First Lady, Presidential

1892 was the typical election year. Control of both houses of Congress was on the ballot and the White House was up for grabs but unlike the usual presidential election, this time there was a major difference, a difference that has stood unbroken for 130 years: an incumbent versus not just a former President but the previous President. It was a remarkable event and has played many a role in trivia questions, gameshows, and U.S. history discussions. For months following the Republican and Democrat conventions (Minneapolis and Chicago), Harrison (R) and Cleveland (D) campaigned as usual while Cleveland’s wife, Frances, anticipated returning to the White House, and Harrison’s wife, Caroline, anticipated no interruption in her current role and responsibilities.

Throughout the latter half of the 19th century, the role of First Lady took on a more serious role for her husband’s campaign as a powerful woman who had the President’s ear. Her role came in the form of advisor, confidant, fence mender, image softener, and speaking to wives, who, although not able to vote during this period, could speak to their husbands on their understanding of the issues, and sway their husbands votes to the incumbent. It was a big job that was growing into one of prominence with every presidential election, morphing over time into the major position it is today.

For Caroline Harrison, she took on her role as First Lady with great aplomb and in doing so continued the role’s evolution. Although Harrison was not particularly politically active, she took on the mantle women’s rights and equality. She did so actively by serving on a national committee that raised $500,000 for John Hopkins School of Medicine with the caveat the school admit female students. And, perhaps seen as the greater accomplishment, she served as the first President-General of the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR). On the domestic front, she was an avid painter of watercolors and oversaw the preservation of White House chinaware from previous First Ladies; she continued the tradition by designing her own chinaware pattern. Her biggest project, though, involved the White House. Despite her new residence, the White House was in rough shape, crowded, and in need of some major renovations. Caroline, wanting to remedy these problems, sought to expand the White House through a West Wing for executive offices (executive offices were on the second floor as were the private living quarters) and an East Wing for a public gallery. Congressional funds were requested but she was granted a small amount and used it to make minor repairs such as replacing carpets.

Caroline had an uphill battle to gain the admiration of the country, despite her best efforts, and it was made more difficult by the fact she came after popular First Lady Frances Cleveland. And, although she received an unfair amount newspaper criticism, she did not give way to newspaper critics. She maintained her direction and carried out her role with distinction and discipline. She entertained well, gave receptions commensurate for the location, and became the first First Lady to decorate a Christmas tree. But, despite her many successes as First Lady she suffered from ill health and had been for most of her life. A year into her role as First Lady her health became an all too apparent problem and caused her serious complications, so much so that her daughter, Mary Harrison McKee and daughter-in-law, Mary Harrison, took turns serving as White House hostess.

Caroline’s decline began in the winter of 1890 when she suffered a bout of the grippe (penumonia). The resultant complications were severe, giving rise to bronchial infections and general pulmonary discomfort. In the summer of 1891, Harrison traveled to Cape May, New Jersey. What should have been a relaxing trip turned into a serious medical episode with the onset of a bronchial infection. She remained in Cape May for several weeks, fought off the infection, and returned to the White House an invalid. Years end, she suffered another bout of the grippe, catarrhal pneumonia, a serious infection of the lung tissue. After a week of bedrest, she was in good health and ready to resume her duties, or so it was thought. Just as winter was turning into spring, she was bothered by a persistent cough, followed by bleeding in the right lung that led to consolidation (either fluid- or tissue-filled, and in the case of Caroline, likely tissue filled), in the right lung apex, or top of the lung. Her persistent coughing, caused by the consolidation, was quite laborious and produced an unpleasant odor mixed with small chunks of bloody phlegm. As she was suffering from lung consolidation, she likely would have had fremitus, which in her case would have been determined by placing a hand on her chest and feeling vibrations when she spoke.

Despite the obvious health decline, she persisted in her duties and did not allow herself to become a victim to poor health despite there being little to nothing available medically to remedy her condition except to provide her with rest and relaxation and to relieve her of pain. To that end, in the summer of 1892, the Harrison’s traveled to Loon Lake in New York’s Adirondack Mountains where she underwent treatment consisting of two minor surgeries (thoracentesis in today’s medical terminology) to relieve the build-up of fluid in her chest cavity. The trip was a last-ditch effort to prolong her life and the Harrisons were hopeful she’d recover. On Wednesday, September 14, doctors informed newspapers that Caroline was suffering from tuberculosis by writing a rather medical heavy termed announcement,

“Primary disease, pulmonary tuberculosis of right side, associated with nervous prostration. Recent complication, sub-acute pleurisy, with rapid effusion of water in the right chest, necessitating two tappings [into the chest cavity], with some relief. Present condition, critical, on account of tendency to reproduction of fluid. Removal to Washington at present impossible. Prognostication as to immediate future uncertain.”

