240: AN AFTERNOON WITH AMERICA’S SADDEST PRESIDENT

The clock on our rented Ford Explorer’s dashboard read 12:30pm when my photographer, his travel companion, Bob Moldenhauer, and I were on the road towards Hillsboro, New Hampshire. Although the temperature had warmed up slightly in the afternoon of Wednesday June 7, 2023, the sky was still overcast and hazy. The route from Plymouth Notch, Vermont to Hillsboro was fairly direct, but it took nearly two hours to make the 60-mile journey. When we finally arrived at our destination at 2:20pm, I was afforded my first-ever look at the boyhood home of President Franklin Pierce. The historic home was on Tom’s agenda in 2017, but time constraints, along with his wife questioning the reason for going so far out of the way, made my photographer change his plans. We ended up bypassing Hillsboro altogether that year, which displeased me to no end. One more reason I love traveling with Bob!

The huge, two-story house in front of Tom and I was built in 1804 by Benjamin Pierce, the future President’s father. Benjamin was famous in his own right – he fought in battle during the American Revolution with General George Washington, and he served twice as New Hampshire’s governor for two nonconsecutive one-year terms in the late 1820s.

On November 23, 1804, Franklin Pierce was brought into the world in a small cabin located along the Contoocook River near Hillsboro. Soon after Franklin’s birth, the Pierce’s relocated their family out of the cramped cabin and into the new spacious home built by Benjamin. Franklin grew up in the house where he was a robust and devilish youngster, quick to either fight someone or pull a prank on them. For thirty years after his birth, Franklin lived in the house; with the exception of the seven years he was away from Hillsboro, either at college or studying law. After Pierce married Jane Appleton on November 19, 1834, the newlyweds moved out of the house and moved to Concord, New Hampshire. The sudden move out of his father’s home was accelerated by Jane’s dislike for Hillsboro.

Our recent streak of good fortune in Plymouth Notch didn’t follow us into New Hampshire as the Pierce Homestead was not open to visitors on Wednesday or Thursday, which meant my companions and I were left on the outside looking in. A few weeks before our trip began, Tom contacted the Hillsborough Historical Society and requested a private, off-hours tour of the Homestead, but unfortunately his request was denied. Had they known who I was, the most famous bobble head in the country, the Historical Society likely would’ve changed their minds. Even without their permission, the three of us managed to access the fenced-in grounds in front of the home after one of my travel mates unhooked the latch to the front gate. For most of our visit, however, we either stayed outside of the fence or we walked up close to the southern wing of the house where there wasn’t a barricade in place.

With no access to the interior of the home, thanks to our schedule and the unwillingness of the Hillsborough Historical Society to alter their schedule for three Presidential historians, our visit to the Pierce Homestead lasted roughly 15 minutes. When Tom set the camera case, with me in it, onto the backseat of the Explorer, I couldn’t believe what the first words out of his mouth were – he told Bob we were headed to find the actual birthplace of Franklin Pierce. In the past, I’d been subjected to some dangerous daredevil type stunts at Presidential sites, just so my photographer could get the perfect picture. But taking me to the bottom of a lake was going a bit too far, at least in my opinion. I knew Bob had stowed wet-weather gear for potential rain and thunderstorms during the trip, but I didn’t realize he had packed scuba gear as well.

On the road to the birth site, we had gone less than a half-mile when Tom pulled our vehicle off to the north side of West Main Street. That’s when the three of us began our 40-yard hike through overgrown weeds, rough ground, and a variety of discarded bottles and concrete, just to get close to the shore of Franklin Pierce Lake. When the two trailblazers got to a point where they could go no further on foot, Tom held me aloft and took a few pictures of me with the calm water nestled between the hills at the horizon. Although the reservoir was spread-out over 483 acres of land just west of downtown Hillsboro, it was the inlet in front of us that was the likely underwater resting place of Pierce’s birthplace.

When our safari to the shore of Franklin Pierce Lake had concluded, the three of us retraced our steps back to the vehicle. I thought for sure my camera guy would either trip and fall during the expedition or get bitten by a poisonous timber rattlesnake. Thankfully we escaped, no worse for wear; plus, we managed to get as close as humanly possible, without getting wet, to the historic birthplace.

