The Assassinated Presidents: The Lives and Deaths of Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield, William McKinley, and John F. Kennedy

Booth was a member of the prominent 19th century Booth theatrical family from Maryland and, by the 1860s, was a well-known actor. But he was also a Confederate sympathizer who dabbled in espionage, and he was increasingly outraged at the Lincoln Administration. Although Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia had surrendered days earlier, Booth believed the war was not yet over because Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston's army was still fighting the Union Army, so he and his group of conspirators plotted to kill Lincoln and other top officials in a bid to decapitate the federal government and help the South.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the actor’s flair for the dramatic came at a cost to the plot. It took almost no time for the shocked public and the federal government to begin unraveling Booth’s conspiracy, which had mostly faltered from the beginning. Following the shooting, America’s most famous manhunt commenced, which itself became the stuff of legends. After the shooting, during which it is believed he broke his leg, Booth fled south on horseback, with authorities hot on his tail. 12 days later, while he was at a farm in rural northern Virginia, Booth was tracked down and shot by Boston Corbett, a Union soldier who acted against orders. Eight others were tried for their alleged involvement in the plot and convicted, and four were hanged shortly thereafter as a result of some of the nation’s most famous trials.

He was the only sitting member of the House of Representatives elected President to date, but he served only about half a year in the office. He was the second president in less than 20 years felled by an assassin’s bullet. Yet James A. Garfield, a man little known outside his own party before his “dark-horse” nomination by the Republican Party in 1880, was significant in a number of ways. Garfield’s short term marked the first entrance of a “reformist” strain into the presidency that sought to root out corruption and political favoritism in government. Much of what we know as the modern federal bureaucracy has its roots in Garfield’s advocacy of a professional civil service to fill most positions in the government, rather than filling those positions through political patronage, the “spoils system” that went back to the administration of Andrew Jackson. He did not live to see his proposed reforms enshrined in law, but Garfield’s contribution to the history of the United States should not be underestimated.

In 1880, Garfield ran as a Republican for president, and one of his supporters was a man named Charles Guiteau, who wrote and circulated a speech called “Garfield vs. Hancock” that aimed to rally support for the Republican candidate. Though few knew it, Guiteau’s family had already deemed him insane and attempted to keep him committed in an asylum, only to have him manage an escape from confinement.

Garfield went on to narrowly edge Winfield Scott Hancock in the election, and Guiteau, harboring delusions of grandeur, believed he had helped tip the scales in Garfield’s favor. As such, he believed that he was entitled to a post in Garfield’s nascent administration, perhaps even an ambassadorship, and he continued to rack up debts while operating under the assumption that he would soon have the government salary to pay them back. However, despite lobbying around Republican headquarters in New York City and even approaching Cabinet members, no post was forthcoming for the troubled man. Eventually, in May 1881, Secretary of State James Blaine told him to never show up again. Enraged by the perceived slight, Guiteau bought a revolver and plotted to kill the president. He got his chance on July 2, 1881 at a railroad station, shooting Garfield in the back twice and bragging to the authorities, "I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts...Arthur is president now!"

Garfield would live for nearly three more months, and the poor standards of medical care in the 1880s would end up being responsible for the fact he did not survive wounds that he would’ve survived at the end of the 19th century. Indeed, Guiteau would cite medical malpractice at trial, stating, "I deny the killing, if your honor please. We admit the shooting." Those kinds of statements and his generally odd behavior helped ensure Guiteau’s lawyers would claim he was insane, one of the first high profile attempts to use that as a defense against a crime. However, that never had much chance of succeeding, and claims of insanity were heartily rejected by prosecutors.

Although he is often overlooked in American history today, few presidents marked a turning point for the country quite like William McKinley. As the last president to have served in the Civil War, he represented the end of an era, while at the same time his pro-business policies set in motion the Progressive Era, a period almost universally associated with Theodore Roosevelt.