Naturally, the Harrison family was distraught, quite concerned, and hopeful, as is natural, for a recovery. But the team of doctors let the Harrison’s know, in no uncertain terms, Caroline’s case was most likely terminal. It was a hard and gut-wrenching punch for the President. His wife of 39 years and the mother of his two living children was dying and there was no way to save her.

For the remainder of her time at Loon Lake, Caroline, exhausted from her illness and surgeries, rested and underwent another surgery (tapping) to drain water from her chest cavity. One day before the end of summer, Tuesday, September 20, the Harrison’s began their trip back to Washington. (It’s important to note that Caroline’s illness coincided with the 1892 presidential campaign. Her husband, running for reelection, spent most of the crucial campaign summer months at her side. After their return to Washington, he continued spending time with her, much of it spent in her bedroom.)

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In 1892, tuberculosis was a serious illness that many did not recover from or, if the patient managed to fight it off, major health consequences were suffered. Even in the present, tuberculosis is still a serious illness and although treatment is available, for some patients’ treatment is rendered ineffective by antibiotic resistance. So, what is tuberculosis? It is a bacterial infection and usually manifests in the lungs although it can be found in other parts of the body such as the spine and kidneys. In Caroline’s case, the infection, because it was unable to be treated, caused necrotic lung tissue, which in turn caused a cavity or cavities. The necrotic lung tissue is often coughed up, sometimes mixed with blood, necessitating the usage of a handkerchief for tuberculosis patients to catch the necrotic lung tissue. If who’ve seen the 1993 western Tombstone, then you might be familiar with its depiction of Doc Holiday coughing up this unpleasant substance and the unpleasant sobriquet of “lunger” bequeathed on him.

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On Thursday, October 20, one month after leaving Loon Lake, the Harrison’s marked their 39th wedding anniversary under a somber, dark, and melancholy cloud of death settling over the White House. Caroline’s health was in steep decline, and throughout what should have been a memorable day of celebrations, her husband remained at her bedside, comforting her as best he could. Benjamin managed as best he could with the crushing weight of his wife’s failing health. He saw no visitors and took a much-needed walk in the afternoon. By day’s end, Caroline was in critical condition, “greatly exhausted” and could “not turn her head upon the pillow.” As bad as her condition was, she could eat but her coughing grew worse despite a reprieve for the past few days. By late evening, she was sleeping well. For what it was worth, at least their anniversary did not end in death.

Three days later, Sunday, September 23, the White House, typically open to visitors in this era, closed the East Room and “lower corridors,” as Caroline’s health had entered the final stage. That morning, Dr. F. E. Gardner, Caroline’s personal physician, arrived at the White House to check on his patient. After a brief visual examination, he was quite certain she wouldn’t live through the day. He spoke with the family in the room adjoining the sickroom, telling them there was no major change in her condition. The Harrison family then walked to the dining room and ate breakfast with Dr. Gardner; no record on how much food was eaten. Before Dr. Gardner left the White House, he spoke to newspaper reporters about Caroline’s condition. He explained that she was sinking rapidly and was quite certain she wouldn’t live through the day. After breakfast, Benjamin returned to his wife’s bedside while the rest of the family took to the sun and “clear, crisp, and cool” weather on the White House south piazza. Just before noon, Benjamin leaned over his wife as she lay in bed and asked if she needed anything. She looked at him, gave a soft smile, and said in a hushed tone, “no dear.”

For the remainder of the day and into the late night, the Harrison family was at Caroline’s bedside, where she passed the day in brief intervals of sleep and discomfort made worse by labored breathing and chronic coughing. Come 8:00 PM, her sleeping shifted to short intervals. An hour later, there was no difference in her condition. Two hours later, she was barely holding, had stopped taking food, and the only relief offered came from her personal nurse and Dr. Gardner pressing a stimulant soaked sponge to her lips. By 2:00 AM, she was sleeping in brief intervals but was growing weaker, her lifeforce ebbing from her body. Amazingly, when she wasn’t sleeping, she was cognizant of her surroundings and recognized the faces of her family.

