On Renovating the White House

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                                                                    (National Archives)

America in 1927 felt the effects of rain in a number of historic ways. The floods of the Mississippi and in Vermont were two such ways. Between them, heavy rains made the need for renovation of the White House vital. This involved strengthening the roof, expanding the attic into a third floor of eighteen rooms and clearing away the wood compromised since the burning of this House by the British in 1814. Arthur A. Sloane in his book “Humor in the White House: The Wit of Five American Presidents” recounts the tour of the attic, initially cleared by Presidents Roosevelt and Wilson for further use, by the chief architect, the contractor and Coolidge. Shown the extent of the damage exposed by the rains and the sections burnt over a century before, Coolidge was asked which he would approve: wood supports or steel girders? Closely examining the damaged wood, he answered in his typical dead-pan style, “All right. Put in the steel beams and send the bill to the king of England.”

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P. S. While the choice of steel would help alleviate the weakness of the attic and roof, it would prove too much for the older foundations and would require emergency rescue by 1949 in what is dubbed the “Truman Renovation.” Short-term fixes, using small amounts of public money to maintain it, has been the history of this House for most of its illustrious life. For Coolidge, steel was worth the money but to overhaul the entire structure would take from the people what is theirs on a scale that was unnecessary at a time when clamor for spending was at fever pitch already. The President conscientiously resolved that the money belonged through tax cuts and reduction of expenditures in people’s hands instead of government coffers.

The Coolidges at MGM Studios, 1930

The Coolidges watch a scene from “The Gay Nineties” starring Marion Davies, spring 1930. It would be released that May as “The Floradora Girl.” The former President sits at center with Mary Pickford to his right, Louis B. Mayer, Grace, Cecil B. DeMille and Will Hays to his left.

It was during that same visit to the MGM studios that Mr. Coolidge stopped by a Ramon Navarro movie set featuring a trained bear. The bear proceeded to ignore his trainer and “went on a rampage.” The Secret Service detail tried to get Coolidge off the set but he would not go. Leab writes, “he stayed, becoming increasingly amused at the chaos caused by the bear, and ‘finally…nearly doubled up with laughter.’ ”

The Coolidges at MGM Studios, 1930

On Broadcasting and the Movies

While it is better known that President Coolidge proficiently used the medium of radio, it is far lesser known what he thought of other forms of broadcasting, such as film and television, the latter in its earliest stages of potential. He was the first among Chief Executives to effectively employ the potential of radio communication. Long before the “fireside chat,” the voice Americans knew and liked was that of Calvin Coolidge.

As for the potential of movies, Coolidge hosted “movie previews,” both as Vice President and President for both friends and family, ranging from documentaries to entertainment pieces (Leab, “Coolidge, Hays, and 1920s Movies,” in Haynes 103). It was here that Coolidge’s realism built on faith manifested itself strikingly. He would navigate between the forces calling for outright censorship and those marketing and enthusiastically promoting D. W. Griffith’s pro-Klan picture, “Birth of a Nation,” steering legislation to decide by majority vote through commission whether the film should stand alone or include counterbalancing footage of black progress, like that at Tuskegee and Hampton Institutes. The latter prevailed in Massachusetts and served as a clear repudiation to the Klan and a rebuke of President Wilson, who was in favor of the movie as it stood. Coolidge’s bold act won respect, helped push the Klan into the margins and upstaged Wilson. It would not be the last time.

On the other hand, he recognized that moving pictures had great potential for good. The serious and educational served their purposes, of course, but so did comedy. Coolidge appreciated the need for balance between both. People need to be able to laugh, he would once remark. It is recalled by a regular guest to those “previews” that when a Harold Lloyd comedy was shown at the White House in 1925, he “never saw the President laugh more.” That potential for good was conditional, however, as he explains in his column on February 13, 1931, “The time may not be far away when it will be possible to have a receiving set in the home that will produce a sound motion picture. Central stations may be able to receive and broadcast to the eye and ear events taking place all over the world. It is difficult to comprehend what an enormous power this would be. New forces are constantly being created for good or for evil. When primitive people come in contact with civilization usually they use its powers for their own destruction. Unless the moral power of the world increases in proportion to its scientific power there is a real danger that the new inventions will prove instruments of our own destruction. If moral development keeps step, peace and good will have gained new allies.”

Given the general condition of modern film and television, can it be said that morality and goodness have kept pace with them? In small, isolated pockets broadcasting lives up to that noble alliance with morals, in praise of what is good and wholesome, and when it does, it exemplifies faithful stewardship and true progress. It is not coincidental that the best pictures appeal to timeless ideals.

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Top: Harold Lloyd in Safety Last! (1923); Middle: The Coolidges meeting Al Jolson and company, 1924; Bottom: Jean Dujardin and Uggie in The Artist (2011). Further Reading: chapter 4 “Coolidge, Hays, and 1920s Movies” by Daniel J. Leab in Calvin Coolidge and the Coolidge Era, Edited by John Earl Haynes. Washington, D.C.: Library of Congress, 1998.