1901: Disgruntled laborer shoots, kills President

Assassination of President McKinley by T. Dart Walker, c. 1905
Library of Congress

In Buffalo, New York, this week, I felt obliged by recent events to seek out the place where Leon Czolgosz fatally shot President William McKinley in 1901.

Contemplating Thomas Crooks's still unknown motive for shooting President Donald Trump in Pennsylvania on July 13, I thought about something Bill O'Reilly told Jon Stewart on The Daily Show last week: that every U.S. presidential assassin has been mentally ill.

I wasn't sure about that. After some looking into it, I suppose the accuracy of the assertion depends on what one means by mentally ill.

One could argue that anyone with ambiguous motive to murder a President is mentally unwell. Indeed, an "insanity" argument was made in the criminal defense of Czolgosz for the 1901 shooting of McKinley. The defense hardly slowed the conviction. Inside of two months from the shooting, Czolgosz was executed.

Site of President McKinley assassination, Buffalo, N.Y., 2024
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

So in informal terms, O'Reilly probably is right. In clinical terms, we don't have enough data to be sure of the mental state or diagnosis of past assassins. Experts have disagreed about Czolgosz. Then there's the legal concept of "insanity," having to do with capacity to differentiate right from wrong. Czolgosz knew what he was doing; I don't think O'Reilly meant to say otherwise.

Czolgosz was attracted to radical socialism and then anarchism because he lost his job in an economic crash when he was 20—the same age as Crooks when his life ended. Czolgosz couldn't find consistent work amid the labor turmoil of the ensuing depression in the 1890s. Born into a Polish-immigrant family, he became convinced that the American economic system was rigged to favor the establishment over the working class. Hm.

Czolgosz learned that socialists and anarchists in Europe were struggling with similarly entrenched economic inequality as royals endeavored to maintain their traditional grip on social order. European anarchists had resorted to assassination as a means to express their displeasure and spark reform. However, bolstering O'Reilly's theory on Czolgosz's mental state, even American socialists and anarchists raised, no pun intended, red flags over Czolgosz.

Pan-American Exposition, by Oscar A. Simon & Bro., 1901
Library of Congress

In his second term as President, McKinley was in Buffalo for the Pan-American Exposition, a kind of world's fair. He was riding a wave of national optimism upon consolidation of American power in the hemisphere. It was in McKinley's first term that the United States seized Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines from Spain after substantially prevailing in the Spanish-American War. 

McKinley was keen to attend the exposition, because he saw political promise in associating himself with American prosperity and invention. The 342-acre exposition featured the latest engines, the hydroelectric power of nearby Niagara Falls, and an "Electric Tower" framed by the newly proliferating magic of light bulbs. 

No doubt McKinley's exposition strategy galled Czolgosz. In a morbid irony, when Czolgosz was executed in October 1901, it was by electric chair.

Reenactment in Porter's Execution of Czolgosz (1901).
Library of Congress

Like President Trump, McKinley liked being up close and in person with his public, despite the exposure to risk. McKinley's security staff, of course, knew of the anarchist assassinations in Europe and the organization of anarchism in the United States. McKinley's top adviser twice canceled the appearance of the President at the exposition's Temple of Music, for fear he could not be protected there. McKinley overruled the cancellations. That's where he was shot.

Like Crooks, Czolgosz intended to shoot the President while he was giving a speech, the day before the Temple of Music event. But the crowd at the speech was too dense, and Czolgosz didn't think he could make the shot. So instead, he approached the President in a receiving line at the Temple of Music and shot him at close range. Czolgosz's first shot only grazed the President. The second struck McKinley in the abdomen and resulted in death two days later.

Fordham Drive, Buffalo, N.Y., 2024
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Like Crooks, Czolgosz was recognized as a potential threat. But security blunders—for example, he should not have been permitted in the receiving line with the closed and covered hand that concealed a gun—let him reach the President. After the shooting, he was tackled by a heroic but later undersung African-American man standing nearby, then pummeled by security staff. Czolgosz might have been killed right then, but McKinley himself called off the beating.

Many Americans no doubt saw the assassination of McKinley as signaling a tragic inevitability of the times. President Lincoln had been assassinated in 1865, and President Garfield in 1881. Director Edwin S. Porter made a creepy, one-minute silent film for the Thomas Edison company in 1901 about the assassinations; The Martyred Presidents is available online at the Library of Congress. Present in Buffalo to film the exposition and yet early in his prolific career, Porter also made a four-minute film featuring a reenactment of Czolgosz's execution.

