Public perceptions of the impeachment of Johnson have changed, then changed again, over the years, in a fascinating case study of historiography. In the years immediately after the event, the President and his defenders were vilified in the North.
In the first half of the 20th century, a number of historians, following the lead of Columbia University professors William Dunning and John W. Burgess, depicted Reconstruction as an era marked by corruption and Radical Republican vengeance. They viewed Andrew Johnson as at worst an imperfect upholder of the Constitution and at best a man of courage.
Starting in the mid-1950s and the civil rights movement, however, a more complicated picture emerged.
Kenneth Stampp, James McPherson, David Herbert Donald, John Hope Franklin, Eric McKitrick and Eric Foner (the last two in the same Columbia history department as Dunning) pursued the lead of African-American historian W.E.B. DuBois’s Black Reconstruction in America, 1860-1880 (minus the Marxist-influenced ideology) in showing this era as a lost opportunity for American racial and social progress.
These “revisionists” see President Johnson as deeply racist and his adversaries as more moderate than that loaded term “Radical Republican” would suggest.
The events leading up to the impeachment votes bolster the argument for the last viewpoint.
The events leading up to the impeachment votes bolster the argument for the last viewpoint.
Johnson, a lifelong Democrat, was nominated by Republicans as Abraham Lincoln’s running mate in the 1864 election as a way to win the votes of Union Democrats (including those from Southern border states) that year.
Lincoln’s assassination, then, put in the White House a man largely out of sympathy with the party that controlled Congress.
The Dunning school of thought on Reconstruction posited that Johnson was merely following his predecessor’s lenient Reconstruction policy. They ignore, however, both Lincoln’s political suppleness and the evolution of his policies.
The Dunning school of thought on Reconstruction posited that Johnson was merely following his predecessor’s lenient Reconstruction policy. They ignore, however, both Lincoln’s political suppleness and the evolution of his policies.
Unlike Johnson, Lincoln was a master of men, a politician with a highly attuned sense for exactly what was politically possible. If anyone could have reconciled Southerners and Radical Republicans, it was he.
But there was a limit to how much even this man who called for “malice for none and charity for all” would accept.
But there was a limit to how much even this man who called for “malice for none and charity for all” would accept.
In Abraham Lincoln: Man Behind the Myths, Stephen B. Oates takes issue with the idea that Lincoln would have been accommodating to the South. In fact, he shows how, on issue after issue (notably that of compensation for slaves), the South’s stubbornness pushed him increasingly toward progressive, pro-freedmen policies.
Though initially interested in indicting leading Confederates (especially the Southern aristocrats that he blamed for starting the war) for treason, Johnson soon parted ways with the Republicans over using government to promote economic development and over greater political and economic opportunity for freed slaves.
At every turn, Johnson used his office to circumvent the will of Congress: by appointing conservative generals to administer Southern military districts, by giving civilian governments the authority to control voter registration and election of convention delegates, and to obstruct any role for freedmen in the new Southern governments.
Johnson’s personal failings didn’t help. His intoxication during his inaugural address as Vice-President (Lincoln kept his eyes shut throughout the painful ordeal, then rose to his feet to deliver his immortal Second Inaugural Address) enabled detractors to depict him (wrongly) as a habitual drunkard.
Though initially interested in indicting leading Confederates (especially the Southern aristocrats that he blamed for starting the war) for treason, Johnson soon parted ways with the Republicans over using government to promote economic development and over greater political and economic opportunity for freed slaves.
At every turn, Johnson used his office to circumvent the will of Congress: by appointing conservative generals to administer Southern military districts, by giving civilian governments the authority to control voter registration and election of convention delegates, and to obstruct any role for freedmen in the new Southern governments.
Johnson’s personal failings didn’t help. His intoxication during his inaugural address as Vice-President (Lincoln kept his eyes shut throughout the painful ordeal, then rose to his feet to deliver his immortal Second Inaugural Address) enabled detractors to depict him (wrongly) as a habitual drunkard.
