The recent election of a new president made me interested in learning more about all the presidents of the United States. One day while browsing around in Barnes and Noble, I spotted a book on their bargain table and bought it, The American President, A Complete History. In it seven or eight pages is devoted to the lives of each man. I’m finding each one an interesting read; last night I finished the seventh president’s story, Andrew Jackson. He was a very colorful character, liked by some, despised by others.
Jackson had to make his own way through life. He became orphaned by the age of 14 and learned to be combative. It was said of him that if a fight occurred at school he was usually in the middle of it. He participated in several duels and carried around a bullet slug in his chest received while killing his opponent in 1806. When Tennessee became a state he served as its first congressman and became a high ranking officer in its militia. In the War of 1812 he, to quote a line from a Johnny Horton song, “beat the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.” This was really quite an unfortunate affair as far as I’m concerned because the British had signed a peace treaty several days before the battle. News traveled slow in those days.
His reputation was that of supporting the common man. When Congress tried to recharter the Bank of the United States, he promptly, as President, vetoed the bill. If he would have had any power in the not yet existing state of North Dakota, he would never have gone along with our Bank of North Dakota, the only one of its kind in the country. His support for the common people did not extend to slavery or Indians. It was under his guidance that the ill-fated Trail of Tears, the relocation of Indian tribes, took place.
Our visit to his plantation site east of Nashville showed where he showed compassion to his favorite slave by letting him be buried close to Jackson’s grave. Compassion? While standing by the grave sites at The Hermitage, I looked northward to an open pasture area and saw a herd of black cows with white belts. It was a bit of information I passed along to my Uncle Russell while he lay in his hospital bed. I know he liked hearing the story since he's the one who founded the Buelingo breed. Now it’s on to the story of Martin Van Buren.
