This Day in Senate History (Randolph, Clay Meet in Duel)

Apr. 7, 1826—In a dense forest above a bridge in Arlington, Va., across the Potomac where they had carved out reputations as among America’s most eloquent and brilliant politicians, Secretary of State Henry Clay (pictured) and Senator John Randolph of Virginia met in an “affair of honor”—i.e., a formal, prearranged duel. After an exchange of ineffectual gunfire, the two stopped, smiled, and shook hands, their lives luckily preserved.

That outcome—shot at without result—was more common than the lethal kind. But not everyone was so fortunate as Randolph and Clay in those early days of the republic. The practice continued, despite laws forbidding it, the opposition of prominent Americans like George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, and high-profile fatalities that horrified an increasing portion of the country, including:

*Alexander Hamilton, shot by Vice-President Aaron Burr in Weehawken, NJ, in 1804;

*Naval war hero Stephen Decatur, killed by another commodore, James Barron, in 1820;

*Charles Dickinson, mortally wounded in 1806 by Andrew Jackson for having committed an especially unpardonable sin in the rising politician’s mind: insulting his wife Rachel;

*Button Gwinnett, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, dying in 1777 three days after being shot by political rival Lachlan McIntosh.

All four of those deaths resulted from gunfire—like most duels on American soil. Though challenged parties, as part of the so-called Code Duello rules informally regulating the practice, had the choice of weapons, these tended to be smooth-bore pistols, unlike the swords often used in Europe.

Attorneys and journalists were among the challenged parties. (Indeed, nearly four decades later, the young journalist Mark Twain had to be hustled out of Nevada for having written a satirical hoax—an experience he would memorialize several years later in “How I Escaped Being Killed in a Duel": “I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me now, I would... take him kindly... by the hand and lead him to a quiet... spot, and kill him")

More often, politicians were in the line of fire, despite congressional rules on decorum in debate. That had seldom if ever stopped Randolph, who, as historian Henry Adams observed, had acted for the last 20 years like “the bully of a race course, was on the floor “ready at any sudden impulse to spring at his enemies, gouging, biting, tearing, and rending his victims with the ferocity of a rough-and-tumble fight.”

But Clay should have known better. Though normally cordial and ready to disregard slights, he’d already been involved with one duel 17 years before, with a fellow member of the Kentucky House of Representatives, Humphrey Marshall. An exchange of invective between the two had climaxed in a spitting match, then Clay’s challenge.

Three rounds of gunfire left both men slightly wounded before it was terminated. Nine years later, Clay gave signs that he’d learned his lesson about escalating quarrels when, as Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, he introduced a resolution banning dueling.

What brought on Clay’s appointment with Randolph was the Virginian’s claim that the relationship between President John Quincy Adams and Clay amounted to a “puritan with the blackleg.” 

(There were two possibilities for the meaning of “blackleg,” neither complimentary: 1) a fatal disease affecting livestock; 2) an idiom carried over from Great Britain, signifying a cheating gambler or swindling—a reference to Clay’s penchant for wagering.)

Once again, Clay took offense enough to issue a challenge. This time, the duel was shorter—and with less contact to the body—than the one with Marshall. Both men’s first shots went awry. Clay’s second bullet went through Randolph’s coat near the hip, and the Virginian, after firing into the air, announced he would not continue.

“You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay,” Randolph joked, prompting Clay to reply, ‘I am glad the debt is no greater.”

Altogether the affair was, according to Senator Thomas Hart Benton of Missouri (who had seen and even participated in his share), the “highest toned” duel he had ever witnessed. Matters became so cordial between Randolph and Clay that, when the Virginian was dying, he insisted on being carried into the Senate to shake his old adversary’s hand before he expired.

Inevitably, a “what-if” scenario comes to mind about this duel: If Clay’s shot had found its mark against Randolph, would it have haunted the rest of his career, as Jackson’s had after meeting Dickinson? On the other hand, if Randolph hadn’t been wearing thick gloves that caused his pistol to discharge accidentally and then go wide, what might have happened to Clay?

The more important question might have been what would have happened to the United States. In Clay’s single term as Secretary of State, the department settled 12 commercial treaties—more than all five prior Presidential administrations combined—and built strong ties with the newly independent Latin American republics.

With his service to John Quincy Adams over, he ran unsuccessfully for President two more times, and arguably was more qualified for the office than any of its other occupants through the rest of his life. Back in the Senate, his advocacy for internal improvements and devotion to the Union (demonstrated in compromises that temporarily averted civil war) influenced the young Abraham Lincoln, who regarded him as his “beau ideal of a statesman.”

All of that would have been lost if Clay had fallen in his all-but-forgotten encounters with Humphrey Marshall and John Randolph.