On Monday morning, October 24, at 7:45 AM, Dr. Gardner made his first of several visits that day to check Caroline’s comfort level and vitals. At noon, the Rev. Dr. Hamlin, pastor of the Harrison’s church, called at the White House and visited with Caroline. Meanwhile, various bureau agents and cabinet members visited the White House to pay their respects and inquire about Caroline’s condition. Come nightfall, at 8:00 PM, Dr. Gardner arrived at the White House, his fifth and last visit of the day as he spent the remainder of the evening at Caroline’s bedside. As he walked into the White House, he passed through a small pool of newspaper reporters on the front portico anxious to gather whatever information on the First Lady he was willing to provide. He was said to be upfront and did not hold back information on his patient’s condition. The newspaper reporters kept up their vigil throughout the evening, remaining at the White House to relay new developments.

Upstairs in the sickroom, and throughout the evening, the mood was decidedly grief-filled. Caroline’s health had declined rapidly, her once robust and full form now emaciated, her face gaunt from the devastating ravages of tuberculosis. Throughout the 24th, she suffered three nervous attacks throughout the day and after each attack death was thought to be imminent, but somehow, she managed to rally, only to prolong her pain and discomfort, and her fading vitality, made most evident from fading respiration, dropping from 50 to 45 then to 16 and settling around 10 come midnight, combined with a drop in her pulse.

At this point in the evening the sickroom was practically silent. The only audible noise came from Caroline’s labored breathing, and the sound of phlegm riding up her throat with each exhalation. She was practically unconscious at this point. Dr. Gardner left her bedside and walked to the family, huddled together on a couch near the bed, and told them death was near. Benjamin, visibly distraught and grief stricken, held up to the tremendous emotional grief and stayed the course as the reliable husband and father to those in the room.

At 12:30 AM, Dr. Gardner, sitting at her bedside, placed his hand on her wrist, took her pulse, and found it had slowed considerably, Caroline having drifted into unconsciousness. At this time, her life was now measured in minutes. Her breathing was now heavily labored, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her face captured in a deathly countenance. 1:00 AM, Dr. Gardner, knowing there was nothing to be done, and Caroline practically dead at this point, bowed his head to the family and left the sickroom, standing on the other side of the threshold. Benjamin walked to his wife’s bedside, sat beside her, and held her hand, remaining at her side until she breathed her last. At 1:40 AM the death bell tolled, and Caroline’s heart gave out with nary a motion or a shudder. Dr. Gardner was called into the sickroom and verified her death. Benjamin nearly broke down in grief but held himself in check, and consoled his daughter, Mary. The Harrison family stayed in the sickroom for several minutes, looking over Caroline. Benjamin left, went to his bedroom, and closed the door. In the sickroom, Josephine, Caroline’s personal maid, prepared the body for the undertaker. Downstairs, outside the front door, newspaper reporters were notified of her death. At 2:00 AM, Dr. Gardner left the White House and walked home, soon followed in his departure by the newspaper reporters. At 2:30 AM, the White House was locked up and the lights were dimmed.

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Funeral services were quickly planned the morning after her death. In an article from the Jamestown Weekly Alert, the Blue Room was reported as having been selected for her White House funeral. The article doesn’t provide any further information on additional funeral plans, so whether the East Room was ever seriously considered or even chosen is unknown and I’m not able to verify. On the face of it, it doesn’t make any sense as all White House funerals I’m aware of were held in the East Room, due in part to the room’s ability to hold a large crowd. But the article goes on to report that after a meeting with the cabinet and conversing with family friends in Indianapolis, the funeral plans were changed. Her funeral services were as follows: brief morning funeral service in the White House East Room, overnight train ride to Indianapolis, funeral service in the Harrison’s church, and internment in Crown Hill Cemetery, the gravesite having been chosen by family and friends of the Harrison’s. Cabinet members and Chief Justice Melville Fuller would serve as honorary pallbearers.

In anticipation of the upcoming memorial service, the White House grounds were closed to the public, the entrances guarded by police officers, the fountains turned off, the window curtains drawn barring any view of what was happening inside, and there was no White House flag flown at half-mast. In fact, it wasn’t flown at all; however, government offices around the federal city did fly the flag at half-mast.