The next site on our agenda was located 30 miles east of Hillsboro in the capital city of Concord, New Hampshire. Tom had arranged a 4pm tour at the historic Pierce Manse, which gave us nearly 90 minutes to make the short jaunt to Concord. But first, before we left Hillsboro, Tom needed to get some fuel. But, not for the Explorer. Instead, it was for the bottomless pit called his stomach. Three McDonald’s cheeseburgers and a small order of fries later, we were on the road to Franklin’s house.

It was 3:40pm when we arrived in the parking area near the side of the historic Pierce Manse. Even though we were only twenty minutes early, there didn’t seem to be anyone else at the home. Since it was a day when the historic home wasn’t open for tours, my photographer had arranged a special tour with Irene, a member of the Pierce Brigade. However, Irene didn’t seem to be there yet. Tom and Bob used that extra time to capture images of the Manse’s exterior.

The Pierce Manse, as it’s called today, was built in 1838 on Montgomery Street, which was roughly one mile south of its current location on Horseshoe Lane. The home was saved by a group known as the Pierce Brigade. That group relocated the historic Manse to keep it from being demolished in 1971.

Franklin and Jane Pierce, along with their two sons Frankie and Bennie, moved into their newly purchased home in 1842 shortly after Jane persuaded her husband to resign from the United States Senate. It was no secret Jane Pierce hated politics and disliked living in Washington D.C. A little over a year after the Pierce’s moved into the home, young Frankie died from epidemic typhus on November 14, 1843, in an upstairs bedroom of the home. The future President’s son was only four years old.

During their time in the Manse, Franklin volunteered to fight in the Mexican-American War in May of 1846. While serving his country, Pierce rose up the ranks quickly and became a brigadier general within ten months. In December 1847, after becoming very sick in Mexico City with diarrhea, possibly from drinking the water, Pierce returned home to Concord to a hero’s welcome. The Pierce’s left the Manse in early 1848 after the home had been sold near the war’s end. Franklin returned to his law practice in town, while he and his family lived in a rented apartment on Thorndike Street. Just four short years later, Pierce was elected as our 14th President – a move that didn’t set very well with his wife.

Just as Bob and Tom were wrapping-up their exterior images, we got word Irene was ill and wasn’t available to guide us on our tour of the home. I was concerned by the news because Irene said during a phone conversation that she would attempt to obtain permission for my two companions to take photographs inside the home. During my first visit to the Pierce Manse in 2017, members of the Pierce Brigade were adamantly opposed to photography of any kind, which caused my photographer to boycott the tour. Tom and I never went inside the house. The news grew grimmer when we met our new tour guide at the entrance to the museum – it was Tom Fisk, Vice President of the Pierce Brigade; he was stepping in for Irene. Once inside the small museum, we discovered the president of the brigade, Joan Woodhead, was there as well. The only thought I had running through my resin mind was: “They brought out the big guns to keep me from being photographed inside that house.”

I couldn’t have been more mistaken. When we entered the world of Franklin Pierce, his sanctuary just four years before he lived in the White House, I was shocked when Mr. Fisk allowed my photographer to let me pose in the parlor for a picture. Once again, it seemed as though a divine entity was helping us; or perhaps the three of us were just in the right place at the right time with the right person. The parlor was very elegant and featured several pieces of furniture used by Pierce in the White House. That room was also where President Bill Clinton stood and delivered a speech in December 2009. From that moment on, I posed in every room – with Tom Fisk’s permission, of course. I was elated for such a surprising, yet wonderful, opportunity. When Fisk led us to the upstairs bedrooms, my demeaner went from joyous to sorrowful, but it wasn’t because of the photography rules. I was sad due to the two Pierce boys and their tragic stories.

The first bedroom we visited was Benjamin’s, or Bennie, as his parents called him. In that room, I saw the original bed where the youngster slept from the age of one year until he was nearly seven years old. Bennie was a healthy youngster who played in that room, read in that room, and dreamed in that room. Sadly, less than five years after young Bennie last slept on that very bed, he was tragically killed when a train he was travelling in with his parents derailed near Andover, Massachusetts on January 6, 1853. When I posed near the bed, my heart was filled with sadness for young Benjamin Pierce – gone at the age of eleven.

