He was born into the United States and, being but a boy, had little choice when his mother chose to dress him in a sailor uniform, cart him off to a photographer’s, and have him pose with a sword before a large flag-draped portrait of William McKinley (who must have been his mother’s political hero). Continue reading
On the evening of March 4, 1901, men and women in formal dress began drifting in to the Pension Building to attend the inaugural ball for William McKinley, who had been sworn in to his second term as president earlier that day. The cavernous Great Hall of the Pension Building had been lavishly decorated for the occasion. Guests were nearly lost in its magnificence: the endless garlands of lights, the immense stretch of polished floor, the massive stone columns stretching up to a ceiling over a hundred feet high. Overhead a gold-draped canopy glowed, reflecting the elegant incandescence below.
It was the one-hundredth anniversary of the first inaugural ceremonies to take place in Washington City, and the ball’s organizing committee intended to make it the most spectacular of any. The official souvenir program they got up preserves the essence of what they wanted to achieve.
THE INAUGURAL BALL
With each recurring inauguration of a President of the United States the festivities in which the people of the nation join are carried out on an ever increasing scale of elaborateness and grandeur. This year, as on several occasions in the past, the inaugural ball will be held . . . in the Pension Office building. . . . The magnificent court of this immense building affords suitable accommodations for the thousands who gather to make notable this great social feature of the induction of a Chief Executive into an office, which is the highest a republic can give.
The inaugural ball is a time-honored and always enjoyable function. The newly announced President attends with the members of his personal and official family, and leads the opening grand march. It forms a fitting and spectacular climax to a day of so much importance to the whole people. It is confidently expected that the ball this year will be the most resplendent, the most inspiring scene of gayety that has yet marked an inauguration. Over $18,000 has been spent alone in decorations, bunting, electricity, and flowers being the component parts of a scheme, which surpasses in glory of embellishment and detail the dreams of Oriental royalty.
The general color effect will be a most delicate shade of yellow known as old ivory. The ceiling will be a canopy of gracefully looped bunting, studded with innumerable incandescent lights burning within frosted glass. There will be no glare of dazzling arc lights, but an artistic mellow glow from the incandescent bulbs. The balconies which surround the court, the grand columns that reach from the tiled floor to arching roof, will all be decorated lavishly by the most skilled artisans. . . . This year American Beauty roses, rare orchids, and thousands of yards of twining vines . . . form the basis of the floral scheme.
The US Marine Band was slated to play a special program of promenades. A 125-piece orchestra was also on hand to play dance music throughout the night. Admission to the ball was $5 a ticket, while tickets to the buffet were an additional $1 each.
On arriving, President McKinley and his family, and Vice President Theodore Roosevelt and his family, were first shown to private suites of rooms off the Great Hall before emerging to lead the grand opening march. President McKinley and his wife Ida were admirable figures, but the night really belonged to the new vice-president Teddy Roosevelt and his wife Ethel, whose youth and glamor threatened to eclipse the president entirely. Roosevelt’s reputation as heroic leader of the ‘Rough Riders’ who helped liberate Cuba from Spain had endowed him with universal celebrity. His very presence reminded everyone of the nation’s recent military triumph, further stoking the celebratory mood of the ball that night.
Image by noted photographer Frances Benjamin Johnston.
Courtesy of the Library of Congress
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On April 6, 1899, Washington DC photographer E. B. Thompson rode out to the cemetery at Arlington, where the remains of several hundred officers and soldiers were about to be buried. The men had died in the late war with Spain, a brief affair that both began and ended the previous year, bringing the US control of Spain’s former island possessions—Guam, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines—and the independence of Cuba.
The coffins represented a fraction of the 3,000 Americans who died, felled not so much by their adversaries as by tropical diseases like malaria and yellow fever.
Now, belatedly, they were to be buried. The coffins lay suspended over long trenches dug in a new section of the cemetery. Many of the remains were unidentified, so coffins of the known dead were carefully positioned at the ends of the rows that would be most visible during the ceremony. Thompson positioned himself near the presidential viewing stand and took this picture. It is an image as raw as the landscape itself, the kind of grim tribute to the fallen that we hardly ever see. It was colorized later.
A crowd of some 15,000 people, along with President McKinley and other dignitaries, gathered for the funeral rites. A newspaper in New Brunswick, Canada, carried a full account of the proceedings. The work of burying the coffins began after the crowd dissipated, a tough, tedious job that took several days.
Image: E.B. Thompson photograph, “Interment at Arlington National Cemetery,” 1899.
Courtesy DC Public Library Commons, from this source.