Despite the necessity and urgency of planning his wife’s funeral services, Benjamin was holding up considerably well under the strain and grief. He “bore himself with the calmness and fortitude that comes from dependence upon a higher power and a resignation to the mandates of His will.” Benjamin’s calmness carried through breakfast when he broke the news to the grandkids of their grandmother’s death. It was, suffice it to say, a difficult and trying moment for those seated at the breakfast table. Throughout the day, Benjamin received guests in the White House, speaking with his pastor, Rev. Dr. Hamlin, Attorney General William H. H. Miller, Postmaster General John Wannamaker, Assistant Sec. of War Lewis A. Grant (not affiliated with Ulysses S. Grant), and R. A. Parke, the passenger agent of transportation for the Indianapolis funeral party. Elsewhere in the White House, around 10:00 AM, upstairs in the sick room, undertaker W. R. Speare and his assistants prepared Caroline’s body for the services and burial by embalming and dressing her remains. One hour later, a large ribbon of black crepe with pink ends, tied into a bow, was attached to the front portico doorbell pull, the ribbon ends touching the ground.

Meanwhile, outside the White House, and throughout the morning, a coterie of carriages occupied by government officials and politicians passed through the grounds of the eastern gate, slowly ambled up the asphalt driveway, stopped at the portico, delivered their letters and cards of condolences, and slowly ambled out through the western gate. Despite the busy and hectic Wednesday, with all the details of death and memorial to be sorted and arranged, the myriad callings at the front portico, meetings with friends and cabinet members in the White House, and the attendant daily matters that have to be addressed regardless the personal grief, Benjamin held up well throughout the day, and readied himself for the difficult two days that lay ahead.

Thursday morning unfurled with a mid-autumn frost coating the White House lawn and grounds with a beautiful verglas. In the middle of the pacific setting of the East Room, Caroline’s casket rested on a bier. Her casket was elegant, refined, yet simple. It was a fine piece of craftmanship made of cedar, clothed in black crepe, with oxidized silver full-length side and end handles. Affixed to the upper portion of the lid was silver nameplate inscribed with her name and “Wife of Benjamin Harrison,” and her date of death. Caroline, a lover of flowers and their vibrant colors, was paid grand tribute with a massive ensemble of floral arrangements on top of the casket, around it, and elsewhere in the room. (These floral arrangements would follow to Indianapolis.) The top of Caroline’s casket, the floral centerpiece of the room, was decorated with two wreaths. The upper wreath, placed by Benjamin, was made of roses, orchids, and violets from the White House Conservatory, the three flowers being favorites of Caroline. The second and lower wreath, which covered much of the casket, was made of chrysanthemums, palms and purple plumes. Anchoring the base of the bier, and obscuring much of it from view, were numerous flowers, too many to name and count. Rising out of this well-arranged ensemble of color and fragrance were two sago palms, one on each end of the casket. On the east (right) side of the room, under the triple window, was a massive bank of flowers equal the to display around the casket. Among the more personal displays were floral wreaths sent from Queen Victoria of England, King Humbert (Umberto) of Italy, the Diplomatic Corps, Anna Morton, wife of Vice President Levi Morton, and cabinet secretaries. White House executives gave a floral arrangement of white and pink carnations and the New York Chapter of the newly formed Daughters of the American Revolution, of which Caroline was the first General-President, gave a floral pillow of white carnations and roses.

At 10:00 AM, the honorary pallbearers entered the East Room and took their seats on the north side. Joining them was every cabinet secretary and his wife, the justices of the Supreme Court, former Sec. of State Blaine and his wife, and friends and former associates. After the honorary pallbearers entered, the Harrison family and relatives entered the East Room and sat on the south side of the room. Benjamin walked slowly to his seat, escorted by his two children, Mary, and Russell. It was a sad and trying moment for the President, his eyes fixed on his wife’s casket. With the funeral party seated and settled, Rev. Dr. Hamlin took his position in front of the casket and began the service with a brief reading. Rev. Dr. Bartlett then followed by reading several scriptures and then, when finished, took his seat. A few moments later, a beautiful rendition of the hymn “Abide With Me” came from the Green Room, sung by Washington’s St. John’s Church boys’ choir. Rev. Dr. Hamlin again spoke to the room and gave a prayer bringing an end to the service. After a brief silence, the boys choir sang “Lead Kindly Knight.” Benjamin had kept his emotions at bay throughout the service but at the end they proved too much, he broke down, his head lowered, tears briefly visible before being absorbed by his beard, his gentle sobbing visible. After the last note of the hymn faded, the pallbearers, made up of White Hose employees, approached the casket, lifted it off the bier, and carried it out outside where it was loaded into a horse-drawn hearse.

