McKINLEY, 25th, 1897-1901

A gentle, dignified man, William McKinley was one of the few who frankly sought the Presidency and finally achieved his goal. He was 5 feet 7 inches, shorter than the average man.

He was the last Civil War veteran to become President and the third martyred President within the space of thirty-six years. Anarchist Leon F. Czolgosz shot McKinley in the abdomen because, he said, "I thought it would be a good thing for the country to kill the President. I didn't believe one man should have so much service and another man should have none."

McKinley told Chicago newspaper publisher, H.H. Kohlsaat, that they were trying to force him into declaring war with Spain. As he said this, "he broke down and wept as I have never seen anyone weep in my life. His whole body was shaken with convulsive sobs. ...He asked me when we got into the light if his eyes were red, and I told him they were, but if he blew his nose very hard just as he entered, the redness of his eyes would be attributed to that cause. He did so, and I never heard any of the guests, with whom I mingled freely, comment on the fact that the President had been crying."

To save wear and tear on his right hand at receptions, the President developed what came to be called the McKinley Grip. In receiving lines, he would smile as a man came by, take his right hand and squeeze it warmly before his own hand got caught in a hard grip, hold the man's elbow with his left hand, and then swiftly pull him along and be ready to beam on the next guest. Once he clasped 1900 hands in 19 minutes, or about one per second. He was always in condition because he was always shaking somebody's hand.

McKinley's wife, Ida, was subject to headaches and seizures. In order to attend to her, if necessary, McKinley broke tradition and sat next to her at official dinners. For example, one evening at dinner with William Taft, "a peculiar hissing sound" came from Ida. McKinley quickly picked up a napkin, dropped it over her face, and continued talking. Ida recovered a few moments later, and resumed her part in the conversation where she had left off.

McKinley's last words were to his wife, "Nearer my God to thee, Nearer to Thee."

d. September 14, 1901 (Buffalo, New York) at 58 of gangrene.