This entry in the American Presidency series, a two-for-one look at a couple of our lesser presidents, is actually one of the best in the series I’ve read so far. Books in the series follow a basic formula: the first chapter or two sets the scene of what was happening in the country politically and socially at the time. Then the rest of the book recounts, in great detail, even-handedly, and often dryly, everything that happened during the administration. Peterson sticks to the formula, but actually tells an engaging story in the process, and thoughtfully examines the legacy of her two subjects.
Of course, William Henry Harrison didn’t leave much of a legacy as president. After the scene-setting chapters, Harrison’s presidency gets but a single chapter of its own. The focus of the chapter is somewhat more on his administrative style than on any policy positions he expected to pursue. After all, his own allies expected him to be something of a pliant pushover. But after he gets sick and dies in all of two sentences, before moving on to his successor, Peterson considers what might have been: "Indications are that (Harrison) would have grown more unhappy and refractory as the Cabinet and Congress attempted to limit his executive power."
Enter John Tyler. Peterson does a thorough job covering the abrupt presidential transition, the constitutional questions that arose, and Tyler’s decisive move in insisting he was no mere “acting president” but had become the president in his own right. That sets the stage for the rest of the book, as Tyler didn’t just “grow more unhappy and refractory as the Cabinet and Congress attempted to limit his executive power" - he stood his ground in a way that we’ll never know whether Harrison would have.
Henry Clay, and later John Calhoun, are almost what you could call the villains in this book. Clay is so determined to run the show from the Senate, and so incensed that Tyler won’t stand for it, that Clay ends up coming across as petty and vindictive. In trying to destroy Tyler, Clay ends up destroying his own last best chance to be elected president in 1844. And Calhoun, as a late addition to Tyler’s Cabinet, is more focused on serving his own interests than the president’s.
The tale of Tyler’s presidency is bookended by a long and contentious debate over the reestablishment of a national bank, and a long and contentious debate over the annexation of Texas - both debates that Tyler ultimately won. In between, Peterson describes a number of foreign policy successes, including border negotiations with Britain and a trade agreement with China, though those were more Secretary of State Daniel Webster’s doing than Tyler’s.
In fact, there are many times when Tyler himself fades into the background in the story of his own presidency. As Congress tries to do its thing, and he gives some of his more prominent Cabinet members relatively free rein to do their own thing, Tyler can often seem like a passive observer. When opposition in Congress grows more fierce over time, and his revolving-door Cabinet becomes less luminous and more unmanageable, "Tyler seemed to lose control of his government,” Peterson observes.
While the focus of the book is on Tyler’s presidency, Peterson does spend a bit of time on the whirlwind romance that led to Tyler’s second marriage and the tongue-wagging it caused in the capital. She provides a thoroughly descriptive account of the USS Princeton disaster that killed two of Tyler’s Cabinet members. And she gets in some colorful anecdotes about technological advances during Tyler’s term, such as the telegraph being put into widespread use, and the creation of the modern postal service.
Ultimately, Tyler, the man without a party, doesn’t stand for reelection. So we’re left to wonder what to make of his presidency (at this point in the book, Harrison is but a mere memory). One drawback of the book is that, in describing Tyler's actions, it focuses more on "what" he did than "why." We're told that he downplayed the expansion of slavery when advocating for the annexation of Texas, but Peterson never really analyzes exactly what Tyler actually believed - whether he was gung-ho for expanding slavery, or was more focused on expanding the country's territory, whether he hoped maintaining an equilibrium between slave and non-slave states would help preserve the Union, or believed expanding slavery would actually help diffuse it and lead to its eventual end. Knowing more about his motives could help the reader come to a more informed conclusion about whether finally annexing Texas was a great achievement of Tyler's presidency, or a troublesome move that brought us closer to disunion.
Another drawback, which is also something of a strength, of a book focusing on Tyler’s administration is that it makes no mention whatsoever of his post-presidency and his traitorous defection to the Confederacy. That, more than anything, has shaped how history has looked upon Tyler.
But this book is about Tyler the president, not Tyler the man. So his actions as ex-president are not considered when judging his actions as president. Peterson cites a number of historians’ interpretations of events throughout the book, and considers their verdicts on his presidency at the end, ultimately concluding that "the achievements of the Tyler presidency, operating under tremendous difficulties, were astonishingly significant."
Not necessarily great, not terrible, but "significant." It's a fair conclusion, since it’s unlikely that Tyler will ever be considered among the greats, and his post-presidential actions have rightfully tarnished his legacy. But by judging him on his presidency alone, Peterson provides a valuable and unique viewpoint. She leaves it to other biographers to provide a fuller measure of the man.