• U.S.

THE PRESIDENCY: Death

4 minute read
TIME

Six months and one day after Warren G. Harding, 29th President of the U. S., died in San Francisco, his immediate predecessor, Woodrow Wilson, passed away at the Capital. At 11:20 of a quiet Sunday morning Admiral Grayson, his physician, emerged from the door of the ex-President’s S Street home and faced the silent crowd which had gathered in the street. From a yellow slip of paper in his hand he read the official bulletin announcing that Mr. Wilson’s death had taken place five minutes earlier. Many years before he entered the Presidency he had suffered a thrombosis, a blood clot in the artery of one leg. While still President of Princeton University, he had practically lost the sight of one of his eyes from a retinal hemorrhage. At the time when he took office in 1913, his doctors were skeptical whether he would live through a four-year term of office, because he was suffering from incipient Bright’s disease. His will was greater than these diseases, which he held at bay until the end. His fatal illness first neared him in 1919 during his nationwide tour, speaking in favor of the League of Nations. After a speech at Pueblo, Col., on Sept. 25 of that year, he was exhausted and in a deep perspiration. He went to bed. During the night Dr. Grayson was summoned. The President showed the unmistakable signs of approaching paralysis — drooping muscles of the left side of the face, a tendency for saliva to escape from the lips. The doctor ordered him to return to sleep and declared that the speaking trip must end. The President replied: “I won’t be able to sleep at all, Doctor, if you say I must cancel the trip.” But Dr. Grayson insisted quietly; the trip was cancelled; the President rose from his bed and walked to his automobile without assistance; the party returned to Washington. For several days Mr. Wilson rested absolutely. His condition improved. Then suddenly the stroke came. At 4 a.m. on Oct. 5, 1919, Mrs. Wilson heard the President calling weakly. She rushed to him and called Dr. Grayson. Mr. Wilson’s left leg had crumpled beneath him and he lay on the floor of his bathroom. The doctor eased the President at full length upon a rug and dragged the burden to the bedroom. With Mrs. Wilson’s assistance he placed the President upon the bed. Examination showed the unmistakable signs of apoplexy.

Even in his collapse, the President insisted that information of his serious condition should not reach the country for fear of the disturbances it might cause. A conference of physicians was called and they agreed that Mr. Wilson was suffering from a thrombosis on the right side of the brain which paralyzed his motor and sensory muscles on the left side of his body. For a week his life was in jeopardy. Then a gradual recovery began. He was never unconscious. His indomitable will and active mind persisted.

Only members of his family, physicians and two nurses saw him—so intent was he that the news of his condition should not alarm the country. Even his valet, who shaved him, was not allowed to come to him, and he grew whiskers, for the first time since the days when, as a student at Johns Hopkins, he had cultivated sideburns. He had a phonograph brought to his bedside to minister to his undiminished love of music. Official papers were brought to him, and he signed them with effort, as best he could. After many months he was again able to leave his bed, although still lame on his left side. In 1921 when Mr. Wilson retired from office, the physicians declared that he had “five minutes, five months, or five years to live.” But his will would not yield. He took regular automobile rides, saw a few visitors, lived quietly. Late in January he suffered a slight indigestion which gradually grew worse. In his weakened condition he could not throw it off. He fought on, gradually becoming weaker and weaker. Only during the last ten or twelve hours was he unconscious. His heart action became fainter and fainter, finally ceased from exhaustion. He was not overcome by disease. He died fighting against impossible odds—from fatigue.

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