How to Fight Presidents: Defending Yourself Against the Badasses Who Ran This Country (22 page)

As president, McKinley broke protocol by having his wife sit next to him during official White House dinners (it was custom at the time for the First Lady to sit with the guest of honor,
across
from, but not next to, the president). He did this because she had epilepsy and was prone to seizures, and if he sensed one coming on during dinner, he would cover Ida’s face with a napkin or cloth, to spare her the embarrassment of having people watch her face twitch and contort. When the attack passed, he’d remove the napkin and move on as if nothing had happened.

He’s a
super-sweet guy
, and now you have to fight him, and that sucks, because he’ll probably give you a gift or something right before the fight starts. You can only hope that luck is on your side, and that’s not just bullshit—luck could really play an important role in this. McKinley wore a red carnation every day as a good luck charm, and because it pleased his wife. One day, minutes after he removed his lucky carnation and gave it to a young girl as a present (
such
a sweet guy), he was shot by a deranged anarchist named Leon Czolgosz, and even
that guy
got a pass from McKinley. McKinley’s first words after being shot were “Don’t let them hurt him” (upon seeing his assassin tackled to the ground) and “My wife, be careful … how you tell her—oh, be careful.” His immediate concern was for his killer and his wife, and how she would take the news of his attack.

His kindness was not rewarded. When McKinley got to the hospital, there was no doctor around who could perform surgery except one, a gynecologist who couldn’t find the bullet. Despite the best efforts of one of Buffalo’s finest vagina doctors, McKinley died on September 12, 1901, eight days after being shot.

So, if McKinley has his lucky flower, you just might be screwed. This is a man who is confident in his convictions and is prepared to die defending them, a man who doesn’t even need luck to win in his fight against you, but still might have it. Also,
so
sweet. Even if you
were
stronger and luckier than McKinley, you should let him win anyway. Think of his wife, man. Don’t be a dick.

If you’re anything like me, you wrote an entire book about presidents as a flimsy excuse to talk about how much you love Theodore Roosevelt. If anything in this chapter is misspelled it’s because it’s almost impossible to type with a massive, Roosevelt-induced erection. Okay. Here we go.

It’s hard to imagine that TR, without question the most badass president we have ever had or will ever have, was once sickly. Indeed, throughout his childhood, he was almost always on the verge of death. He complained of upset stomachs, headaches, asthma, and wrote in his journal that “nobody seemed to think [he] would live.” When most kids are as perpetually sick as Roosevelt was, they get babied by their parents, but TR’s folks knew they were raising a steel-shitting cowboy-in-training, and they treated him as such from day one. When Lil’ TR’s asthma acted up, his dad gave him a cigar to smoke and his mother rubbed his chest so hard that he spit up
blood. Roosevelt’s dad, who wanted TR to toughen up, told him on his fourteenth birthday that he had “the mind but … not the body, and without the help of the body, the mind cannot go as far as it should.” TR said simply, “I’ll make my body.”

And ho. Lee. Shit. He did.

TR took up boxing. And wrestling. And hunting. And running. And fighting. Gradually, he beat his sickness, even his asthma, making him the only human in history to intimidate asthma into submission (though, really, can you blame the asthma?). TR wasn’t satisfied with just getting stronger and overcoming his illnesses; he wanted to beat everything. He consciously forced himself to take whatever path seemed harshest and most dangerous, surrounding himself with whatever inspired the most terror (
like Batman, you guys
).

TR summed up his life philosophy and his fear-immersive approach to life simply: “Man does in fact become fearless by sheer dint of practicing fearlessness.” That, ladies and gentlemen, is the most Rooseveltian sentence ever written.

Going through Roosevelt’s resume is like reading a how- to guide on ass-kicking manliness. He was a cattle rancher, a deputy sheriff, an explorer, a police commissioner, the assistant secretary of the navy, the governor of New York, and a war hero. Also, a full-on cowboy. TR’s mother and wife died on the exact same day, and while some people take a blow like that and just lock themselves up in a room and cry for days, Teddy, like the Eastwoodian badass that he was (
or like a Batman
), left his home behind and moved out to a wild and untamed area. In TR’s case, this meant going West to work as a cowboy, catching, riding, and branding horses and bulls and, occasionally, kicking some stray ass that got out of line. Once, he was tired after a long day of cowboying so he entered a saloon to catch a drink and some rest. An unruly cowboy (with a cocked gun in each hand) made fun of TR, calling him “Four Eyes” and demanding that he buy everyone in the saloon a drink. TR tried ignoring him, but when the cowboy persisted, TR gave the armed moron three quick punches to the face. The man was knocked unconscious and, as soon as he woke up the next morning, left town, never to be seen
again, because maybe he never stopped running. They say that, on quiet nights if you listen closely, you can still hear him pissing himself.