His customary intransigence and public belligerence toward opponents – even, on Washington’s birthday in 1866, accusing Congress of trying to assassinate him and starting a second rebellion—unnecessarily alienated many.
The showdown between President and Congress came over the Tenure of Office Act, which provided that all officials confirmed by the Senate could only be removed with that body’s approval.
The showdown between President and Congress came over the Tenure of Office Act, which provided that all officials confirmed by the Senate could only be removed with that body’s approval.
Johnson sought to remove Secretary of War Edwin Stanton for defiantly claiming in a Cabinet meeting that military governors in the South were answerable to Congress, not to the President.
At first, Johnson sought to fire Stanton by offering his post to General Ulysses S. Grant. The Union hero, having his own disagreements with the President on Reconstruction, wouldn’t take the bait.
At first, Johnson sought to fire Stanton by offering his post to General Ulysses S. Grant. The Union hero, having his own disagreements with the President on Reconstruction, wouldn’t take the bait.
A long, painful search for a successor then led the President to General Lorenzo Thomas, who made the mistake of acceding to Stanton’s wish for “time for reflection.”
Bolstered by a one-word message from Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner—“Stick”—Stanton proceeded to barricade himself in his office! For a second time, Johnson removed him.
Bolstered by a one-word message from Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner—“Stick”—Stanton proceeded to barricade himself in his office! For a second time, Johnson removed him.
A day later, on February 22, the spokesman for the powerful House Reconstruction Committee, Thaddeus Stevens, drafted 11 counts of impeachment—two dealing with Johnson’s indecorous behavior toward Congress, the others with the Tenure of Office Act.
(Particularly in the early 20th century, when he was caricatured as “Austin Stoneman,” the wild-eyed Congressman in D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, Stevens came in for harsh criticism. His constitutional case against Johnson was not the strongest, but this passionate supporter of civil rights long before it was fashionable deserves better than his caricature, and is finally getting his due from historians.
Though nearly all his correspondence with his household “servant” no longer survives, the few letters that do strongly suggest that the two were an interracial couple involved in a common-law marriage. When Stevens died, not long after the impeachment proceedings, he insisted on being buried in the only cemetery in his area that allowed for internment of blacks and whites together, so he could be next to the woman he loved.)
Partly because the coming trial had such important implications for the later impeachment proceedings against Nixon and Clinton, and partly because the trial was such a fascinating spectacle in itself, I will be returning to the story of Johnson’s impeachment at a later point.
(Particularly in the early 20th century, when he was caricatured as “Austin Stoneman,” the wild-eyed Congressman in D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, Stevens came in for harsh criticism. His constitutional case against Johnson was not the strongest, but this passionate supporter of civil rights long before it was fashionable deserves better than his caricature, and is finally getting his due from historians.
Though nearly all his correspondence with his household “servant” no longer survives, the few letters that do strongly suggest that the two were an interracial couple involved in a common-law marriage. When Stevens died, not long after the impeachment proceedings, he insisted on being buried in the only cemetery in his area that allowed for internment of blacks and whites together, so he could be next to the woman he loved.)
Partly because the coming trial had such important implications for the later impeachment proceedings against Nixon and Clinton, and partly because the trial was such a fascinating spectacle in itself, I will be returning to the story of Johnson’s impeachment at a later point.
Suffice it to say for now that his prospects for acquittal were enhanced immeasurably by his legal team’s insistence that he stay silent and not even attend the proceedings – his mere presence might have tipped the balance decisively against him.
Johnson, like all Presidents, had the responsibility to ensure that laws be “faithfully executed.” The Radical Republicans surely overreached with impeachment charges based on the Tenure of Office Act, but Johnson just as surely failed in his constitutional responsibility to ensure that the laws be “faithfully executed.”
Johnson, like all Presidents, had the responsibility to ensure that laws be “faithfully executed.” The Radical Republicans surely overreached with impeachment charges based on the Tenure of Office Act, but Johnson just as surely failed in his constitutional responsibility to ensure that the laws be “faithfully executed.”
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