Tag Archives: Ronald Reagan

The Zero Factor ► Throwback Thursday

William Henry Harrison (1773 – 1841) was the
first president to run afoul of The Zero Factor.

The Zero Factor is a spooky superstition which insisted that all Presidents elected in a year ending in zero — which happens every 20 years — will die in office. The Zero Factor was blamed for an uninterrupted chain of presidential deaths that didn’t end until President Ronald Reagan was elected in 1980.

The first inkling I had concerning Presidential Deaths and the Zero Factor was back in grade school when I had to do an essay on William Henry Harrison, a presidential name drawn from a hat.

William Henry Harrison was the 9th president, elected in 1840 running on the slogan “Tippecanoe and Tyler too.” Tippecanoe was his nickname and referred to his military victory in the Battle of Tippecanoe, when his troops repulsed a Native American confederacy that was opposed to the illegal European aliens’ continued expansion west. As the Wiki puts it simply, “The defeat was a setback for Tecumseh‘s confederacy from which it never fully recovered.”

Harrison was the oldest president until Ronald Reagan and the first to die in office, a mere 32 days after taking the oath. He was his own worst enemy. As we learn from the WikiWackyWoo:

He took the oath of office on March 4, 1841, a cold and wet day.[62]
He wore neither an overcoat nor hat, rode on horseback to the ceremony
rather than in the closed carriage that had been offered him, and
delivered the longest inaugural address in American history.[62] At 8,445 words, it took him nearly two hours to read, although his friend and fellow Whig Daniel Webster had edited it for length. Harrison then rode through the streets in the inaugural parade,[63] and that evening attended three inaugural balls,[64]
including one at Carusi’s Saloon entitled the “Tippecanoe” ball, which
at a price of US$10 per person (equal to $229 today) attracted 1000
guests.

Three weeks later he caught a cold, which developed into pneumonia and pleurisy. He died on April 4, 1841, the first victim of the Zero Factor, which also became known as Curse of Tippecanoe, blamed on a curse that Tecumseh was supposed to have uttered before his death during the War of 1812.

The next victim of The Zero Factor was Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States. We all know what happened to him.

James A. Garfield was elected POTUS in 1880 and assassinated by deranged office seeker Charles J. Guiteau in 1881. Garfield might have lived had he been shot just a few years later when all doctors accepted the practices of Joseph Lister concerning infection. Again from the Wiki:

According to some historians and medical experts, Garfield might have
survived his wounds had the doctors attending him had at their disposal
today’s medical research, techniques, and equipment.[187]
Standard medical practice at the time dictated that priority be given
to locating the path of the bullet. Several of his doctors inserted
their unsterilized fingers into the wound to probe for the bullet, a common practice in the 1880s.[187] Historians agree that massive infection was a significant factor in President Garfield’s demise.[187]
Biographer Peskin stated that medical malpractice did not contribute to
Garfield’s death; the inevitable infection and blood poisoning that
would ensue from a deep bullet wound resulted in damage to multiple
organs and spinal bone fragmentation.[188] Rutkow, a professor of surgery at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey,
has argued that starvation also played a role. Rutkow suggests that
“Garfield had such a nonlethal wound. In today’s world, he would have
gone home in a matter of two or three days.”[187]

Next up? That would be President William McKinley, elected in 1900 and assassinated by a crazed anarchist Leon Czolgosz in Buffalo, New York on September 6, 1901. It happened inside the Temple of Music during the Pan-American Exposition. On the 14th he died of the gangrene that had infected his body. The Zero Factor takes another life.

Twenty years later it was Warren Harding‘s turn to run up against The Zero Factor. Elected in 1920, he died on August 2, 1923, of a cerebral hemorrhage in San Francisco while on a swing through the west.

Also dying of a cerebral hemorrhage was the next victim of The Zero Factor, our longest-serving president, Franklin Roosevelt. Originally elected in 1932, Roosevelt was re-elected for an unprecedented (and no longer possible) 3rd term in 1940. Re-elected again in 1944, during World War II, Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945. His last words were reportedly, “I have a terrific pain in the back of my head.”

John F. Kennedy was the 35th President of the United States and the last to be assassinated.