On another occasion, TR was fox hunting with some friends and almost
everyone
lost their shit that day (fox hunting used to be
crazy
dangerous). One dislocated his knee, one broke several ribs, another got half of his face ripped off by what must have been the most pissed-off fox in the forest, and TR himself got knocked off his horse, landed on a pile of stones, and then got crushed by his own horse. His face was covered with blood, his left wrist was fractured, but he got back on the horse and continued to ride and hunt for five miles. The next day he went for a three-hour walk.

This is just a shot in the dark, because I don’t know you personally, but I’m guessing you don’t have a similarly badass story under your belt.

Out of all of his jobs, hobbies, and passions, Roosevelt always had a special spot in his heart for unadulterated violence. He talked about fighting the way poets talked about love, saying once that every man “who has in him any real power of joy in battle knows that he feels it when the wolf begins to rise in his heart; he does not then shrink from blood or sweat or deem that they mar the fight; he revels in them, in the toil, the pain, and the danger, as but setting off the triumph.” I know you have to fight this man, and that’s probably weighing heavily on you right now, but please take a second to appreciate just how
beautiful
and
eloquent
TR can get when it comes to beating the shit out of people.

Roosevelt was always praying for a chance to serve in a war, and in 1898 he got his wish when America intervened in a dispute between Spain and Cuba. TR quickly formed the first U.S. Volunteer Cavalry regiment, a group of cowboys and fighters that he called the Rough Riders. They were one of the first groups in the war, all because Roosevelt pushed them hard, saying “It will be awful if we miss the fun,” because Roosevelt and I have very different ideas of fun. Most people already know of the Rough Riders and their historic charge up San Juan Hill, but few know that, since their horses had to be left behind, the Riders made this charge entirely on foot. Whenever it looked like someone might retreat, Roosevelt threatened to shoot them, saying he “always kept his promises.” Most of his troops laughed, saying “Ha ha, that’s true,” and continued fighting, all laughing together about how crazy Roosevelt was. You just could not stop this man from violencing the hell out of a San Juan Hill.

Don’t think that Roosevelt lost his obsession with violence when he became president. Don’t you dare
ever
think that. TR strolled through the White House with a pistol on his person at all times, though, with his black belt in jujitsu and his history as a champion boxer, it wasn’t like he really needed it. It wasn’t just his war record or the fact that he knew several different ways to kill you that made Roosevelt such a badass. It wasn’t even the fact that he kept a bear
and a lion at the White House as pets (though that certainly helps). Teddy Roosevelt was a badass of the people. Roosevelt received letters from army cavalrymen complaining about having to ride twenty-five miles a day for training and, in response, Teddy rode horseback for a hundred miles, from sunrise to sunset, at fifty-one years old,
while president
, effectively removing anyone’s right to complain about anything, ever again.

Roosevelt was never injured in any of the battles he fought, but while campaigning for a third term, he was shot by a madman. Instead of treating the wound, Roosevelt delivered his campaign speech with the bleeding, undressed bullet hole in his chest. Even though he said he would take it easy on this speech given the circumstances, he spoke for
an hour and a half
. Right before addressing his crowd, Roosevelt opened his coat, revealed the bleeding wound to the crowd, and said, “The bullet is in me now.” He then unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick, and said, “And now check
this
out. Pretty rad, right? Guy tried to shoot me here and the bullets bounced right off, swear to God. Who’s got a gun? Someone try to shoot ol’ Teddy in the dick, see what happens.”

(Probably.)

Some presidents, upon leaving the White House, return to law or enjoy retirement peacefully, or write books. Roosevelt went on African safaris and killed elephants, because
who was going to stop him
.

Asthma, partial blindness, the Spanish Army, bullets, and death couldn’t take down old Teddy. But, hey, now it’s your turn! Honestly, the only way you could hope to have any chance whatsoever against Roosevelt is if you can somehow out-Roosevelt him. By teaching you how to master fearlessness, he has
given you the tools
to defeat him. Can you do it? Can you immerse yourself in fear and make fear your cowering bitch, as Roosevelt did? Can you overcome every one of your failings and insecurities and rise above? Can you take down the man who famously urged men to “speak softly and carry a big stick,” even though he personally shouted constantly and wielded pistols?
Can you out-Roosevelt Roosevelt?