In the Master Bedroom of Franklin and Jane Pierce, I had the opportunity to stand next to the President’s personal shaving kit where I saw my reflection in the mirror – the same mirror “Handsome Frank” saw his own reflection. While that was an amazing moment, because that shaving kit likely contained some of President Pierce’s DNA, my jubilance quickly turned to sadness when I learned four-year-old Frank Robert Pierce, or their little Frankie, had died in that bedroom. As a matter of fact, a portrait of Frankie hung above the fireplace in the Master Bedroom. How sad could it get for the Pierce’s, especially after they lost their first-born son, Franklin Jr., when he died in 1836 just three days after he was born? No wonder Jane became depressed, and the President drank himself to death. All of the family tragedy made me realize why Franklin Pierce was the saddest President in American history.

What a difference six years makes – in 2017, when my photographer boycotted an interior tour of the Manse due to the Pierce Brigade’s out-of-date ‘No Photography’ rule, I left Horseshoe Lane with a definite sour taste in my mouth. However, the tour of the historic home that my companions and I had just finished with Tom Fisk went far beyond my wildest expectations. After all, I looked at my reflection in the mirror used by the President, I saw the bed where his youngest son slept, and I wept where Jane held their oldest son when he died. I experienced the full gamut of emotions during the entire hour we were inside the historic home. But our day with Franklin Pierce wasn’t quite over with yet, even though it was past five o’clock in the afternoon.

Around two in the afternoon, I stood in front of the Pierce Homestead near the site where Franklin was born. At four o’clock, I stood in front of the Pierce Manse, the only home he ever owned. Then, as the hands of the clock were moving towards six o’clock, I found myself standing in front of the Pierce Mansion. Okay, I stood on the steps leading up to the mansion. It turned out the historic mansion was no longer there because it burned to the ground on September 17, 1981.

The Pierce Mansion, as it came to be known by over the years, was built in 1852 on South Main Street just five or six blocks south of the New Hampshire State House. Franklin Pierce and his wife Jane lived in the three-story mansion on and off after leaving the White House in March 1857; they lived there as boarders of Willard Williams. The former First Lady didn’t spend much time in the mansion as she preferred to stay with relatives in Massachusetts. Concord brought back horrible memories for Jane, who constantly thought of her late son, Frankie, who died in her arms in the Manse.

Following his wife’s death in Andover, Massachusetts on December 2, 1863, Franklin’s drinking problem grew worse while he lived alone in that house – although at times, he did receive relatives and friends as visitors. Pierce’s good friend, Nathanial Hawthorne, visited the former President in the home in 1864, shortly before the writer’s death on May 19th of that year. Whether it was due to his consumption of ‘liquid courage’, or the fact Pierce was a staunch Democrat, but he publicly criticized and blamed Abraham Lincoln for the Civil War, which cost Franklin most of his longtime friends. When the popular 16th President was assassinated in 1865, an angry mob showed up at Pierce’s doorstep when Franklin refused to fly an American flag as a symbol of mourning. The mob was determined to destroy the home, or beat Franklin to a pulp, but Pierce’s skill as an orator calmed the crowd when he said his military history and public service proved his patriotism. By mid-1869, as his health began to go downhill fast, his drinking grew heavier. At 4:35am on October 8, 1869, President Franklin Pierce died alone in his rented Concord mansion at the age of 64.

Our visit to the site where the Pierce Mansion once stood was brief. And to be honest, there’s not much one can do when there’s only a set of steps and a small monument marking the historical significance of the site. During our 15-minute stay, I was able to stand on the grounds and think about the final years of President Franklin Pierce’s life. He wasn’t our greatest President, because like Fillmore before him, and Buchanan after him, Pierce did nothing to end slavery in the United States. He had very good reasons for not doing so, at least in his mind. Pierce sighted our Constitution in his decision making and whether or not he had the power to end slavery without dividing our nation. But all he did was put off the inevitable – which ultimately fell in the lap of Abraham Lincoln. But when I stood alone on the steps of that rented mansion, he wasn’t the President of the United States. At that moment, Franklin Pierce was a husband, and a devoted father; and he lost his entire family way too soon. It was a very solemn moment for me. I couldn’t help but think about President Pierce dying alone in that house, after years of trying to drown his sorrows in countless bottles of booze.

