281: MY VISIT TO POLK’S GRAVE WAS REAL, AND IT WAS SPECTACULAR!

After a two-month wait, which seemed like an eternity, our April 18th departure day had finally arrived. My photographer’s alarm rang at 3:15am – I watched as he got himself ready and all of the gear stowed into our Jeep Grand Cherokee. The funny part to me was seeing him countdown the minutes as his wife Vicki went through her normal morning routine, even though Tom mentioned several times they had to be on the road no later than 4:30am. The reason for the precise punctuality was because my photographer had boasted in his previous blog post that he would set me onto James K. Polk’s grave in Nashville at precisely 1:07pm on that Thursday afternoon. In the same post, Tom also advertised the first person who approached him at the gravesite and said “Hey, it’s the bobble head guy” would receive $25 in cash.

With my photographer behind the wheel of our Jeep, the three of us left the homestead at 4:29am – we were one minute early and headed for Nashville, Tennessee. The weather was ideal for the trek, and we made it through Detroit unscathed. After my companions switched seats near Dayton, we hit some serious traffic issues in Cincinnati and again outside of Louisville, Kentucky. A little over nine hours after we had left home, we were in the downtown section of the Music City and in search of a place to park near Tennesse’s State Capitol Building. After 15 minutes of trying to find street parking near the Capitol, Tom and Vic settled on a parking structure located two blocks from the building.

It was a fairly long and strenuous uphill hike to the Capitol – and my out-of-shape camera guy huffed and puffed all the way to the northeastern corner of the grounds where the monument marking President Polk’s final resting place was located. Tom carefully pulled me from his camera case, placed me on the granite marker within the monument, and then looked at the time to see how accurate his prediction was.

At that very moment, I heard my photographer say to his wife in a proud voice, “It’s 1:06pm – we’re one minute early. Let’s see if anyone comes here in the next few minutes to collect their money.” At the same time, I stood on the four-foot-tall marker and thought about the amazing life and Presidency of James K. Polk as Tom snapped images of me from several different angles. Unfortunately, there was equipment and caution tape all around the area as landscaping work was in progress in that section of the Capitol grounds.

As the “magic moment” of 1:07pm passed, not one person arrived to collect the twenty-five bucks from my photographer. I wasn’t surprised, but I could tell Tom was a tad disappointed. I listened as he said to his wife, “Well, that proves not many people read my blog posts. Or the ones who do take the time to check it out aren’t in Nashville today. The good news is, I just saved myself twenty-five smackers. I’m still waiting for the one time during our travels when someone comes up and says ‘Hey, it’s the bobble head guy.’ That will be a special moment, but at the same time, I’m not holding my breath for that day.”

James Knox Polk is one of my favorite Presidents, even though he was a disciple of Andrew Jackson, who’s one of my least favorite. When Polk was elected as our 11th President in 1844, he set four goals for his administration – he promised to reestablish the Independent Treasury System; to reduce tariffs; to acquire some or all of the Oregon country; and to acquire California and its harbors from Mexico. Polk also pledged to serve only one term as President.

During his four years in the White House, President Polk accomplished his goals and left office on March 4, 1849. Two days later, James and Sarah headed out on a triumphant tour of the South, which they planned to end at their new home in Nashville. But after they headed down the Atlantic seaboard and reached southern Alabama, Polk was suffering from a bad cold. At the same time, one passenger of the President’s riverboat died from cholera and the disease was rampant in New Orleans, which was their next destination. Polk planned on a quick departure from New Orleans, but quickly became overwhelmed by the Louisiana hospitality and he stayed longer. That likely was a fatal mistake. By the time his boat was headed north up the Mississippi River, Polk became very ill and went ashore for four days in an attempt to recoup in a hotel.

On April 2nd, the President arrived in Nashville to a huge reception. After he paid a visit to his mother in Columbia, Tennessee, James and Sarah settled into their new home, Polk Place, located just a few blocks from the new State Capitol Building. Just two months later, however, the exhausted Polk fell ill again – but this time he didn’t recover. As he laid in his bed, the 53-year-old President looked at his wife and said, “I love you, Sarah, for all eternity, I love you.” Those were his last words – President James K. Polk died from cholera on June 15, 1849, just 103 days after he left office.

