This column first appeared in March 2011.
One hundred and nine years ago this weekend, undoubtedly just a few miles away from where you’re reading this story, Indiana lost her only native son to ever ascend to the Presidency of the United States. At 4:45 in the afternoon on March 13, 1901, Benjamin Harrison died quietly in the bed of his upstairs room inside his home located at 1230 N. Delaware Street in the city. According to his obituary in the Indianapolis News, “His death was quiet and painless, there being a gradual sinking until the end came, which was marked by a single gasp for breath as life departed from the body of the great statesman.”
Although an ex-President, he was called “The General” by most contemporaries and friends. At 5 foot 6 inches tall, he was also known as “Little Ben.” An enigmatic but uncomplicated man, he has been described as, “squat with a stocky frame, blond-graying hair, a reddish beard and blue eyes.“ His demeanor was described as cold and humorless. His only self-indulgence was his love for fine cigars. Teddy Roosevelt, a member of his own party, described Harrison as “a cold-blooded, narrow-minded, prejudiced, obstinate, timid old psalm-singing Indianapolis politician.” An example of his pragmatic crankiness can be found when North and South Dakota were admitted to the Union. Harrison covered the tops of the bills and shuffled them so that he could only see the bottom. He signed them and shuffled them again so that no one would ever know which state was 39th and which was 40th.
Although he had no sense of humor, there are at least a couple funny stories that survive about Little Ben. He was the first President to have electricity in the White House and after he was once lightly shocked while flipping on a light, his family refused to touch any of the switches which resulted in many nights where the Harrisons slept with all of the lights on. He was the last President to sport whiskers and when he brought his family to live in the White House, they brought an Indiana goat named Whiskers with them. Whiskers was a regular fixture on the White House lawn whose only job was to ferry the Harrison children around the grounds on a custom made cart.
Harrison developed a heavy cold in February of 1901. Despite treatment by steam vapor inhalation, his condition only worsened. During his convalescence and subsequent decline, the Harrison home was inundated by a large number of offers and solicitations from all sorts of quacks and cranks, who were ready to guarantee that they had a remedy or system of treatment which would cure the General. One of those offering their services even went so far as to wire the family that he was en route to Indianapolis at his own expense to administer his miracle “treatment.”
Gen. Harrison had been unconscious for hours before his death and he spoke to no one on that last day, failing to recognize even his wife. The greater part of the day before his death, Harrison was in a semi-conscious condition and could only occasionally recognize those at his bedside. Perhaps the most poignant episode of the sad affair occurred when the General’s 4 year old daughter, Elizabeth, came to see her father and offered him a small apple pie, which she herself had made. Gen. Harrison smiled but could not speak and was only able to offer a slight nod of appreciation.
On the morning of his death his condition was so bad that his doctor realized the end was not far off. A primitive oxygen mask was used to sustain the General’s breathing, but it was obviously a temporary fix. Bulletins were sent out from the General’s sickroom so family, friends and admirers could be prepared for his inevitable death. The General’s strength gradually declined until about half past four. As the end drew near, the attending physicians realized that the former President was giving up the fight. The relatives and friends, who had recently retired from the sickroom to the library below, were quickly summoned and reached the bedside of the General before he passed away.
Mrs. Harrison kneeled at the side of the bed with her husband’s right hand grasped in her own, while Dr. Jameson held the left hand of the dying man, counting down the feeble pulse beats. His last words were. “Are the Doctors here? Doctors, my lungs.” He died from influenza and pneumonia at his home on Wednesday, March 13, 1901, at the age of 67. The silent moments immediately following the General’s death were broken by a prayer for the bereaved wife and family. None of Gen. Harrison’s children were present at his death and Elizabeth, Gen. Harrison’s little daughter, had been taken from the sickroom by her nurse before the end came.
News of the death spread quickly through the city and shortly after the announcement the flags on all the public buildings were lowered to half mast and most of the downtown business blocks were draped in black mourning cloth. The body of Gen. Harrison lay in state in the rotunda of the State Capitol all day Saturday. The funeral was held the following Sunday in the First Presbyterian Church, of which he was a member for nearly fifty years. Harrison is interred in Indianapolis’s Crown Hill Cemetery, along with both of his wives — which, along with the fact that he had a 4 year old daughter at the age of 67, must be considered as one of the General’s greatest feats.
In keeping with the spirit of my columns, it must be reported that the Benjamin Harrison house has long been described as haunted. Until recently, these ghost stories were unsubstantiated rumors officially unsupported by the staff. But in the last few years, the Harrison House museum has possibly started acknowledging the rumors, hosting Indiana Ghost stories and even spawning an imaginary ghost hunting group of tour guides who lead visitors through the home during the month of October looking for, and finding in the form of costumed actors, the subjects of famous Indiana Ghost stories.
Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest books are “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View,” “Irvington Haunts. The Tour Guide,” and “The Mystery of the H.H. Holmes Collection.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.