During Pierce’s time in Concord, when he wasn’t in the State House of Representatives Chamber, Franklin worked as a lawyer. And according to historians, he was a very good attorney. As a matter of fact, Pierce was known for his diplomatic personality, eloquence, and he possessed an excellent memory – all which he used to his advantage in a court of law. Franklin’s law office was located in a large, thee-story brick building on North Main Street, not too far from the State House. Our journey from the Pierce Mansion site on South Main to the law office on North Main was just under one mile long; and the route afforded us a good opportunity to see the gold dome of the Capitol Building along the way.

We spent less than ten minutes near the exterior of the building that once played host to Pierce’s law office. I thought it was a good site to visit, but the next one had the potential of being great. We were back in the Explorer and headed to church – St. Paul’s Church, that is. St. Paul’s was where Franklin Pierce was baptized and where his funeral was held following his death.

The historic St. Paul’s Church was built in 1838 across the street from the New Hampshire State House. Although Franklin Pierce was religious, he grew out of favor with his own Congregational denomination, mainly because it alienated Democrats with its anti-slavery banter. Even though Pierce despised slavery, he turned to his wife Jane’s Episcopalian church in Concord because it left politics out of its sermons. On the second anniversary of Jane Pierce’s death, which was December 2, 1865, the former President was baptized at St. Paul’s. Following Pierce’s death nearly four years later, and after he laid in state in the New Hampshire State House, the funeral service for our 14th President was held on October 11, 1869 at the historic church as well.

My companions and I spent about ten minutes poking around the exterior of St. Paul’s. The outside of the brick building, with its tall steeple, looked very impressive. I was awestruck knowing Pierce’s casket was likely carried from the State House across the street, through the front door where I stood for a picture, and into the building for the funeral. I hoped to get inside, but since it was a few minutes past six o’clock, I figured there was no way that would be possible. My hunch was correct, when Bob attempted to open both of the large, red wooden front doors to the building, both were locked. Never ones to give up easily, the pair of historians headed around to the back of the building where they found an open door that led to some offices. Once inside, that’s the moment we met Andy Brundrett, a Sexton at St. Paul’s. While Andy sported a handlebar mustache that rivaled Taft’s, he also wore a kilt, which took me by surprise because I had never seen anyone wear a kilt before. I knew one thing for sure – I wanted to stay hidden in the closed camera case until we were finished climbing staircases. Our host was extremely friendly, and Andy guided the three of us into the sanctuary of the church where he left us alone to pay our personal tribute to President Franklin Pierce. But there was a catch. In 1984, the entire interior of the church was destroyed by fire. While that was disappointing to hear and meant the entire appearance of the sanctuary was likely different than it was in 1869, it was still cool to be inside the historic walls of St. Paul’s.

After my companions had finished their work inside the church, we retraced our steps to the staircase near the rear entrance of the building. Tom and Bob took a few minutes to hunt down and thank their gracious host, Andy, for his time and kindness. I wanted to ask him if he was wearing anything under the kilt, but I knew my photographer would’ve ‘kilt’ me if I had.

As we made our way back across Park Street, I heard my cameraman mention to his co-pilot that we were on our way to Concord High School. The first thing I wondered was why? After all, Franklin Pierce didn’t receive his secondary education in Concord. As a matter of fact, Pierce didn’t get any type of schooling in Concord.

But there was a different reason we were on our way to visit Concord High, and that reason was Sharon Christa McAuliffe. It turned out Christa McAuliffe was a social studies teacher at that high school where she taught history, law, and economics from 1983 until she took an extended leave in late 1985 to train for her next teaching lesson. McAuliffe’s teaching style was different than most. Christa didn’t want her students to simply learn out of a book, she took her students on field trips, or brought speakers into her classroom to help bring the subjects to life. In my mind, I think Christa would’ve loved to have had me and my companions come to her classroom and talk about the Presidential sites we’ve visited.

