How to Fight Presidents: Defending Yourself Against the Badasses Who Ran This Country (8 page)

Early in his political career, Van Buren figured out how to exploit the game of politics. America was entering a political period wherein the people were really starting to shine, to step up and elect the candidates that
they
wanted, to show that power really
does
come from the people. Van Buren took a look at that promise and thought, “Oh, hey, I totally know how to cheat that.” Known as the “Little Magician” or the “Red Fox” for his ability to manipulate and mastermind elections (like foxes?), Van Buren formed the Albany Regency in 1822. The Albany Regency was what was called a “political machine”: a group of similarly shitty politicians who basically controlled all of New York government for over a decade. They didn’t control the government by being
elected
into power by the
people
in 1822; they got together to rig New York elections and place their friends and relatives in important positions of power. And Van Buren was their leader.

Knowing that Van Buren understood how to game the political system as well as he did, it was no surprise that he would eventually become president. I should be clear, Martin Van Buren didn’t want to be a
good
president, he just wanted to
be
president, and enjoy himself while doing it. He wanted the attention, he wanted the power, he wanted the status, and that was it. There was only one issue about which he was passionate, and that was his stance on slavery (pro!). In his inaugural address, Van Buren said, “I must go into the Presidential chair the inflexible and uncompromising opponent of every
attempt on the part of Congress to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia,” an appropriate prelude to the presidency of shittiness that would soon follow.

When not fighting Congress on slavery, Van Buren spent his time in the White House throwing fancy parties for his fancy friends and spending lots of money on furniture. As an ambassador to Great Britain (you know, that place America worked so hard to distance itself from), he fell in love with the parties and royal lifestyle (you know, that thing America worked so hard to make sure never corrupted its Democracy), and his autobiography is just page after page of name-dropping from this period. He wanted everyone to know how many famous royal people he met in England, and how many cool parties he’d been invited to.

Martin Van Buren loved the fanciness and respectability of British royalty so much that he tried to bring it back with him to America. He spent a fortune redecorating the White House ($27,000 of which came from the American taxpayer, which would be just shy of $540,000 in today’s dollars) to make it a more appropriate home for the kind of aristocrat Van Buren wanted to be. Jackson was the people’s president, a man who invited the entire nation to get drunk with him to celebrate his presidency. His successor, meanwhile, turned the White House into a palace, with policemen stationed outside to make sure no “improper” people ever entered. He dressed like a big, shitty Mr. Fancypants who thinks he’s too good for us, too. Davy Crockett, a man composed entirely of iron and testosterone, described Van Buren as a “dandy” who would walk around “laced up in corsets, such as women … wear It would be difficult to say, from his personal appearance, whether he was a man or woman.”

Van Buren lived lavishly and was spending all of this money, by the way, during the Panic of 1837, the most devastating economic collapse in American history (until the Great Depression almost one hundred years later). Everyone was out of work and struggling and helpless and Van Buren was sipping wine, flaunting his resources, and enjoying the most relaxing presidency ever. His critics dubbed him “Martin Van Ruin,” which I bring up only to let everyone reading
this know that I intend to use that as my own nickname, should I ever decide to enter professional wrestling.

Van Buren didn’t care that everyone was trashing his name or that the country was falling apart on his watch, because he didn’t have strong opinions. He avoided controversial subjects and, whenever he was asked his opinion on literally anything, he would dress up his answer in so much vague language and doubletalk that no one ever knew where he stood on any issue. While Van Buren was leading the Senate as vice president, Henry Clay tried to get a rise out of him by trashing his mentor, running mate, friend, and president, Andrew Jackson. Clay was determined to get an opinion—any opinion—from Van Buren, so he delivered a long, passionate speech condemning Jackson’s entire administration. When the speech was over, Van Buren didn’t agree with Clay but he didn’t defend his president. He walked up to Henry Clay, asked if he could borrow his snuff (a tobacco for your nose), took two hits of it, and then
left
. Just walked out without turning back. It’s like no one told him that
coolly walking away is reserved only for people wearing sunglasses while an explosion happens in the background;
not
for people who just let their mentor get politically bitch-slapped in front of the entire Senate.