Of course, the reason that period is aligned with Roosevelt is because McKinley had the unfortunate distinction of being one of only four presidents to be assassinated. In September 1901, the city of Buffalo was full of celebration. The Pan-American Exposition was ongoing, and it brought notable figures to northern New York, including President McKinley, who had been reelected less than a year earlier. But also in Buffalo was Leon Czolgosz, a young man who had turned to anarchy years earlier after losing his job, Embracing his philosophy wholeheartedly, Czolgosz believed it was his mission to take down a powerful leader he considered oppressive, and McKinley’s attendance gave him the chance.

President James Garfield had been assassinated just 20 years earlier, but McKinley didn’t worry about presidential security or his own safety, and that was the case in Buffalo. McKinley’s insistence on greeting the public and shaking hands allowed Czolgosz to walk up to him on September 6, 1901 at a public reception in the Temple of Music on the expo grounds and shoot him point blank, with one bullet grazing the president and another lodging in his abdomen. In the aftermath of the shooting, as Czolgosz was beaten and seized by the crowd, he uttered, "I done my duty." For his part, McKinley said, “He didn't know, poor fellow, what he was doing. He couldn't have known."

Despite being president, McKinley’s medical services were shoddy, and given the still primitive medical standards of the early 20th century, gunshots to the abdomen often brought death. One of the best known aspects of the assassination is that Thomas Edison’s x-ray machine was on hand and may have been used to try to locate the bullet that doctors couldn’t find, but for reasons that remain unknown, the x-ray machine was not used.

Nevertheless, McKinley seemed to improve over the next few days, and people became optimistic he would be all right. As H. Wayne Morgan, one of McKinley’s biographers, noted, “His hearty constitution, everyone said, would see him through. The doctors seemed hopeful, even confident... It is difficult to understand the cheer with which they viewed their patient. He was nearly sixty years old, overweight, and the wound itself had not been thoroughly cleaned or traced. Precautions against infections, admittedly difficult in 1901, were negligently handled.” Ultimately, McKinley’s wounds became gangrenous a week after he was shot, and after he took a turn for the worse, he died on the morning of September 14, nearly 8 days after he was shot.

McKinley was the third president to be assassinated, and today he is often remembered as one of the presidents to die in office after being elected every 20 years after William Henry Harrison’s 1840 election through John F. Kennedy’s 1960 election. However, the most notable consequence of the assassination is who it brought to power. Ironically, New York Governor Theodore Roosevelt's political enemies hoped to rid the state of their progressive governor by elevating him to national prominence. At the Republican National Convention in Philadelphia, the New York machine leaders decided to promote Roosevelt for the vice presidency, and in so doing, remove him from New York. At the time, the vice president was notoriously insignificant in national politics, so the political machinists thought that making Roosevelt the vice president would turn him into a nobody.

In many ways, John Fitzgerald Kennedy and his young family were the perfect embodiment of the ‘60s. The decade began with a sense of idealism, personified by the attractive Kennedy, his beautiful and fashionable wife Jackie, and his young children. Months into his presidency, Kennedy exhorted the country to reach for the stars, calling upon the nation to send a man to the Moon and back by the end of the decade. In 1961, Kennedy made it seem like anything was possible, and Americans were eager to believe him. The Kennedy years were fondly and famously labeled “Camelot,” by Jackie herself, suggesting an almost mythical quality about the young President and his family.

As it turned out, the ‘60s closely reflected the glossy, idealistic portrayal of John F. Kennedy, as well as the uglier truths. The country would achieve Kennedy’s goal of a manned moon mission, and the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964 finally guaranteed minorities their civil rights and restored equality, ensuring that the country “would live out the true meaning of its creed.” But the idealism and optimism of the decade was quickly shattered, starting with Kennedy’s assassination in 1963. The ‘60s were permanently marred by the Vietnam War, and by the time Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated in 1968, the country was irreversibly jaded. The events of the decade produced protests and countercultures unlike anything the country had seen before, as young people came of age more quickly than ever.