When Ronald Reagan announced the ‘Teacher in Space Project’ in 1984, Christa McAuliffe entered the competition; one that consisted of over 11,000 applicants around the nation. When the winner was finally announced on July 19, 1995 by Vice President George H.W. Bush, McAuliffe was the teacher selected to fly into space on Shuttle Challenger as a payload specialist. Her “official” job on the Shuttle was to conduct experiments and teach lessons to school children around the country from orbit around the Earth.

But all didn’t go according to the lesson plan as tragedy struck on the morning of January 28, 1986. Just 73 seconds after lift-off, Challenger broke apart and was destroyed over the Atlantic Ocean, killing all seven astronauts on board, including our Teacher in Space. It was NASA’s worst space disaster to date and sent shockwaves around the country. Thousands of school children, in classrooms in every state, watched as the event unfolded on live television. Christa McAuliffe, and the other six astronauts, were eulogized by President Reagan later that day when he said in part: “We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God.”

At the site, Tom carried me to a couple of different areas near the front of the massive high school complex. My companions knew it was unlikely we’d get inside the school to look for her classroom or to find any memorials, but a passerby pointed out a monument dedicated to McAuliffe located near one of the wings. After I posed on the monument, and just as Bob was about to capture his images, the entire backdrop around the site was swarmed by a hundred or more female students. Bob dejectedly put his camera back in the case and we walked back to the Explorer. I felt bad for our friend and thought to myself: “That was the famous ‘Moldenhauer one-person-rule’ on steroids!”

We’ve had an amazing day, one that began in Plymouth Notch, Vermont with Tracy Messer and all the kind people we met there, and it was winding down in historic Concord, New Hampshire. But as we slipped the surly bonds of Concord High School and headed to touch the face of Franklin Pierce at Old North Cemetery, the sun was growing lower in the western horizon. We still had roughly 90 minutes before sunset, but the overcast sky would likely bring on darkness quicker – the three of us had no time to waste.

It was precisely seven o’clock when Tom pulled our vehicle onto the grounds of the historic Old North Cemetery. From the parking spot he found, the three of us went off on foot to find the grave of our 14th President Franklin Pierce. The Presidential gravesite wasn’t segregated from the others, but the area where the Pierce plot was located, known as the Minot Enclosure, was only accessible to pedestrians.

Concord’s Old North Cemetery was the oldest burial ground in the city. It was first established in 1730, just five years after Concord received its charter. The historic burial grounds hosted the final resting places of two New Hampshire governors, but it was the Pierce burial plot that remained our focal point. Although Franklin Pierce was not a popular President, even in his home state of New Hampshire, none of that mattered to me as I stood on the monument that rested over the graves of him and his family. I was deeply saddened when I stood above the names of his two children, Frankie and Bennie, who both died before they had a real chance at life. And although I stood in complete silence on the gravesite of Franklin Pierce, I wanted to drink a toast in his honor – but the Moxie was gone. Wouldn’t that have been appropriate? After all, Pierce was a war hero, a public servant for most of his adult life, and a man who tried to help those who couldn’t help themselves. But the only two things Handsome Frank is remembered for was being a drunk, and for his lack of action against the evils of slavery. As a matter of fact, Theodore Roosevelt once said of Pierce: “He was ever ready to do any work the slavery leaders set him.” The fact was, Franklin Pierce loathed the institution of slavery with every fiber in his body, but he loved our country more. His decisions were made with the intent to keep our nation together, even if “United” meant half free states, and half slave states.

We paid our respects at the grave of President Pierce and his family, then we headed back out of the Minot Enclosure to where Tom had parked the SUV. In just four days of the trip, thus far, the three of us had visited the gravesites of five Presidents – Fillmore, FDR, Van Buren, Arthur, and finally Pierce. But we weren’t finished – we had one final grave left to visit in Concord.

The last stop of the day was located about a mile-and-a-half south of Old North Cemetery. But when my photographer drove the Explorer through the stone archway at the entrance and onto the 14.4 acres of hallowed grounds in Calvary Cemetery, my companions had some work to do. Both guys kept their eyes peeled for a flagpole, or some other visual sign of a significant gravesite. Finally, after ten-plus minutes of driving around in circles, they decided to do what should’ve been done from the get-go – they reverted to a map. What a concept! The map on Tom’s phone helped guide the three of us to our final destination – and the final destination and resting place of Christa McAuliffe.

