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The president that talked himself to death.
If you’ve ever had to deliver a public speech, you’ve probably wished you were dead. Unfortunately for the subject of this article, that wish came true. Today’s Odd Person is the oft-forgotten 9th president who, to this day, holds two major records:
Longest inauguration speech in American history
Shortest presidency in American history
This is the ill tale of William Henry Harrison.
“Ill?” you might ask. “Well, isn’t that in the title of this website?”
Turns out, it can also refer to coming down with a sickness, which is exactly what ol’ Willy H.H. did during his first fucking day on the job. What a noob.
And no, it’s not because a disgruntled Martin Van Buren smuggled a few test tubes from the Wuhan Virology Lab and hid them in the resolute desk for his successor to find. It’s actually because William Henry Harrison decided to deliver an inaugural speech that was over two hours long on a freezing cold rainy day in 1841. Eager to reinforce his masculine image, Will-Dog insisted on riding to the Capitol on an extremely virulent horse (we’ll get to that) and, ironically, refused to wear his horse hair coat to the occasion.
He caught pneumonia and 31 days later, he was dead. So let’s Monday-morning-quarterback this fateful display of hubris and try to understand why H-Squared hated outerwear so much.
You see, as the young secretary of the Northwest Territory, William Henry Harrison gained notoriety for his acclaimed horse-breeding initiatives. Until Horny Horse Harrison came along, the Northwest Territory had never seen horses so horny before.
He parlayed this early political triumph into an eventual election to the United States Congress. But because the Northwest Territory was not a state, Harrison wasn’t allowed to vote on legislative bills or have much political influence in Congress whatsoever. Noticing his propensity for just sitting around, then-President John Adams appointed him the first Indiana territorial governor. Wishy Washy William stayed in that post for 12 years, basically just overseeing the construction of roads, scarecrows, and equine breeding pens.
After his opponents started to get more vocal in their claims that getting a bunch of horses to bang and paving a couple of wagon paths wasn’t really that impactful, Harrison decided it was time to take a stance on something he really cared about — slavery. In a vehement rebuke of the abolitionists and social justice warriors on Twitter, he fathered six children with one of his slaves and staunchly supported slavery during Indiana’s march towards statehood. It didn’t work out. Cancel culture won one of its earliest victories and effectively sidelined White Privilege Will in 1809 or so.
However, our boy wasn’t done yet. He orchestrated a successful comeback as a general in the War of 1812. In a stroke of genius, he devised a plan to bait Tecumseh's forces into a carefully laid trap. During the Battle of Tippecanoe, under the cover of darkness, Harrison’s troops planted a hidden stash of wildfire. When the time was ripe, and Tecumseh's confederacy pressed forward, General Harrison ignited the cache with a fiery explosion over Blackwater Bay. The ripple effects of the shockwave were felt all the way from the Wall to Washington, at once securing our boy a decisive victory, a dragon egg, presidential viability, and a weird fucking nickname (Old Tippecanoe).
But then for the next 24 years, he basically did nothing cool. He touted his own military success and badgered his well-connected friends in order to land a few government jobs such as the U.S. Minister to Colombia, where he kind of just sat around and drank delicious coffee.
In 1836, he pestered the nascent Whig party into letting him in on their scheme to defeat Martin Van Buren by which they’d run a whole bunch of random candidates, split the electoral vote, and send the decision to the House of Representatives. Unfortunately, the nation's first Stop the Steal rally put an end to the plan and Harrison, along with the rest of the Whig hopefuls, lost outright to Marty Boy.
Undeterred, our main man bothered everyone into giving him another shot in 1840. Despite his aristocratic upbringing and problematic social media footprint, the Whigs' PR team wanted to position him as an everyman, anti-slavery candidate. So he hit the campaign trail with an unapologetic stump speech.
"Let me tell you, folks, these rumors about me being pro-slavery are just disgusting lies, and I mean really disgusting. Fake news, just like CNN, always trying to spin things. And as for Sleepy Van Buren, well, he's been asleep at the wheel for years, believe me. The Panic of 1837? All because of Low Energy Marty and his sanctuary cities. A real nasty guy, I tell you. I've always been on the right side of history, always. Nobody respects freedom more than me, nobody. Slavery? Never heard of it, never supported it. It's a disgrace that they're even saying these things. We're making the Colonies great again, just you wait and see!"
Emboldened by their candidate’s bravado, Whig surrogates hit the Sunday shows and puffed out their chests about ol' Willy Henry Harry, touting him as a battle-hardened hero by shouting the motto "Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too" from the rooftops. It was a campaign slogan so catchy, you might even vaguely remember it from high school history class.
While Van Buren was busy dealing with Chinese spy balloons, Harrison hit the campaign trail with the caffeine-addled gusto that only a former U.S. Minister to Colombia could achieve. He shunned political correctness and entertained the masses with his impeccable impressions of Indian war whoops. Can you imagine? The guy could have fit right into the cheap seats at an Atlanta Braves playoff game.
Anyway, these tactics got under the Democrats’ skin enough for them to give him the savage nickname of "Granny Harrison, the petticoat general” because he resigned from the Army before the conclusion of the War of 1812. Incensed, Harrison vowed never to wear so much as a warm tunic ever again.
The contentious campaigning continued until the announcement of an FBI investigation into Martin Van Buren’s son’s business dealings and opium abuse rocked the electorate just days before the big vote. The scandal effectively sank MVB’s chances and Horny Horse Harrison won himself a landslide electoral college victory (234 to 60).
Finally, the big day arrived and it was time for William Henry Harrison to be sworn in. Determined to shed his lackadaisical reputation, he wrote a speech that was over two hours long. And as a big fuck you to the snowflake Dems who called him "Granny Harrison, the petticoat general”, he left his jacket onboard Air Force One and took to the podium in just a Washington Redskins jersey and cutoff denim shorts.
Neither decision was advisable, as the pneumonia he contracted that day would end his reign on the Iron Throne just one short month later.
In her tell-all book, Maggie Haberman put it bluntly. “Mr. Harrison, what you've just done is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever seen. At no point in your brief, ineffective presidency were you even close to anything that could be considered a legislative achievement. Everyone in this country is now dumber for having lived through it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
William Henry Harrison is excluded from every reputable ranking of presidential prowess, due to the fact that he did absolutely nothing in office besides die. However, his grandson, Benjamin, would serve a full presidential term 48 years later (which is covered briefly in our Grover Cleveland profile). Full circle, baby!