President Roosevelt at the Wilcox House, 2024.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Another assassination attempt did follow, injuring President Theodore Roosevelt in 1912. Roosevelt had been inaugurated in Buffalo in succession of McKinley in 1901. The location of the hasty inauguration, the then-private Ansley Wilcox House, is now a National Historic Site in Buffalo; I stopped by there, too.

Me'n'T.R. meet inside the Wilcox House.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Roosevelt's survival seemed to break the generational cycle, at least until the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963. A more entertaining explanation for the abatement of presidential assassinations is featured in Sarah Vowell's characteristically superb book Assassination Vacation (2006): the Robert Todd Lincoln "jinx." The eldest son of President Abraham Lincoln was present at the assassinations of his father, President James Garfield, and President McKinley, but not for the attack on T.R.

The Pan-American Exposition is long gone. The land where the incident occurred became a residential development. A small plaque and garden, and a flagpole and flag in the roadway median of Fordham Drive in Buffalo mark the approximate location of the fatal shooting in 1901.

A nearby high school is named for McKinley. Buffalo, N.Y., 2024.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Defamation case against Trump fits woeful pattern, while DOJ defense is defensible, if disconcerting

Notice of Removal in Carroll v. Trump

The recent news (e.g., N.Y. Times) that the Department of Justice (DOJ) will defend the President in the defamation suit arising from sexual-assault allegations by E. Jean Carroll has caught the interest of both my Torts I class and my Trump Litigation Seminar (TLS).  The DOJ's announcement manifests on the docket in removal of the case from the New York Supreme Court to the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of New York.  Links and key court documents are now posted atop The Savory Tort's TLS blogsite.

The strategy of using a sexual-assault denial and accompanying charge that the accuser is a "liar" as the basis for a defamation suit against the alleged perpetrator, i.e., Carroll v. Trump, is now, unfortunately, a familiar feature of our high-profile tort-litigation landscape.  It might have been Bill Cosby who committed the pattern to popular culture's long-term memory.  The Cosby case came complete with counterclaims, making the defamation dispute the dueling ground for truth and falsity.

It's unfortunate, because the tort of defamation was not designed to be a truth-finding mechanism.  Historically, truth wasn't even a defense; that's a modern artifact inferred by the freedom of speech.  The flaws in our defamation law are legion and one of my favorite subjects; one that matters here is that defamation is rarely capable of delivering exoneration, much less satisfying any of a plaintiff's legitimate aims.

Among reforms of defamation that have been proposed over the years are mechanisms to ferret out and publicize truth, rather than focusing on the plaintiff's alleged injury or the defendant's asserted rights.  Though not always well crafted, laws that incentivize correction or settlement over protracted litigation at least aim in the right direction.  Regrettably, reform of defamation has been hamstrung for decades by the Supreme Court's well intentioned but ultimately improvident constitutionalization of defamation in the 1960s and 1970s.  I hope one day, we'll wade our way out of that morass.

Anyway, on the question of the DOJ's intervention, there's a curious conundrum about Carroll v. Trump.  The DOJ position is that Trump was acting in the scope of the office of the President when he denied Carroll's sexual-assault allegations.  We would, after all, hope that any President would deny such allegations, and we would have to admit that the truth of the allegations bears on his fitness for office.  Thus, the DOJ reasons, it must represent the position of the President.  The bitter pill for Trump opponents to swallow is that that's probably right.

The kicker comes in that Trump's denial is only presidential if he's telling the truth.  If he did what Carroll alleged, then the operative facts of the case occurred before Trump was elected.  His later denial then feels more like the mere pleading of a private defendant in an ordinary civil suit.  You know, one in which we might debate what the meaning of is is.  So the rationale for defense by DOJ is predicated on the very question at issue in the litigation.  For DOJ to take the President's denial as true, for now, is a fair, if uncomfortable, choice.  If one day the court rules in Carroll's favor, though, maybe we can send the legal bill to the former President.

Thanks to TLS student Ricardo Serrano and Torts student Paul McAlarney for helping me think about this one.

[UPDATE Oct. 27, 2020.]  The court denied the government's motion to substitute party on Oct. 27, 2020.  See Special Coverage at the Trump Litigation Seminar.