When the Shuttle Challenger broke apart and killed all seven astronauts on January 28, 1986, Concord’s own Christa McAuliffe was one of them. But McAuliffe died like she lived, trying her best to educate children by taking her profession to the highest levels – space. As a matter of fact, Christa’s motto was “I touch the future, I teach.”

While I stood on the black granite headstone, which was polished to a mirror finish and cut into the shape of a polygon, I couldn’t help but think of the prophetic words Christa said in the White House Roosevelt Room on July 19, 1985 after Vice President Bush announced she was selected by NASA as the winner of the first Teacher in Space Project. With tears of joy in her eyes, McAuliffe said “I’ve made nine wonderful friends over the last two weeks. And when that shuttle goes, there might be one body, but there’s gonna be ten souls that I’m taking with me.”

I’ve never been a fan of visitors leaving mementos on headstones or monuments at cemeteries. But, as I stood amongst the clutter on the black granite marker at Christa McAuliffe’s grave, I also thought about the other six astronauts who perished with her on January 28, 1986 when Space Shuttle Challenger broke apart 46,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean. There was the Commander of the mission, Dick Scobee, and Pilot Michael Smith. The three Mission Specialists were Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, and Judy Resnik. The other Payload Specialist, along with McAuliffe, was Greg Jarvis. And the sad thing was, they were all killed by NASA – not the explosion of the Space Shuttle.

Over and over and over again, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration took chances with safety, not only the safety of their space vehicles, but with the safety of their astronauts, as well. Time was money and paying companies expected their equipment to be delivered into orbit on time. This particular mission, named STS-51-L, was originally scheduled to launch in July 1985, but was delayed until November, then January 1986. Finally, Challenger was supposed to launch on January 22nd, but was pushed back to January 28th – which was an extremely and unusually cold morning in Florida. As a matter of fact, the launch was originally scheduled for 9:38am on the 28th, but it was pushed back to 10:38 and then 11:38, all with the hopes the ice on the launch pad would be melted. Was it safe to launch? Heck no. But NASA couldn’t afford another delay; the nation was watching as a high school teacher was about to go into space.

So, when it came time to make the decision of “Go” or “No Go” on January 28, 1986, Arnold Aldrich (NASA’s Mission Management Team Leader) and Lawrence Mulloy (NASA’s Solid Rocket Booster Manager) rolled the dice – even though the temperature was only 38-degrees Fahrenheit. Their final decision sent seven men and women, who were husbands and wives and fathers and mothers, to their graves. And in my heart and mind, that’s never acceptable – especially after living with my safety conscious photographer for the past ten years. When an independent third-party completed a thorough investigation of the Challenger disaster, they concluded that it didn’t matter who was in charge of the launch; the safety culture throughout NASA was to take chances, or throw caution to the wind, because time was money and they needed to prove they were reliable.

During our entire four-mile drive from Christa McAuliffe’s grave to our hotel, I grew angrier and angrier over the senseless deaths of seven people. That entire disaster flashed through my resin mind when I stood on that teacher’s headstone. We arrived at the Best Western Concord just before eight o’clock. My companions were registered, had the Explorer unpacked, and we were in our room less than 15 minutes later. Tom immediately placed me alongside the room’s TV set where I had the pleasure, or displeasure, of watching him slurp down a bowl of Ramon noodles he cooked in the microwave.

When the lights were extinguished at 10:15pm, my hollow resin head spun with anxiety. The day had started out so positive in Plymouth Notch, but our time in Concord really dampened my spirit a bit. For roughly five hours, I stood in the tragic footprints of Franklin Pierce, who truly was the saddest President in American history. Then we finished the day at the gravesite of a teacher, a wife, and mother, who had her whole life ahead of her, only to have it snuffed out by greed and the total disregard of safety by NASA. As I stood in the complete darkness while my photographer snored the night away, I began to wonder if NASA wasn’t actually an acronym for Negligence About Safety Always.

And the real sad part of the whole story – NASA did it again in 2003. History does have a way of repeating itself.

** THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO THE SEVEN ASTRONAUTS WHO DIED ON BOARD SPACE SHUTTLE CHALLENGER ON JANUARY 28, 1986. **