Due to sanitary reasons brought on by cholera, Polk was quickly buried in the city cemetery. The following year, however, Sarah Polk insisted her husband’s remains be moved to Polk Place, which was what he had established in his will. Sarah resided at Polk Place until her death on August 14, 1891 – she was laid to rest alongside her husband. With no direct heirs to inherit the mansion, plans were set in motion to sell Polk Place in 1893 – which meant the tomb of Sarah and James Polk needed to be relocated. On September 19, 1893, the remains of the President and First Lady were reinterred onto the grounds of the Tennessee State Capitol Building where they’ve been for the past 131 years.

Tom and I had spent roughly thirty minutes paying our personal tribute to President Polk at his gravesite, while Vicki sat on a nearby park bench and watched her favorite influencers on her phone. From the President’s final resting place, the three of us made the hike up to the east front of the Capitol where an equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson stood. When I first saw the large likeness of Old Hickory on his horse, it seemed as though I had seen the same statue somewhere else. It turned out I had. An identical bronze statue of Jackson was erected in Lafayette Square just north of the White House in Washington D.C., which became the center of controversy during the George Floyd protests in 2020. A third statue, cast from the same mold, stands in Jackson Square in New Orleans.

The Jackson statue on the Capitol grounds in Nashville was dedicated on May 20, 1880 and has been in place since that day. That ceremony was attended by the statue’s creator, Clark Mills, and it was his last public event before his death three years later.

My photographer forced me to pose near the Jackson statue, even though neither one of us are huge fans of our seventh President. During that entire time, I thought about the thousands of Native American families and innocent men, women, and children who were affected by Jackson’s policies while in office. He wasn’t the only President who displaced Native Americans in our country, but he’s my scapegoat because of his arrogant and egotistical demeanor who intimidated the downtrodden by being a bully. Gee whiz, which modern-day President does that sound like?

From the Jackson statue, Tom carried me to several spots near the exterior of the Tennessee State Capitol where I posed in front of the building. Even though the building was modeled after a Greek Ionic temple, its design didn’t impress me much. As a matter of fact, it was one of the most lackluster state capitol buildings I had ever visited – at least from its exterior appearance. But perhaps I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover – which was the reason I held off my official opinion until after the three of us toured the interior.

Initially, I thought the design of the Capitol in Nashville was mundane and lackluster at best. When the three of us went inside for a self-guided tour, my critique of the building was spot on. There was nothing inside the Capitol that gave me the “Wow” factor, except when I saw armed police officers congregated in every nook and cranny of the place. The police presence was due to the numerous protestors who had come to the Capitol that morning to exercise their rights. The protestors, which we never saw, did not agree with a bill being passed in the legislature that would arm educators with weapons on school property to thwart potential and ever-increasing gun violence.

It was nearly 2:30pm when the three of us headed back to the parking garage where our Jeep was located. Tom’s original plan was for the three of us to visit the site of Polk Place, which was the mansion where the eleventh President had died. However, I heard my photographer tell his wife he was aborting that idea because of the parking issues in Nashville. Since I had posed at the Polk Place site in 2014, Tom’s decision wasn’t a deal-breaker, even though it would’ve been cool to once again see where Polk’s mansion had been located. For some reason, the second visit to a site always seems to turn out better than the first – although Vicki still doesn’t understand why we go back to places we’ve visited before. Her thought process seemed one-sided, however, and nearly made me laugh out loud because Vic was extremely excited for our next scheduled stop, which was a place called Honky Tonk Central – a bar with food, drink, and live music. Oh, did I mention it was also a place we had visited during our last trip to Nashville in 2016?

With Vicki behind the wheel of the Jeep, we had just begun the one-mile drive to Honky Tonk Central when I heard Tom suddenly shout to his wife, “Pull over into that spot right there. This is where Polk Place was once located – I can’t believe we accidentally stumbled upon it.” Sure enough, there was an empty parking space (although a permit was required to park there) and Tom’s wife maneuvered our vehicle into the spot without a problem. Vicki stayed with our illegally parked Jeep while my photographer carried me to the historic site – now occupied by the Capitol Hotel.

James K. Polk bought his Nashville mansion in 1847 while he and Sarah still lived in the White House. The President planned on retiring to the home at the end of his single term. The elegant mansion was originally called Grundy Place and was built between 1815 and 1820 for Attorney General Felix Grundy, who lived there until his death in 1840. Polk renamed it ‘Polk Place’ and had the mansion renovated in time for his triumphant return following his tour of the South in the spring of 1849. When the tour ended, the exhausted and ill President visited his mother at her house in Columbia, Tennessee for two weeks before James and Sarah settled into their new digs in Nashville. But less than two months later, on June 15, 1849, President Polk died in the home after contracting cholera. He had lived in Polk Place less than 50 days.