Van Buren, rightly and obviously, did not win a second term. He tried running twice more as a third-party candidate when his own Democratic Party refused to nominate him, but mostly he enjoyed his retirement in an alarmingly though completely characteristically shitty way. He sometimes gambled, but not at a casino or with friends, like a man; falling back on the lessons he picked up in his Albany Regency days, he would gamble on elections that he would personally rig. Rigging elections wasn’t shitty enough for Van Buren; he needed to profit from them and dress it up as a fortuitous gambling win.

In your fight with Van Buren, I’d strongly recommend guarding your genitals, as he will likely fight dirty. That said, he never played sports, never hunted, never served in the military, and never did anything that didn’t directly contribute to his fancy, party-throwing lifestyle, so you’ve likely got an advantage over him in the general fitness department.

Blacken his eyes, head-butt him, and sock him in the kidneys a few times—and look out for that left hook.

William Henry Harrison was one of those rare men who had only two main jobs in his life: Soldier and President. A child of the Revolutionary War (when he was eight, Harrison’s home was attacked by Hessian troops, which contrasts starkly with the cartoon watching that you likely did at that age), Harrison joined the army in 1791. Well, actually, he briefly studied medicine first but decided that taking life was much more exciting than saving it. And it all worked out because, as history shows, William Henry Harrison was
great
at taking life.

Harrison fought in the Indian Wars for a while, earning the admiration of presidents Madison, Jefferson, and Adams (and precisely no Native Americans), and toyed with leaving the military behind for politics, but even as a governor of the Indiana Territory, he was still fighting battles and leading attacks against the feared Shawnee leader Tecumseh and his Indian forces. In 1811, Tecumseh and his
troops snuck up on Governor Harrison and his men near Tippecanoe, and even though it was early in the morning—and even though Tecumseh’s men had the element of surprise on their side (Harrison’s men were asleep when the Indians attacked)—Harrison woke up and, in two hours, drove the Native Americans away and burned their camp to the ground, effectively stopping any future Native American incursion into their territory. This earned Harrison the nickname “Tippecanoe,” because, seriously, the guys who handed out nicknames did not have their shit together for a very long time. Tippecanoe led this charge and personally fought in hand-to-hand combat as
governor
, which, on paper, is supposed to be one of the least-fightingest jobs one could have (next to, perhaps, Professional Presidential Fight Historian). Harrison then quit being governor and rejoined the army for the War of 1812, because, even though he was fighting in more battles than any other governor, he
still
wasn’t satisfied by the amount of fighting in his life.

Harrison was a man for whom fighting and battle was everything. He met his future wife, Anna Symmes, while on military business, and when her father (a prominent judge), disapproved of Anna’s interest in him, Harrison dealt with the man the only way he knew how: as a soldier. When Symmes demanded to know how Harrison would support his daughter, Harrison immediately replied, “By my sword, Sir, and my good right arm.” Some guys ask a father for permission to marry their daughters, and William Henry Harrison waves a sword around at judges. And it worked. Harrison won both Anna’s hand
and
her father’s approval.

After he had stabbed his way into a marriage, Harrison went right back to fighting the War of 1812, which involved taking back Indiana, Ohio, and Detroit from British and Indian forces and winning a decisive victory at the Battle of Thames (the battle in which Tecumseh was finally killed). He was a national hero, but he left the army over a disagreement with the secretary of war; Harrison wanted command of
all
of the armies, and the secretary thought it would be best to divide the army up and just give Harrison
some
of it. Harrison apparently had plans that he simply couldn’t act on without
an entire army under his command, so he resigned. Congress would later investigate Harrison’s resignation, conclude that he had been treated unfairly, and award him a gold medal. Once more: the man got a gold war medal for
quitting
.