The Black Hills of South Dakota are not the nation’s most impressive mountains. Not the largest, not the oldest, not even the blackest. Their name derives from the fact that they are dark from a distance because they’re covered with trees.
Still, were it not for them, we would not have Mount Rushmore. The sheer size and dimension of the sight takes a visitor’s breath away, really: four of America’s most beloved and revered presidents – Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt — carved as busts into the towering backdrop of granite, standing out, literally, in bas relief.
Less well known, of course, is Mount Rushmore’s sculptor. Gutzon Borglum, an Idaho-born son of Danish immigrants, actually has a California connection. He studied at the Mark Hopkins School of Art, now the San Francisco Art Institute, and he is interred in Forest Lawn cemetery in the Southern California suburb of Glendale. Like so many once-celebrated names, his has been dimmed by history.
So it has gone with many of the presidents who failed to merit inclusion in the pantheon he had blasted into the side of a mountain. Some say there is space for a few more on Mount Rushmore, but imagine the contemporary partisan wrangling. Certainly Democrats would add Franklin Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy, and Republicans might choose Dwight D. Eisenhower and Ronald Reagan. But what of Harry Truman and William McKinley? We’ll stay out of that one for now.
Instead, consider the absolute noncontenders, those whom history will recall with less monumental kindness. Some mediocrities — Benjamin Harrison, John Tyler — are not shunned, exactly, and have their own national historical sites. But whither the worst? They get no mountaintop bust, no lionization, other than a generic inclusion among all presidents on Presidents Day.
Their sole notable accomplishment is having gotten historians to agree on something. In this alt-fact, reality-show America, that isn’t easy. For example, most historians agree that the presidency of James Buchanan (1857-61) was an absolute catastrophe that led to the Civil War. But it also led to the presidency of Abraham Lincoln, who every scholar of note would agree was among our nation’s greatest presidents.
What about the lazy President Warren G. Harding (1921-23), who governed over the massive Teapot Dome oil scandal? Or President Ulysses S. Grant (1869-1877), the beloved hero of the Union forces whose administration was forever tarnished by the Crédit Mobilier disaster, in which practically every Gilded Age pol from the vice president on down took bribes to grease the transcontinental railroad?
President George W. Bush? Looking better these days, isn’t he? The New Bush is the guy who didn’t want to discriminate against Muslims after 9/11, moved significant AIDS relief to Africa, and seems astonishingly articulate in retrospect. Downside? Iraq remains a heartbreaking, seemingly irreparable mess.
President Richard Nixon? He’s simultaneously looks better and worse in retrospect. He made masterful geopolitical plays and forward-looking domestic policy (he proposed national health care of sorts and created the Environmental Protection Agency). But there were those tapes. And Watergate.
And then, some presidents are Teflon. JFK’s charisma is forever, despite his sexual involvement with, well, a lot of women. President Bill Clinton was impeached in 1999. You’d hardly know it today given his enduring popularity among some Americans, although others remain convinced he is a criminal.
It is worth remembering: For all of this nation’s great leaders, failure is an option. It happens, even to presidents. There in the space that is not Mount Rushmore, history offers that valuable lesson, that in life, leaders are not necessarily granite. They are as human in character as we, the people behind them, light and dark, good and wicked, strong and weak.
Editor’s note: Editorials from other newspapers are offered to stimulate debate and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Tribune.