As local students settle back into class, I thought I would share one of the most vivid memories from my school years.
I refused to believe Millard Fillmore was a President.
It’s funny the flashbulb type memories that I still have from Edgewood Elementary. There is really no pattern to explain the things I recall.
Some of them are traumatic, like the time I tripped and ran into a brick wall, breaking my nose. Or the time I wore an ill-fitting Cleveland Browns sweatsuit to school and was called an “orange Popsicle.”
I recall nearly throwing up the first time I tried celery with peanut butter. Celery remains on the do-not-eat list to this day and someone had lied when they said the peanut butter masked the taste.
I remember tipping over on knee-boards in gym class. I remember that there was a sink in my first-grade classroom where we could get a cup of water after recess, but the water was always warm and slightly brown. I remember my principal, Franklin Ragase, was always very nice to the girls in school and pretty mean to the boys. As a chubby lad, I recall being given the part of an elephant in the spring musical. I remember when they would not let us play soccer at recess because we got into too many fights.
And in fifth grade I recall arguing that the United States had never had a president named Millard Fillmore. The only time I ever remember being so baffled was when I tried to find pneumonia in the dictionary.
Our class was given an assignment to research and present an oral report on an assigned president. My teacher was making the assignments randomly and the good ones were flying off the list. Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Roosevelt were already gone and we were getting into some of the names that you had heard of, but didn’t know anything about.
With a last name starting with “W” my name was called near the end of the list, but some of the more contemporary Presidents (for the early 1980s) were still available, like Eisenhower, Truman and Ford.
Who would I get? Boom. Millard Fillmore.
“That’s not a President,” I confidently replied.
“Yes, he was,” the teacher responded.
“I’ve never, ever heard that name,” was my retort.
“That’s why you are doing this project,” came the teacher’s trump card.
Keep in mind, this was before home computers and the idea of the Internet wasn’t even a notion. This means that researching any obscure topic really put you behind the eight ball. The Marysville Library had dozens of books dedicated to other presidents. Millard mentions were limited to one place. The “F” volume of Encyclopedia Britannica.
This goon is a staple on lists of worst presidents. And even worse, he makes those lists because he did nothing. He wasn’t even a bad president because he did memorably regrettable things, like Nixon.
He wasn’t fat like Taft. He didn’t die after eating a bowl of cherries like Zachary Taylor. I would argue that the 31 days William Henry Harrison served as President (he gave a long-winded inauguration speech, contracted pneumonia and died) would have been infinitely more fun for an elementary student to research than Millard Fillmore.
But I was stuck. Just me, M.F. and the Britannica.
Here is what I found out. Fillmore was the 13th President, ascending from Vice President after the afore-mentioned Taylor croaked on some Maraschinos in 1850. His only legislation of note was the 1850 Compromise, which included Fugitive Slave Act requiring slaves to be returned to their owners, even if found in free states.
He was a member of the Whig Party but was so ineffective in office that he did not even get his party’s nomination when he was up for reelection in 1853. The Whig Party dissolved shortly thereafter making him the last President from that group.
He took another crack at the Presidency in 1856 as a member of the “Know-Nothing” Party, finishing third with 21% of the vote.
My question is – why on this green Earth did my teacher assign Millard Fillmore as one of the choices? There had been 39 Presidents at that point and fewer than 25 students in that class. Surely Millard could have been left on the cutting room floor.
–Chad Williamson is the managing editor at the Journal-Tribune.