Outside the White House grounds, an impressive throng of mourners, having formed earlier in the morning, lined the streets near the front of the White House in anticipation of catching a glimpse of the funeral party and the hearse during the brief trek to the Baltimore and Potomac Dept. Within a few minutes of the service ending, the White House doors opened, and Caroline’s casket was borne outside. At that moment, a hush fell over the crowds in view of the casket and had the crowds been allowed under the front door portico, the only sounds heard would have been those of the casket being loaded. The funeral party boarded their carriages and embarked for the train depot. At passage of the first carriage through the White House gates and onto Pennsylvania Avenue, the silence of the crowd was followed by the removal of hats.

The funeral procession to the depot, formed by a short line of carriages, was brief and uniform. At the depot, the funeral train (composed of six cars, five of which were for the funeral party and the President’s family, the sixth one being for the casket) was primed and ready for its overnight journey to Indianapolis. Caroline’s casket was carried to the funeral car and placed on a catafalque to afford onlookers the opportunity to view it; however, viewing the casket itself would have been challenging given the massive blanket of flowers placed on it. (As for the rest of the flowers displayed in the East Room, additional train car space was required to transport the full assortment to Indianapolis.) After Caroline’s casket was in place, the funeral party boarded its respective train cars and at 11:40 AM the train left Washington, passing by a long line of mourners standing against “the retaining walls of the mall through which the road runs.” For the next twenty-two hours, the funeral train had a smooth run through the mid-Atlantic, making several stops along the way. Baltimore was the first stop that saw the train engine changed out for another engine. To the advantage of locals, the stop came during the lunch hour. Mill and factory workers and school kids, alerted to this unique and brief event, were already at the train station, many of them standing near the rail line to study the funeral train and observe the casket under its flowery ensemble in the funeral car. Baltimore faded into the distance, York came and went, and in Harrisburg, the Pennsylvania capital, church bells from First Lutheran Church chimed “I Would Not Always Live.” It was a moving gesture for the Harrison family, and, like those in Baltimore who saw the funeral train, a equally unique event for the men and women standing on the depot platforms, school kids near the rail line, and rolling mill workers watching from the windows. Hours later, the funeral train crossed into Pennsylvania’s hilly southwestern landscape, a leg that required three engines to make the undulating passage between Altoona and Galitzen. Before leaving the Keystone state, the funeral train made a stop in Pittsburgh and then continued unabated to Indianapolis, arriving around 10:00 AM, Friday morning.

Thirty minutes before the train’s arrival, locals began gathering around Indianapolis’s Union Station. It was an urban composition of black and white, men and women, many of them wearing dark funeral attire, with some of the men wearing black crepe armbands. Come 9:00 AM, the crowds around Union Station had grown larger and thicker, and kept to a non-verbal agreement of orderliness and respect for the occasion. Among the many on hand to greet the funeral train were former President Hayes, government figures from Indianapolis and Chicago, Sec. of Treasury John W. Foster, and some family members, all of whom were given access to the train platform, where they casually passed the time talking amongst each other. At 10:00 AM, having covered around hundreds of miles and passing through three states, Caroline’s funeral train arrived. Vice-President Morton, Postmaster Gen. John Wannamaker, and Att. Gen. William H. H. Miller and the rest of the cabinet members on board were first to alight from the funeral train. President Harrison, visibly distraught, worn, and tired, exited his train car, joined by his daughter, Mary. A few moments later, with the family and funeral party in place, Caroline’s casket was removed from the funeral car and taken in a double line to the hearse, followed by Benjamin and his family, the cabinet, and government officials. Then, with heads of the funeral party uncovered and tears dotted by handkerchiefs, the casket was placed into the hearse.

Then began the procession to First Presbyterian Church at New York and Pennsylvania Streets. Thirty police officers led the cavalcade to the church, a somber collection of twenty-seven carriages anchored by Caroline’s horse-drawn hearse, her casket easily visible due largely to the flowers covering it underneath a canopy held by four corner columns. The processional route to the church was like presidential funerals of the era as well as those of the present: sidewalks lined with men, women, and children; heads uncovered and bowed when the hearse passed by; and numerous civic and public safety bodies in dress uniform to pay their respects. And perhaps the greatest display of all those seen that day came from members of the Grand Army of the Republic that lined the route starting at Ohio St. to the church.

At the church ground’s southern entrance, Caroline’s casket was removed by the pallbearers, borne into the church’s main entrance, slowly walked down the aisle as the organ aired out the dour funeral march, and placed on a bier set within an impressive display of flowers in front of the pulpit, white chrysanthemums and sago palms placed on the sides, and a mixture of flowers along the base. At the head of the casket was a vase of chrysanthemums that was reported to have towered over the rest of the floral display.

