It was sad for me as we left the historic Coolidge neighborhood in Plymouth Notch, Vermont on the morning of July 11, 2017. I had enjoyed our visit with Calvin Coolidge; I was proud to stand in some of the places where he once stood. Our next Presidential site was 95 miles to the east and the route took us from central Vermont to Concord, New Hampshire, which was in the middle of the Granite State.
We arrived at a large, two-story home known as the Pierce Manse at about 12:40pm. Franklin Pierce, our 14th President, and his wife Jane lived in the historic home from 1842 to 1848 after she had nagged him to resign from the United States Senate and move out of Washington. The Manse had been relocated to its present location in 1971 after the historic building was threatened with demolition due to urban renewal. It was purchased and saved by an organization called “The Pierce Brigade”; a group that had continued to manage the home on the day we visited.
After I had posed for a handful of photos with the exterior of the Pierce Manse, I was carried inside the home where my photographer had planned to continue our photoshoot. Just as my cameraman was about to hand over the entry fee, the three elderly women who represented the Pierce Brigade delivered the bad news: “I’m sorry to say that photography inside the home is prohibited. You can take pictures out here in our museum, but no pictures are allowed anywhere inside the house.” Tom, who was obviously dismayed, immediately went into his usual spiel about our Presidential quest; but this time his plea fell on deaf ears – even though the women mentioned they thought I was cute. I thought for sure they would relinquish since the ladies had taken a shining to me; but the Brigade held steadfast to the rules. Once he was denied permission to photograph me in the house, my cameraman refused to pay for a tour; even though I had hoped we would walk through the historic home anyway. Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with such a stubborn guy like Captain Cheapo!
Our entire visit at the Pierce Manse lasted around 20 minutes; most of that time was listening to my photographer as he dickered unsuccessfully with the Brigade. As I was carried back to the nearby Avenger, I laughed to myself because those three women thought I was cute; at the same time, I wondered if the gray-hairs had personally known Franklin Pierce.
The second of our four Concord sites was the New Hampshire State House, which was a little over one mile to the south of the Pierce Manse. As soon as I was carried through a huge granite archway and onto the Capitol grounds, I saw tree-trimming equipment near the front of the building and I knew that equipment would irritate my photographer – which it did. Built in 1819, the New Hampshire State House is our country’s oldest in which the Senate and House still meet in their original chambers. While the gold dome and eagle that adorned the top of the dome impressed me the most, I couldn’t understand for the life of me why a statue of Daniel Webster was prominently featured in front of the building while President Franklin Pierce’s statue was off to the side. But when I thought about the contributions that Webster had made to the state of New Hampshire and our country; combined with the fact that Pierce was a grieving alcoholic who accomplished very little while in the White House; I understood why the President played second fiddle to Webster.
Located about a half-mile south of the State House was our third Franklin Pierce site in Concord. When Vicki parked the Avenger across the street from the site, I was removed from my camera case and carried across Main Street where I expected to see a house. Instead, I saw concrete doorsteps and the front walkway that led to nowhere. Before the fire in 1981, however, those steps led to the front door of the Franklin Pierce House where our 14th President died on October 8, 1869.
As I stood on the doorstep, I thought about Franklin Pierce and how he was perceived as the saddest President in history. Before he took the Presidential Oath of Office in March 1853, all three of his young sons had died; including 11-year old Bennie who was tragically killed in a train accident just six weeks before the inauguration. Bennie’s death affected Franklin Pierce’s presidency; partially because his son and his wife did not want him to be elected to the White House. Haunted with guilt, President Pierce drank heavily to help drown his sorrow; a habit that affected him on and off for the rest of his life. Ten years after Pierce left office, his wife Jane died from tuberculosis at the age of 57. Saddened beyond words, Franklin Pierce moved to the Main Street house in Concord in 1856 and lived out his days drinking his sorrows away. Our 14th President died alone in that house from cirrhosis of the liver at the age of 64.
