, Wells College. Frances played a behind the scenes role in finally getting copyright legislation passed to protect American authors, and following the presidential years and the family's settling in Princeton, New Jersey, Frances was instrumental in the founding of the New Jersey College for Women.

Newspaper articles, as well as her letters, reveal a woman of strong and determined character, with an egalitarian streak that endeared her to the public and to the White House staff. Her husband, Cleveland, who came across in public as gruff and taciturn, actually had a better sense of humor and was an outstanding raconteur in private. Frances, perhaps because of the demands on her to watch her children and household while Cleveland spent hours in the presidential study, in a fishing boat or on a hunting trip, was friendly enough. But she also had a stern and unyielding streak that remained with her throughout her life.

Historians refer to Frances as a "transitional" first lady. Although she continued to maintain a very traditional posture as the White House hostess, she did, in fact, understand the value of parlor politics. She played that game well enough that sometimes even her husband, who believed women should not be in politics, had to support what she was doing.