As was seen with the processional route, the number of funeral guests inside the church, not including the funeral party, was similar in size to that of a President’s funeral. It was quite remarkable. And the same could be said for the church’s decorated interior. Flower filled baskets hung from the side lights. The organ had “radiating” plaited white and black streamers stretching from its cornice to the top, front, and sides, with a wall of flowers lining the base. Heavy black drapes ran the lengths of the side walls and spanned the tops of the stained-glass windows, set against smilax draping wall panels. And, mixed with the funeral deco and floral pallet were two American flags hanging at each end of the church.

After the customary greetings and the seating of the funeral party and Harrison family, the service began with the choir singing “Lead, Kindly Knight.” After a brief pause, Rev. Dr. Haines rose from his seat, stood at the lectern, and opened with eloquent and beautiful remarks and then read from the New Testament. The reading was evidently moving for many, as heads were observed being bowed, tears rolling down cheeks, and the soft clearing of noses and throats. Benjamin was no exception, his head bowed towards his chest, holding back a bottomless grief. After Haines, the Rev. N. A. Hyde spoke, followed by the choir’s rendition of “One Sweetly Solemn Thought.” For the closing remarks, Dr. Hyde gave the benediction.

In short order, the funeral procession formed outside the church and started for Crown Hill Cemetery, a brief three-mile trek through paved city streets for the final scene of Caroline’s farewell. Homes and businesses along the route, from start to finish, showed their support and respect for her death through heavy usage of the customary black crepe draped across windows, doors, eves, and arches. Around 1:00 PM, the procession passed under the impressive stone façade entrance of Crown Hill Cemetery and slowly ambled to Caroline’s freshly dug grave among a sparse field of gravestones. Standing nearby and radiating out from the cordoned off gravesite were some 1,000 mourners, earnestly waiting to hear the sad last rites to be read. Dr. Hyde performed the funeral service through the customary reading of scriptures. Pastor Haines then gave the benediction, bringing an end to the service. Then, it what was perhaps the most difficult moment for Benjamin, Caroline’s casket was carefully lowered into the stone vault.

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If there is one term that can be used to describe the aftermath of Caroline’s death is “turnout.” The turnout for this First Lady’s death was nothing short of impressive, especially when you consider she was not a wildly popular First Lady like her predecessor, Frances Cleveland. Every opportunity available to the public to observe some portion of her funeral services was seized upon. On the day of her funeral, for the procession to the Baltimore and Potomac Depot, and foe the departure from the depot, tens of thousands of locals lined the streets, stood at the depot, and stood near the rails. At each stop made along the route to Indianapolis, hundreds or thousands were on hand to observe. And for every depot passed along way, the platforms and safe viewing spots along the rail lines were crowded with onlookers. In Indianapolis, the scene was like that seen in Washington: crowded streets, windows, doors, and store and home fronts. And this was all for a First Lady. It really was remarkable that such a public outpouring of grief and respect was made for the First Lady. It’s difficult to nail down specific reasons for this impressive turnout. But, in general, I think at this time in the country’s history, the notoriety and role of the First Lady was better understood and more appreciated than previous First Ladies. Add to this mix the ease of transmitting information and disseminating it across the country, increasing awareness for those interested. And, last but not least, the obvious fact the First Lady died while in office. This tragic event always raises the turnout and it, when combined with the other two points, was certainly the biggest factor in Caroline’s well-received funeral and places it in the realm of a president’s funeral.

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Bibliography

-“A Change For the Worse,” Boston Herald, Boston, MA, 10/21/92.

-“A Nation In Grief,” The Evansville Courier, Indiana, IN, 10/25/92.

-“A Nation In Mourning,” The Cheyenne Daily Leader, Cheyenne, WY, 10/25/92.

-“Beyond,” Cincinnati Post, Cincinnati, OH, 10/25/92.

-“Death Came Gently,” Evening World, New York, NY, 10/25/92.

-“Her Life Work Ended,” Kalamazoo Gazette, Kalamazoo, MI, 10/28/92.

-“Is Dying Slowly,” The Milwaukee Journal, Milwaukee, WI, 10/24/92.

-“Mrs. Harrison’s Doctors Encourage No Hope,” New York Herald, NY, NY, 9/15/92.

-“Mrs. Harrison Is Dead,” Seattle-Post Intelligencer, Seattle, WA, 10/25/92.

Mrs. Harrison's Sitting Room at the White House

East Room memorial service.

Washington depot and funeral car.

Caroline's gravesite, top of small headstone.