Paul Nagel: The differences between the 2 sons of presidents who became president
[Paul C. Nagel is the author of three books about the Adams family, including "John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, A Private Life."]
IN a recent article in The New Yorker, Brent Scowcroft, a close friend of and former national security adviser to President George H. W. Bush, sharply criticized the current administration and, in all but name, its leader, President George W. Bush. That set tongues wagging anew about filial relations in the Bush family, which had earlier been brought into sharp relief in the book "Plan of Attack," by Bob Woodward. Asked by Mr. Woodward if he had discussed Iraq with his father, the younger Bush said: "You know, he is the wrong father to appeal to in terms of strength. There is a higher father that I appeal to."
How does that compare with the relationship between John Adams and John Quincy Adams, the only other father and son to occupy the White House? ...
John Quincy Adams frequently consulted his father during the campaign of 1824. He took time in the summer to visit the elderly former president in Quincy, particularly after being reminded by his wife that the public's eye was on him and he would be expected to display the character "of a good son." Hearing the news on Feb. 9, 1825, that he had been elected president by the House of Representatives (no candidate had won enough electoral votes, throwing the election into the House), the president-elect's first act was a note to his father, saying, "I can only offer you my congratulations and ask your blessing and prayers."
John Adams responded by describing himself as so overcome by the victory that he could convey only his hope that God would continue to bless his son as he had "in so remarkable a manner from your cradle." It required just a day, however, before the father was restored to his role as counselor. Via a grandson, he sent word that his son should subdue "every petty passion" and "every selfish feeling." As his father put it, "This is not an event to excite vanity." He added his wish that his son and the new first lady would find the White House "a more wholesome and comfortable habitation than it was when I was there."
From the start, however, John Quincy Adams found the executive mansion an even more miserable residence than his father had. Congress was controlled by an angry faction of mostly Southerners determined to ruin the Adams administration as vengeance for what they deemed an election stolen from their leader, Andrew Jackson. The younger Adams fought gamely, comforted that his father remained in good health and, despite shaky hands, still able to dictate invaluable letters. When September came, the president eagerly fled Washington for his annual visit to Quincy, where his father did what he could to comfort him.
Then, in May 1826, John Adams's sturdy constitution began to fail. Reports of this decline spurred his son to leave for Massachusetts. He did not get away in time, however, to see his father alive. John Adams died on the Fourth of July, a few hours after Thomas Jefferson. The news did not reach his son until July 10, while he was en route to Quincy.
Once he had arrived, and after the numerous memorial services and orations for John Adams had ended, John Quincy Adams found himself caught up by his father's memory and postponed leaving Massachusetts, claiming he must carry out instructions in his father's will. He wandered around the Quincy neighborhood, where he learned more about the Adams family's kinsmen and genealogy and spent hours pondering the family's graves in old cemeteries.
Finally setting out for the capital on Oct. 6, John Quincy Adams confided to his diary that "I commence my return to Washington with an aching heart." He knew that his remaining years as president would become even more wretched now that he had lost the encouragement and advice of his father.
What especially troubled the president as his carriage jolted back to Washington, however, were his thoughts as a classical scholar. His father's death reminded him of the admonition from Roman times that sons should "think of their fathers and of their children." Why was it, John Quincy Adams wondered, "that from the days of Pericles, the sons of eminent men have almost universally been mindless of both?"
Read entire article at NYT
IN a recent article in The New Yorker, Brent Scowcroft, a close friend of and former national security adviser to President George H. W. Bush, sharply criticized the current administration and, in all but name, its leader, President George W. Bush. That set tongues wagging anew about filial relations in the Bush family, which had earlier been brought into sharp relief in the book "Plan of Attack," by Bob Woodward. Asked by Mr. Woodward if he had discussed Iraq with his father, the younger Bush said: "You know, he is the wrong father to appeal to in terms of strength. There is a higher father that I appeal to."
How does that compare with the relationship between John Adams and John Quincy Adams, the only other father and son to occupy the White House? ...
John Quincy Adams frequently consulted his father during the campaign of 1824. He took time in the summer to visit the elderly former president in Quincy, particularly after being reminded by his wife that the public's eye was on him and he would be expected to display the character "of a good son." Hearing the news on Feb. 9, 1825, that he had been elected president by the House of Representatives (no candidate had won enough electoral votes, throwing the election into the House), the president-elect's first act was a note to his father, saying, "I can only offer you my congratulations and ask your blessing and prayers."
John Adams responded by describing himself as so overcome by the victory that he could convey only his hope that God would continue to bless his son as he had "in so remarkable a manner from your cradle." It required just a day, however, before the father was restored to his role as counselor. Via a grandson, he sent word that his son should subdue "every petty passion" and "every selfish feeling." As his father put it, "This is not an event to excite vanity." He added his wish that his son and the new first lady would find the White House "a more wholesome and comfortable habitation than it was when I was there."
From the start, however, John Quincy Adams found the executive mansion an even more miserable residence than his father had. Congress was controlled by an angry faction of mostly Southerners determined to ruin the Adams administration as vengeance for what they deemed an election stolen from their leader, Andrew Jackson. The younger Adams fought gamely, comforted that his father remained in good health and, despite shaky hands, still able to dictate invaluable letters. When September came, the president eagerly fled Washington for his annual visit to Quincy, where his father did what he could to comfort him.
Then, in May 1826, John Adams's sturdy constitution began to fail. Reports of this decline spurred his son to leave for Massachusetts. He did not get away in time, however, to see his father alive. John Adams died on the Fourth of July, a few hours after Thomas Jefferson. The news did not reach his son until July 10, while he was en route to Quincy.
Once he had arrived, and after the numerous memorial services and orations for John Adams had ended, John Quincy Adams found himself caught up by his father's memory and postponed leaving Massachusetts, claiming he must carry out instructions in his father's will. He wandered around the Quincy neighborhood, where he learned more about the Adams family's kinsmen and genealogy and spent hours pondering the family's graves in old cemeteries.
Finally setting out for the capital on Oct. 6, John Quincy Adams confided to his diary that "I commence my return to Washington with an aching heart." He knew that his remaining years as president would become even more wretched now that he had lost the encouragement and advice of his father.
What especially troubled the president as his carriage jolted back to Washington, however, were his thoughts as a classical scholar. His father's death reminded him of the admonition from Roman times that sons should "think of their fathers and of their children." Why was it, John Quincy Adams wondered, "that from the days of Pericles, the sons of eminent men have almost universally been mindless of both?"