Song Lyric of the Day (The Grateful Dead, on ‘Easy Street’)

“When life looks like Easy Street, there is danger at your door.”—American rock ‘n’ roll singer-songwriters Robert Hunter (1941-2019) and Jerry Garcia (1942-1995), “Uncle John’s Band,” performed by the Grateful Dead on their Workingman's Dead LP (1970)

A thought that applies just as much to nations as to individuals.

Quote of the Day (Jessamyn West, on Faces Ruined by ‘Double-Dealing’)

“Nothing ruins a face so fast as double-dealing. Your face telling one story to the world. Your heart yanking your face to pieces, trying to let the truth be known. One eyelid'll hang down lower than the other, one side of your mouth'll stay stiff while the other smiles. I know a dozen cases like that.” —American novelist Jessamyn West (1902-1984), The Life I Really Lived (1979)

Flashback, April 1966: Ulster Unionist Bigot Ian Paisley Starts Political Ascent

Within a week of his 40^th birthday, Rev. Ian Paisley moved decisively from fire-and-brimstone pulpit pounding in Northern Ireland to incendiary political partisanship in April 1966.

The ostensible cause of his agitation was Ulster Prime Minister Terence O’Neill’s commemoration of the 50^th anniversary of the Easter Rising, a well-meaning but toothless gesture that Paisley interpreted as a dangerous concession to the province’s Roman Catholic minority.

Protests planned by Paisley led O’Neill to restrict the Easter rising commemoration parades on April 17^th. Those security measures, without equal countervailing measures against Protestant marchers, reduced Catholic support for a Prime Minister perceived as timorous and condescending while emboldening Paisley and his associates.

Through size and the passion of a true believer, Paisley dominated the groups he founded or transformed in adulthood. In 1951, at age 25—only five years after ordination—he set up his own fundamentalist Free Presbyterian Church of Ulster.

By 1966 he organized opposition more aggressively against O’Neill, by:

*founding the Ulster Constitutional Defence Committee;

*establishing the Ulster Protestant Volunteers, who would use the motto “For God and Ulster,” formerly associated with the notorious Ulster Defence Force;

*co-founding The Protestant Telegraph, an answer to the more mainstream unionist newspaper, the Belfast Telegraph (sample headline from late October 1966: “Were the Reformers Right in Separating From the Church of Rome at Reformation?”; and

*street protests and rallies, often proceeding through Catholic neighborhoods as provocative gestures.

What came to be known as “The Troubles”—the three-decade sectarian conflict that cost 3,000 lives in Ulster—did not arise in a vacuum, nor even solely through social, economic, or political differences. Their destructive heat derived from rhetorical tropes that gave currency to ancient grievances and prejudices.

Paisley was not the sole purveyor of this bombast, but as an increasingly visible minister—and, ultimately, the politician with the most formidable base—he bore the heaviest responsibility for its use.

In journalist Tim Pat Coogan’s memorable summary from The I.R.A., Paisley possessed “a doctorate from Bob Jones’s Bible Belt University, lungs like the Bull of Bashan and a theology from the Apocalypse…In terms of bigotry he would stand, were he a Muslim, 359 degrees to the right of the Ayatollah Khomeini.”

Kenneth Branagh’s Oscar-winning screenplay for Belfast includes a brief scene with a screaming Protestant minister who is more than a little reminiscent of Paisley. Many YouTube viewers reacted with amusement at the over-the-top deliver y of this bilious rhetoric, but there was nothing remotely humorous about it at the time.

Denunciations of Vatican II’s ecumenical statements, including on an October 1962 visit to Rome where he intended to distribute pamphlets, led to him being detained for questioning when he and other clerics arrived at the Eternal City. 

He viewed O’Neill’s outreach to the Catholic minority as a political counterpart to this, even having gone so far as to lead a 1965 march by 1,000 loyalists to Ulster’s government seat, Stormont, to protest the historic first official visit to Northern Ireland by an Irish taoiseach (prime minister), Sean Lemass.

(Two years later, when Lemass’s successor Jack Lynch arrived in Ulster, Paisley pelted his car with snowballs.)

With pressure groups that could quickly be turned into mobs at his disposal, Paisley ramped up his anti-O’Neill, anti-Catholic campaign. In June 1966, he led members of his Free Presbyterian Church to picket and harass delegates to the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church of Ireland for its openness to ecumenism.

Instead of curtailing his fanaticism, his arrest and subsequent three-month imprisonment only conferred martyrdom status on him within the loyalist movement. 

His vehement opposition to the Catholic civil-rights marches of 1968 and early 1969 lifted his visibility, and when he finally plunged into the political arena in the latter year, his better-than-expected polling results in O’Neill’s own Bannside constituency helped trigger the Prime Minister’s resignation.