The next president to be elected in a year ending in Zero was Ronald Reagan. When, on March 30, 1981, John Hinckley, Jr., slipped out of a crowd at the Washington Hilton and attempted to assassinate him, I was convinced it was The Zero Factor at work again. However, Reagan survived his wounds and eventually went back to work.

It wasn’t until years later the public learned how close to death Reagan had been and how much the assassination attempt took out of him.

In 2000 George W. Bush was elected president and, except for starting wars against countries that didn’t attack the United States, there were no incidents even remotely resembling The Zero Factor.

In 2000 Arianne R. Cohen of The Harvard Crimson wrote of George W. Bush and The Zero Factor:

According to legend, our new president has an extremely high chance of
dying while in office–an 87.5 percent chance, in fact, based on the
seven of eight eligible presidents who have died by the legend. Many
voters–45 percent, to be exact–would probably find this statistic to
be the only positive thing about Election 2000, although I personally
would prefer to have a president too incompetent to do damage in office
over one who voted against the Clean Water Act (our new Vice
President-elect Richard B. Cheney). However, a legend’s a legend, and a
legend doesn’t care about personal opinions.

[…]The only other president to die in office was President Zachary Taylor,
elected in 1848. However, President Taylor allegedly spent July 4, 1850,
eating cherries and milk at a ceremony at the Washington Monument. He
got sick from the heat and died five days later, the second president to
die in office. Frankly, he should have known better–that cherries and
milk combination is always a killer.

What’s amusing about this curious slice of history is how for more than a century this silly superstition was considered to have been a Native curse against the White interlopers. Guilt much?