Following the death of her husband, who was eventually buried on the grounds of Polk Place, Sarah Polk became a recluse and stayed secluded in the mansion for a long time. She lived there for the next 42 years, and died at Polk Place on August 14, 1891 at the age of 87. Sarah Polk was laid to rest next to her husband.

On September 19, 1893, a little over two years after Sarah’s death, the President and First Lady’s remains were moved from the front yard of Polk Place to the State Capitol Building’s grounds. After a lengthy legal battle over ownership of the mansion, the home was finally sold by a family member in 1900 and demolished by a developer a year later to make room for a small apartment building. Today, the Capitol Hotel sits in the footprint of Polk Place – a historic Presidential mansion which should never have been destroyed.

When my photographer carried me onto the grounds where Polk Place once stood, I posed in the same spot where I had been photographed in 2014. But this time, the usually locked gate on the property was open – and Tom didn’t waste any time in taking advantage of the opportunity. He calmly walked through the gate, which was posted as ‘Private Property – No Trespassing – Violators Will Be Prosecuted’ and set me onto the ground where I posed for several photos. To me, this wasn’t just an open lot on the property of a small, rundown hotel – this was hallowed ground where one of my favorite Presidents took his last breath on Earth. As I proudly posed on the dirt, at or near the spot where Polk Place once stood, I thought about the final days of President Polk’s life as he battled the deadly cholera disease he had contracted a few weeks earlier. I also envisioned the elegant mansion, which in my mind resembled The Hermitage, and it angered me that some moron with no appreciation for history made the decision to destroy Polk Place in 1901.

Back in the illegally parked Jeep where Vicki patiently waited for us to return from our trespassing mission, we headed south on 7th Avenue North until we turned left onto Broadway – which was when the three of us were smacked in the face with a huge dose of Nashville reality. There were thousands of people as far as the eye could see. I felt bad for Tom’s wife because I knew she was looking forward to a relaxing afternoon inside Honky Tonk Central as she listened to country music and guzzled bottles of Michelob Ultra. But after waking to an alarm clock at 3:15am in Michigan and making the nine-hour non-stop drive to Nashville where we’ve fought to find parking since we arrived, this next stop had all the tell-tale signs of a nightmare – and not just because of the country music.

As Vicki slowly drove eastward along Broadway and we got closer to our destination, I heard the disappointment in her voice. “This is crazy – look at all the people. It’s crazy. This reminds me of Times Square in New York City, and it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where would we park? Would we even find a place to sit if we got into Honky Tonk Central? I don’t want to fight crowds for the next four or five hours; that wouldn’t be any fun. Let’s just get out of downtown and head for our hotel.”

While our hotel, the Country Inn & Suites, was roughly ten miles east of downtown Nashville, it was only four miles from Friday’s first destination – Andrew Jackson’s ‘Hermitage’. As Vicki registered at the front desk, Tom unpacked their plethora of luggage and gear from the back of the Jeep. Shortly after they unloaded their stuff into the room, the three of us headed down the street to the Cracker Barrel for an early dinner.

For a brief moment, I thought my two companions had left their frustrations in downtown Nashville, but it turned out I was wrong. I quickly discovered their exasperation had followed them to the suburbs of the Music City, and that irritation came in the form of a server named Jeremy. Not only was the youngster slow, forgetful, and unorganized, he seemed about as bright as Rudy Giuliani at a Trump investigation news conference. After a painful meal which seemed as though would never end, my photographer begged the manager to provide the kid with some additional training before other customers were exposed to his lackluster skillset.

With their bellies full of vittles and their patience full of Jeremy, the three of us returned to our hotel room at 5:40pm. For the remainder of the evening, even though we were less than a dozen miles from one of the biggest “Party Cities” in the United States, I stood next to the television set while my companions watched a few episodes of ‘Seinfeld’.

At eight o’clock, when Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer were found guilty by a jury and sentenced to serve one year in prison by Judge Arthur Vandelay, I watched as Tom got very comfortable with both of his pillows just as he extinguished the lights in the room.

“And by the way, they’re real, and they’re spectacular!”