Tongues were wagging in Washington when Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin recently went AWOL from the Pentagon. After mysteriously disappearing from public view for a week, leaving even the White House in the dark about his whereabouts, it turned out the secretary was recovering from prostate surgery.
With active wars underway in Ukraine and the Mideast, political pundits debate the soundness of Austin’s judgment. But for history buffs, the Austin incident is a reminder that personal privacy and public transparency are an extremely delicate balancing act, especially when a president’s health is at stake.
Our chief executives weren’t always on the up and up about their medical conditions. John F. Kennedy carried the secret of his Addison’s Disease to his grave. Though the country knew Fraklin Roosevelt was stricken by polio, many Americans didn’t realize it left him nearly immobile (thanks in large part to a news media that willingly conspired to keep the extent of his disability hush-hush).
And, of course, the stroke that almost killed Woodrow Wilson and left him unable to function for most of the latter part of his presidency is well known.
Not so well known is the time a sitting president went under the knife — and kept it secret until after his death.
Grover Cleveland has tormented American schoolchildren for generations. Was he president No. 22 or No. 24? (He was both, as the only president to serve two non-consecutive terms. It’s a unique trick Donald Trump hopes to copy.)
First elected in 1884, Cleveland was the first Democrat to win the White House since before the Civil War. Much like fellow Dems Al Gore and Hillary Clinton, a century later, in 1888, he won the popular vote but lost the election that actually decides the presidency: the Electoral College. But Cleveland came back, winning again in 1892. And then, following George Washington’s two-term example, he retired.
On Saturday morning, July 1, 1893, just a few months into his second term, Cleveland stepped aboard the yacht Oneida and sailed into Long Island Sound. There was nothing unusual in that. Before air conditioning or even electric fans, the president and Congress fled town as fast as they could to escape Washington’s oppressive summer heat.
What was unusual was the party who quietly boarded the boat with him. It was a quartet of select physicians. Unknown to the public, a suspicious growth the size of a quarter and with the texture of cauliflower had been discovered on the president’s upper palate weeks earlier. Dr. Joseph D. Bryant, Cleveland’s personal physician, had a sample tested. It was malignant.
His diagnosis? The growth had to come out, STAT!
It was a particularly bad time for the president to face health challenges. The Panic of 1893 (which we today call an economic depression) was in full swing. Gold coinage was in short supply, making a bad situation even worse. And serious labor unrest was afoot. Hardly an ideal situation for Americans to worry about whether their president would live out his term. Cleveland and his advisers chose secrecy and stability over openness and transparency.
So, while it appeared the party was enjoying a pleasant summer cruise that July morning, the president was actually going under the knife. The Oneida provided protection from prying eyes and gossiping hospital staffers. Its saloon was turned into an operating room.
With the help of several assistants, Bryant operated through the mouth to avoid external signs of surgery. Part of the palate and a tooth were removed. A then-revolutionary rubber prosthetic was inserted.
Cleveland was soon strong enough to return to his nearby summer home. A second, less drastic, follow-up surgery was performed on the yacht on July 17.
How did the White House spin the situation? Doctors first told reporters Cleveland was experiencing pain from a bout of rheumatism. They later said a mild dental ailment was keeping him out of the public eye.
Both procedures were successful, and Cleveland lived for nearly 15 more years. His secretive surgery only became known nine years after that.
If the incident happened today, Cleveland undoubtedly would have had “some ‘splainnin’ to do,” as Ricky Ricardo famously put it. Instead, he got a free pass from a complaisant press corps.
Lloyd Austin only wishes he could be so lucky.
Holy Cow! History is written by novelist, former TV journalist and diehard history buff J. Mark Powell. Have a historic mystery that needs solving? A forgotten moment worth remembering? Please send it to [email protected].
