American presidents and out-of-wedlock paternity

The baby shoe has dropped. Just when you started to wonder what could possibly happen next, the National Enquirer has given the green light to President Donald Trump's former doorman to air his allegation that Barron Trump has an illegitimate half-brother. Perhaps his name is Czar. The "other shoe" this ain't. So far, starting with Michael Flynn's army boots, the Trump Saga has been fitted with Playmate pumps, porn star stilettos, Russian sapogis, lots of tasseled lawyer-loafers, and whatever Paul Manafort had cobbled from the hide of some endangered species. It's all been a kick in the ass.

So far the Donald's Rue's existence hasn't ruffled the feathers of the hearty moral folk Dr. Ralph Reed calculates in his fundraising appeals constitute 40 percent of the electorate; 81 percent of whom voted for Trump. Each fresh scandal only sparks another round of forgiving shoulder shrugs. Maybe judging others just isn't as much fun as it used to be. No matter whom the politico or what the scandal, his faithful fans will always fall back on the old refrain that "they all do it." When Donald's sins were just good clean forgivable adulterous fun, there was a strain of historical truth to that. In the last hundred years Woodrow Wilson, FDR, JFK, LBJ and Bubba Clinton all failed to walk the line, and failed beyond a reasonable doubt. Dwight Eisenhower and George Bush the Elder had their accusers, who might not have been clear and convincing, but they sure met their burdens of going forward. But bastardy (which used to be a West keyword) is a whole different kettle of guppies, and President Trump will find himself in a smaller, and not so certain, a gang of presidential daddies.

Given that this newspaper is only 16 pages long, we don't have enough room to update you on Thomas Jefferson. Recent scholarship has proved it wouldn't have made much sense to put him on a three dollar bill. Quoth the Bard: "He loved not wisely, but too well." But two other presidents inspire historical sleuthing when the subject of out-of-wedlock paternity arises: Warren Harding and Grover Cleveland.

In 1927 four years after Harding's death, Nan Britton published "The President's Daughter" claiming that she had carried on an affair with Harding that began when she developed a teenaged crush on him back in their hometown of Marion, Ohio. She claimed Harding fathered her daughter, whom she named Elizabeth Ann Christian on a couch in then-Senator Harding's office. The book was roundly criticized as baseless, craven smut and therefore sold well. Harding, who was a genuinely beloved public figure, had sparked massive mourning when he unexpectedly died at The Palace Hotel at New Montgomery and Market Streets in San Francisco. But shortly thereafter a series of scandals lumped under the name Teapot Dome sullied his name and the cause of his death became fodder for the rumor mill. Mrs. Harding, a genuinely cold and disliked person died not long after and wasn't around to defend his memory. His stepson, who didn't like him, didn't try. His successor, Calvin Coolidge, who was notorious for not saying much anyway, distanced himself from Harding for political reasons, declining an invitation to dedicate his mausoleum. (An impressive one, by the way.) Critics and defenders of Ms. Britton's version of events traded arguments about the details of her recollections, including the floor plan of the West Wing.

The tiff faded from discussion until 1968, when Francis Russell published "The Shadow of Blooming Grove," in which he unearthed love letters between Harding and another illicit lover, Carrie Phillips, the wife of a friend and a friend of his wife. Robert Browning's poetic heir he was not. One letter declared "I love thee garbed, but naked more." It's the thought that counts. The Russell revelations produced a consensus that Ms. Britton was probably telling the truth. Elizabeth Ann Christian eventually settled in Glendale, California, and steadfastly refused to grant interviews. But she did leave one set of clues. Photographs of of Ms. Christian are enough to convince this juror that Warren was the man.

Defending Grover's case is a little tougher, for a big reason. He admitted it. Granted, he admitted it years before he ever contemplated running for public office, later claiming he was just a bachelor bearding for his equally guilty married pals. In 1870 Cleveland was 33, unmarried, and well on his way to developing a prosperous practice. Maria Halpin was 33 and had left her children with her parents in Jersey City to set out for the booming burg of Buffalo, New York. She got a job selling cloaks at a department store, found herself pregnant and pointed the finger at Grover. Grover acknowledged paternity but rejected her wish that they get married. She named the baby Oscar Folsom Cleveland after Cleveland's law partner. Then things got weird. Grover pulled strings and had her admitted to the 19th century version of rehab and had the baby placed in an upscale private orphanage. Maria escaped, snatched her baby and went on the lam. Grover found her, suggested that she put the baby up for adoption, and agreed to set her up in a dress shop business in Niagara Falls. She agreed, changed her mind again, then sued for paternity. She filed an affidavit alleging rape. Eventually Maria settled for small change at the urging of her brother, put the baby up for adoption and left town.

The episode never came to light when Cleveland later ran for mayor of Buffalo and governor of New York. But when he was nominated for president in 1884 the court filings were still there, Maria's lawyer was still around, and a preacher named George Ball considered rumors to be truth, as long as they were spread by preachers. Reputable papers laid off the story, but the Buffalo Evening Telegraph ran it, cautiously couching all the lurid details as the word of the Reverend George Ball. Friendly biographers laud Cleveland for instructing his partisans to "tell the truth." But he had no choice. His admissions were still on file at the courthouse. Instead, his forces put the word out that Maria was a public utility and that Grover merely took one for the team because he was the only bachelor on her route. The fact she named the baby after Oscar Folsom, who had conveniently died driving a carriage drunk in 1874, gave some credence to Grover's story. The pro-Cleveland press also circulated tidbits about the misdeeds of Reverend George Ball that were matters of public record in Indiana. Of course, they neglected to point out it was a different George Ball.

Cleveland got elected despite the scandal primarily because the Republican nominee, James G. Blaine, had political corruption baggage that weighed a ton. As one wag put it: "We are told that Mr. Blaine has been delinquent in office, but blameless in private life, while Mr. Cleveland has been a model of official integrity, but culpable in his personal relations. We should therefore elect Mr. Cleveland to the public office he is so well qualified to fill, and remand Mr. Blaine to the private station he is admirably fitted to adorn." But the saga did not end there. Cleveland lost a bid for re-election in 1888 and plotted a comeback four years later. In the interim Reverend Ball had sued the New York Sun for libel, and the trial revived the controversy and served as a plebiscite on the guilt or innocence of Grover Cleveland. The Sun won, Grover claimed exoneration, and moved back into the White House with his pretty, popular young bride: Frances Folsom, Oscar's daughter.

Historians have mostly bought Cleveland's version of events, but a cloud nonetheless persists as it does in all he said/she said scenarios. Frances Cleveland controlled all access by early biographers to the Cleveland papers. His first important biographer, Robert McElroy, ignores the Halpin matter altogether, which is a glaring omission. Allen Nevins, mentor to over 100 historians and the father of modern popular history, stridently debunked Maria's claims. But to do otherwise would undermine Nevins' glowing narrative: that Grover Cleveland was sure-footed, honest and courageous. Interestingly, he makes reference to extortion letters Maria sent, but those letters are nowhere to be found in the archives eventually released to the public by their custodian, Frances Cleveland. In other words, she purged the file not only to protect the memory of her husband but that of her father too.

So the Donald has at least two predecessors he can point to as being perhaps wrongfully accused. But in order to do that he will have to get his history straight, a process which so far has proved elusive, if not impossible. And right now the Donald has far bigger problems to boot.