US President haunts African 'ghost capital'

Main traffic circle in Canchungo, Guinea-Bissau.
All photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-SA 4.0.

Throughout Guinea-Bissau, in West Africa, characteristic landmarks found in town centers, parks, and traffic circles are large, dilapidated blocks of painted concrete, often graffitied. These blocks are actually bases that have held statues of prominent leaders during the country's tumultuous history since independence was declared in 1973.

For Guinea-Bissau, it's been a journey as rocky and potholed as the nation's roads. Independence from Portugal was hard fought, with the Soviet Union, Cuba, and China pouring in arms for the revolutionaries to the end of establishing a communist foothold in West Africa. Anti-revolutionary soldiers were mass murdered after their defeat. Subsequent instability and corruption led to civil war in the 1990s, and election turmoil and political violence marked the 20-aughts. The presidential election in 2019 was contested, and just this week, since inauguration of the ultimately recognized victor, there are reports of military intimidation of the courts. No wonder statues don't last long in poor Guinea-Bissau.

That makes one statue still standing all the more an oddity. In an overgrown park in the heart of the main town on Bolama Island, in the Bijagos Archipelago, at the center of low walls of crumbling concrete that once demarcated colorful stars, the likeness of 18th U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant rises defiantly.

The Grant statue is a curious throwback to Portuguese colonial rule. Actually, all of Bolama Town is a throwback to colonialism. Once grand Portuguese constructions crumble in slow decay in what's sometimes called Guinea-Bissau's "ghost capital." European powers such as Portugal favored locating their colonial bases of operations on offshore islands, where winds kept malarial mosquitoes at bay. Today the ghost capital is inhabited, despite its state; thousands of people live in subsistence, and sometimes dependent, conditions amid the ruins.

In the 1860s, President Grant became the mutually agreed upon arbitrator between Portugal and Great Britain over territory in the islands. After Grant awarded Bolama to Portugal in 1870, the Portuguese erected the statue to honor him. Notwithstanding the resolution of that dispute, and despite British efforts to aid the Confederacy and topple the Union in the Civil War, Grant was ultimately credited with strengthening U.S. relations with Britain during his two terms as President in the Reconstruction era. Grant proved so popular abroad that he and his wife embarked on a world tour after his presidency, and, with the imprimatur of President Rutherford B. Hayes, Grant inaugurated the custom of former presidents conducting informal diplomacy abroad.

The tale of Grant's Bolama ghost gained an unusual epilog in 2007, when the statue went missing. Ofeibea Quist-Arcton reported the story for NPR. Apparently stolen to sell as scrap metal, Grant was recovered in pieces, and authorities ultimately restored him--not how things usually work out for statues in Guinea-Bissau.

Ruins of Portuguese palace in Bolama Town

Abandoned cinema in Bolama Town

A storefront in Bolama Town painted for politics

Kids swinging in a refurbished Bolama Town park

Remembering 'very unique,' 'extremely historic,' pre- post-literate politics

Comedic media have recently lampooned with delight the President's sing-song description of litigation over the "national emergency" at the border.  (My favorites are Trevor Noah's "Guitar Hero" take and Stephen Colbert's "Torah reading."  Jake Tapper told Colbert aptly that Trump's description might actually prove correct.)  Then Bernie Sanders entered the race and admonished media that if his ideas were once fringe, they are no more.  Access to higher education always has been a key part of his platform.

This confluence of events made me nostalgic for the quixotic character of the savant President Bartlett of The West Wing (1999-2006).  To be clear, this is not a political statement: I'm not condemning Trump, nor endorsing Bernie, nor, least of all, saying anything about the politics of Martin Sheen, Rob Lowe, and Allison Janney.  I just wanted for a moment to set politics aside and revel in the appeal of a President who appreciates good writing and the power of language.  So I looked up this video introduction to West Wing season 2, episode 9, "Galileo V," aired November 29, 2000—ten months before September 11.  O simpler times and innocent idealism.

Hat tip to Kayla Venckauskas, UMass Law '19—editor-in-chief of the UMass Law Review, 2018 Rappaport Fellow, ALDF scholarship winner, and survivor extraordinaire of my 1L Torts class—for reminding me of this gem.  (If any of my media law colleagues still want to jump into this year's Law and Media Symposium on March 28, get in touch ASAP, and I'll do my best to hook you up.)