At this point, he began the modus operandi to which he would adhere for most of the rest of his life: whip followers up into a murderous frenzy, while vanishing before violence inevitably occurred.

In 1971, Paisley formed the Democratic Unionist Party, with considerable overlap from adherents to his own Free Presbyterian church. He now held a seat in Westminster as a Member of Parliament and by decade’s end would also start a quarter-century stint in the European Parliament. 

Many of his colleagues may have grown chary of his antics (e.g., denouncing Pope John Paul II as the Antichrist when the pontiff visited the European Parliament in 1988). But there was seemingly little they could, or would, do about them.

Paisley continued to obstruct the peace process, including by opposing the 1998 Good Friday Agreement that effectively ended 30 years of The Troubles. When he assumed power in 2007, it was as part of a power-sharing agreement with Sinn Fein –the same kind of pace he had denounced and torpedoed in the 1973 Sunningdale Agreement.

Longtime Ulster observers couldn’t get over the jovial relationship he now enjoyed with the Deputy First Minister in the government, Sinn Fein’s Martin McGuinness. But the realities of power can only be denied for so long.

In the same sense that only Cold Warrior Richard Nixon could have gone to Red China, only an incendiary bigot like Paisley could have agreed to peace negotiations with the IRA.

Upon his death, many Paisley admirers hailed what he had done for peace. They overlooked the irony that he had, in effect, engaged in the same reconciliation process with Catholics that provoked his outrage against Captain O’Neill—and that he had to detoxify the very environment he had inflamed with his rhetoric three decades earlier.

Paisley’s damage to the province was not only heinous but also injurious to the Unionist cause he espoused.

When he took umbrage at Captain O’Neill’s tentative attempt to ameliorate tensions between Ulster’s two faith communities, the Irish Republican Army stood at its lowest point since the six Protestant-dominated counties of Ulster were partitioned from the 26 counties of the republic to the south. Its 1956-62 offensive was so disastrous that the paramilitary organization’s acronym was spelled out to spawn a derisive nickname: “I Ran Away.”

Though gerrymandering and discrimination raged on, growing educational opportunities and the generous social welfare programs of Great Britain led many Catholics to accept control by the crown.

This month’s centenary of Paisley’s birth should lead to reflection, but hardly celebration, about his legacy. His career holds implications beyond the British Isles, to an entire political world with similar personalities.

Like demagogues across the globe and ages, he stirred atavistic prejudices into current socioeconomic grievances to advance his political interests. With such people, decades of peace and civil rights advances are provisional, always vulnerable to bigotry and backlash.

TV Quote of the Day (‘The Simpsons,’ As Lisa Sees a World Turned Upside Down)

[To everyone’s astonishment, after attending a football game with the next-door neighbor he once scorned, Homer Simpson has become pals with kind, generous Ned Flanders.]

Lisa Simpson [voice of Yeardley Smith]: “Dad and Flanders friends? What’s next—A’s on Bart’s report card?”— The Simpsons, Season 5, Episode 16, “Homer Loves Flanders,” original air date Mar. 17, 1994, teleplay by David Richardson, directed by Wes Archer

Spiritual Quote of the Day (Karl Rahner, on Easter, ‘Our True and Eternal Life’)

“The Holy Saturday of our life must be the preparation for Easter, the persistent hope for the final glory of God. If we live the Holy Saturday of our existence properly, this will not be a merely ideological addition to this common life as the mean between its contraries. It is realized in what makes our everyday life specifically human: in the patience that can wait, in the sense of humor which does not take things too seriously, in being prepared to let others be first, in the courage which always seeks for a way out of the difficulties. The virtue of our daily life is the hope which does what is possible and expects God to do the impossible. To express it somewhat paradoxically, but nevertheless seriously: the worst has actually already happened; we exist, and even death cannot deprive us of this. Now is the Holy Saturday of our ordinary life, but there will also be Easter, our true and eternal life.”—German Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner (1904-1984), Grace in Freedom (1969)

The image accompanying this post, The Resurrection, was painted by the Italian Renaissance artist Sandro Botticelli (ca. 1445-1510) around 1490.

Quote of the Day (Francis Petrarch, on How ‘Books Give Utter Delight’)

“I cannot have a sufficiency of books. Indeed, I have more than I should... Books give utter delight: they talk with us... and are bound to us by lively and witty intimacy, and do not just insinuate themselves alone on their readers but present the names of others, and each one creates a longing for another.”—Italian Renaissance poet and humanities scholar Francesco di Petracco, aka Francis Petrarch (1304-1374), Selected Letters, Volume 1, translated by Elaine Fantham (2017)