Even though the granite steps were the only remnants from the Franklin Pierce House, the site had saddened me during the 15 minutes that I was there. As President, Pierce had climbed the country’s tallest mountain and sat in the political throne at the White House. But he did it all with a broken heart; one that not even a bottle of Washington’s finest liquor could mend. When he saw his son Bennie die in front of him, helpless to prevent the tragedy, a huge part of Franklin Pierce died that day as well.
As I was carried away from the site, a small piece of my resin-filled heart was broken as well. The time had come for us to head for the Old North Cemetery in Concord where my photographer and I wanted to pay our respects to President Pierce, his wife Jane, and their two sons Frank and Bennie. The 1.5-mile route to Concord’s oldest cemetery took us north past the State House until we arrived at the burial ground. Vicki drove the Avenger into one section of the cemetery, but we had to walk about a hundred yards into a Minot enclosure where the Pierce gravesite was located. As my photographer’s hand protected me from danger as we walked along the asphalt pathway, the anticipation of visiting my 24th Presidential gravesite was killing me. Once we were in front of the granite monument, however, I stood in silent sadness as I saw Bennie’s name on the marker.
Visiting Presidential gravesites is a passion of mine and standing on a tomb doesn’t usually bother me, but the Pierce grave was different. It wasn’t so much about President Pierce, because he was an adult and he drank himself to death. But Bennie was an innocent 11-year old and youngsters like him are supposed to grow old; even in the 1850s. As I looked down from the monument to the flower-covered soil below me, all I could do was picture in my mind the fun-loving boy in the arms of his mother Jane.
Our stay in Concord was over and it was time to “Pierce Out”. With Vicki behind the wheel of the Avenger, my photographer barked out directions from the navigator’s seat until we arrived at the New Hampshire Motor Speedway in Loudon at 2:45pm. As we pulled into the parking lot, I thought to myself: “I hate NASCAR; what the heck does this racetrack have to do with Presidents? It’s not like I’ll ever see a President at a NASCAR race.” But then it dawned on me that my photographer is the Commissioner of a goofy NASCAR fantasy league, and his wife enjoys the sport more than he does, which was the main reason for our stop at the racetrack.
Although there were no events being held during the time we were there, the NASCAR Sprint Cup ‘Overton’s 301’ race was only five days away. As we walked towards the entrance, I heard Vicki say: “Since the race is this Sunday, it would be so cool to see some of the drivers today. It would be really cool if we ran into Kyle Busch here!” Once we were inside the gift shop of the racetrack, my photographer managed to talk his way into seeing the actual track. He was told that some of the racecar haulers were beginning to arrive and that we could go to the main grandstand area to see the track.
I had to admit, the 1.5-mile racetrack was impressive to see in person. We saw some of the equipment on Pit Road and there were a couple of haulers on the infield. But unfortunately for Vicki, we did not see Kyle Busch; or any of the other drivers for that matter. I suppose if I had to pose with any NASCAR driver it would be Danica Patrick; but we didn’t see her either. I wonder if Danica would rather hold me or an Aaron Rodgers bobble head?
My photographer’s original goal was to drive as far north into Maine as possible so that we would be in a good position to visit Campobello Island in New Brunswick, Canada early the next morning. But since we had spent more time at the racetrack than Tom had originally anticipated, we drove to Brunswick, Maine where we found a Comfort Inn for the night. How far did that leave us for the next morning’s drive? We were 225 miles from the New Brunswick – Maine border and it would take us nearly four hours to get there.
After my cameraman and his wife had dinner at a cool place called the Sea Dog Tavern, which was a brewery situated along the shore of the Androscoggin River, we went back to the Comfort Inn and settled down for the night. From my usual position alongside the room’s television set, I quietly spent the night in anticipation of visiting my second Canadian Province. I was also anxious to visit Franklin Roosevelt’s Summer home on Campobello Island; even though it was the place where he first suffered his symptoms of polio. I was slightly concerned as I already had leg issues; I didn’t need to contract polio as well.