Farce Au Pain ► Chapter One


Most writers regard the truth as their most valuable
possession and therefore are most economical in its use.
~~~ Mark Twain (1835-1910)
In their own country, they’re eating each other for lunch.
~~~Ronald Reagan (1911-2004),
speaking about American blacks, 1962
Truth is not only stranger than fiction, but in its own way,
truth is fiction, and time is money, and now is the time.
~~~ Headly Westerfield (1952 – )
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….”
His long fingers gripped my wrist.  I was surprised by how much strength he had, considering he was bleeding profusely. 
It
was also surprising to hear Zachary quoting Dickens.  His interest in
reading matter ran more to Sky & Telescope than the classics.  I
tried half-heartedly to free myself, but he held fast.
“It was the age of wisdom, it was the age….”
He
drew a deep, long, gasping breath.  In that moment his whole body went
slack.  I’ve had almost 50 years to replay these events in my mind.
Later, I realized, I could have escaped at that moment.  But, he held me
as much with his hauntingly beautiful, clear, blue eyes — calm eyes.
Eyes I can still see years removed.  They betrayed no pain, no panic. 
Zachary’s body tightened, his grip returned.  In that moment of silence,
I heard the blood on his left hand, which gripped my right wrist, make a
squishing sound as small bubbles of air appeared where his skin ended
and mine began.  I don’t remember looking away from his face.  I know I
did though, because I can clearly picture that image, also burned into
my brain.

He spoke again.

“…. of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity….”

So
much blood. From the pool beneath him, individual streams followed the
grout in the tiles, a red zig zag pattern slowly making its way to the
drain. I look back on this moment—the pivotal event of my life—and it
plays so slowly in my mind.  I can remember each sight, each smell, each
sound echoing from the hallway, and each thought that crossed my mind. 
But, I don’t know if that’s a trick of the imagination. I’ve had years
to think about it and hypnosis to recall it. I’ve also had many
psychiatrists to describe it to in the years since. None of it feels
like real memories; it feels like watching someone else’s movie. But, at
the time, my brain just shut down. It wasn’t until much later that I
realized that his dying words were not even his own.
 “….it was the season of Light….”
I
have a theory that I’ve developed in the decades since, due to nearly
50 years of intense psychotherapy.  With hindsight being 20/20, I think I
now know what Zachary Harvard Weed was trying to tell me as he lay
dying in my arms.
I
believe he was telling me something about America in the deep dark
‘60s.  The country was not yet 200 years old.  Moral roots were still
not very deep.  It takes centuries for those to develop.  Camelot had
held court.  The Space Age dawns. 
“….it was the season of Darkness….”
Conspiracy
theories.  The country’s black face is tired of turning the other
cheek.  The white face is two-faced, can’t save face.
“….it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair….”
The
edges of Camelot’s Round Table are squared off and moved into The War
Room.  The Vietnam War is only interrupted by the commercials.
“….we had everything before us….
Zachary
had everything before him.  He could have done anything with his life
and now, at the all-to-early end of it, he’s spouting Dickens.  I didn’t
know it then, but he was going to miss L.S.D., Bob Dylan, Peter, Paul
and Mary.  The Times They Are A Changing.  The Beatles make Sgt.
Pepper.  Goo Goo Ga Joob.  I am the eggman.  They are the eggmen.  I’m
Tricky Dicky.  Zach would have been bemused. 
Or, I’m just putting words in his mouth. You can’t discount that possibility. Or I’m crazy. I wouldn’t discount that either.
“….we had nothing before us, we were all going directly to Heaven, and we were all going the other way — “
I finally found my voice. “No Zach!  I’m not letting you go nowhere!” 
“….in
short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its
noisiest authorities insist on it being received, for good or evil, in
the superlative degree of comparison only.”
Our
eyes locked.  His face broke into a huge grin.  I can still see that
grin.  He began to chuckle.  He seemed amused by it all. 
“Who did this?”
“Why be serious when you can be delirious?”
Unofficially,
those were his last words. I had heard him say that hundreds of times
before. This was the first time it made any kind of sense, but it never
made sense before or since. This is why it seems a fitting epitaph for
someone who loved life the way Zachary did. Yet, it would never appear
on his headstone. 
“Tell my story.  Remember.” His last official words.
His eyes clouded. 
Beginning
at his feet—I know because my attention was diverted by the motion—he
began to shake.  It rose up his body, and I followed it with my gaze,
and only the small portion I was watching moving at any given time.  It
rose to his head until only his wiry hair was moving.  Then nothing
moved. 
I placed my hand on his shirt where a huge blood stain grew larger.
I
brought my hand in front of my face. Then I panicked. Doctors say
that’s when I had my first break with reality. It would not be the
last. 
According
to the evidence later brought up at trial, I stood and ran, placing a
bloody handprint on the washroom door on my way out.  I sprinted down
the hallway leaving bloody sneaker prints.  I reached the stairwell. 
Taking the stairs two at a time, I propelled myself to the landing,
grabbed the handrail and made the 180-degree turn by grabbing the
handrail. Down more steps. Another 180 turn, another landing, the
outside door, hit the crash bar.
All those bloody prints.  It didn’t take the police long to match them to me. 
Here’s
something I do remember. The next thing I knew, I was outside.  I was
still running.  I remember hearing the wind passing my ears.  My chest
ached.  I ran harder. I hurt more.  The hurt eventually stopped.  The
tears eventually stopped.  I eventually stopped.  There was no where
left to run.  I was at a river.
As
I started to walk back I collapsed. I fell to the grass and looked up
at a street sign I didn’t recognize: Angling Street at Long Street. 
Later I measured it.  I ran almost 5 miles.  I began on Evergreen, at
Henry Ford High School, and ran west past Lahser, past Telegraph, past
Beech, past Inkster, past Grand River Avenue, all the way to the Rouge
River.  It seemed like only a minute had passed and I don’t remember
crossing any of those roads.
Then
I remembered why I was running—I actually forgot for a moment—and I
started bawling and sobbing.  That’s how the police eventually found me,
curled up in a fetal position, covered in blood. Zach’s blood.
But,
this is not my story.  I am merely keeping my promise to Zachary. His
last words were “Tell my story. Remember.” and I can’t tell his story
without telling the story of Adrian Roland Thompson at the same time. 
When I met them, they were already inseparable and they became my two
best friends.  

I
feel honoured to have been able to call them friends—to share their
brotherhood.  They taught me more about life in the short time I knew
them than I have learned in all the years since.  I’m honoured to tell
their story. They are my dynamic duo.


© Copyright 2013 by Headly Westerfield

Farce au Pain
NAVIGATION

◄◄ Foreword ◄ • Table of Contents • ► Chapter Two – The Comma ►►