History Vs. Bonus Episode: The Case of the Missing Colt .38

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iHeartRadio

One morning in early April 1990, rangers at Sagamore Hill National Historic Site were walking past a display at the Old Orchard Museum when they noticed that something was amiss. The display contained Theodore Roosevelt’s uniform from his time with the Rough Riders in the Spanish-American War, as well as his Colt Model 1895 .38 caliber double-action revolver.

Or at least, the gun should have been there. But … it wasn’t.

Jake Rossen:
At the time, it was relatively simple just to lift the case up without setting any alarm and taking it.

That’s Jake Rossen, senior staff writer at Mental Floss.

Rossen: That's exactly what someone did.

This particular gun had a fascinating history, even before it landed in TR’s hands. It was manufactured in Hartford, Connecticut, in March 1895, and was sold to the U.S. government, after which it ended up on the battleship Maine, as ship property. It was still on board on February 15, 1898, when the ship exploded in Havana, Cuba. Hundreds of men lost their lives in the blast, which was blamed on the Spanish and helped to push America into the war.

The gun may have remained in a watery grave if not for TR’s brother-in-law, William S. Cowles, who was one of the commanding officers sent to Cuba after the explosion as salvage divers brought up what they could from the wreck.

Rossen: And one of those items was a Colt revolver. Knowing that TR was a weapons aficionado, he gave it to him as a gift.

When the Spanish-American War broke out in 1898, TR quit his job as assistant secretary of the Navy, signed up to fight, and shipped out to Cuba with his volunteer regiment. With him was the blue-barreled Colt with the checkered wood handle. Roosevelt used the weapon in the Battle of San Juan Heights.

Rossen: Apparently he was able to take aim and shoot at two enemies. One he missed; one, he later wrote, he hit, the man fell over and almost assuredly died. Roosevelt obviously treasured the weapon prior to using it. After he used it, undoubtedly he considered it probably even more significant.

Eventually, the gun was inscribed. On one side, it read “From the sunken battle ship Maine.” and on the other, “July 1st 1898, San Juan, Carried and used by Col. Theodore Roosevelt.

Rossen: He kept it in his personal possession until his death. And later on, when his property, his home, became a historic site and part of the National Park Service, it eventually, like a lot of his possessions, went on display.

Which brings us back to where we started: The empty display case at Sagamore Hill National Historic Site. I’m your host, Erin McCarthy, and in this bonus episode of History Vs., we’re going to explore this strange story, which I first found out about when I visited Sagamore Hill for the podcast. I knew immediately that we had to write about it, so I put Jake on the case.

McCarthy: So when something like this goes missing on national park land, what's the next step? What do they do?

Rossen: When a crime takes place in a national park or on a national park site, it's technically federal land. And so the government usually gets in touch with park rangers and they frequently pass it on to an investigative unit. And in this case the museum was able to reach out to park rangers who conducted an initial investigation and eventually it made its way to the FBI. The gun had actually been stolen once before back in the 1960s, and fortunately, whoever stole it seemed to get cold feet once they had taken it. The gun was found not far from the museum. It had been discarded. But this time was a little bit different in the sense that the museum really had no practical security features. There were no surveillance cameras. The glass case wasn't locked.

In fact, as one national park employee explained it to us, “The case could be lifted and the lock just popped open.”

Rossen: It wasn't going to be that difficult for someone determined to take the gun if they really wanted to.

McCarthy: So once the FBI got involved, where did they even start in the search for suspects?

Rossen: When stuff like this happens, investigators will often look at employees first. Because a lot of times this can be the result of an inside job. The FBI eventually realized that no employee was at fault.

With museum employees ruled out, and a security system being installed in the museum, the FBI began going to gun shows and approaching gun dealers to see if they had crossed paths with someone trying to sell the Colt. But they weren’t necessarily optimistic about finding the gun that way. The gun was really distinctive, and therefore hard to sell.

Rossen: I think they probably felt that whoever took it was probably taking it for their own personal collection. And in that case, obviously, there really weren't many leads to follow.

Which isn’t to say that the FBI didn’t get tips. They actually got a ton of them. In the time before the internet, they would get phone calls. When email came about, they got emails. And sometimes, the leads would be worth looking into.

Rossen: There was a rumor it had been seen in Europe. But really the only promising lead, which turned out really not to be promising at all, was the idea that a gun with the same serial number had turned up in a buyback program in Pennsylvania. But when they looked into it more thoroughly, they realized even though that gun had that same serial number, it was a different model gun. And so they were essentially back to square one. As the reward kept creeping up and eventually I think it reached somewhere around $8,100 and there's still no concrete leads, there's no one being enticed by a monetary compensation. And once you get 10 or 12 years into the gun being missing, again, this was back in 1990, you know, I imagine the FBI eventually felt it was time to maybe put this on the back burner.

But, 15 years after the gun went missing, there was finally a break in the case—one that may have been made possible by a divorce.

We’ll be right back.

 

More than 15 years after Theodore Roosevelt’s Colt Revolver went missing from the Old Orchard Museum at Sagamore Hill, one of the park rangers began receiving phone calls from a man who said he knew where the gun was.

That wasn’t necessarily unusual—they had gotten many similar calls before. What was unusual was that the man kept calling. He wouldn’t give his name, but he said he knew where the gun was—that he’d seen it wrapped in a sweatshirt. He was able to describe its engravings. He said that he wanted it returned to the museum—but he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.

Rossen: The park ranger tried to plead with him and even told him, "Look, just put it in a box and drop it in the mail and that'll be that." But he couldn't really get through to the guy. Eventually, though, I think the man realized that he had to do something with the gun and he agreed to make contact with the FBI.

The man who had been calling was named Andy, and he lived in Florida.

Rossen: It turns out he had been seeing a woman, and the woman, who knew that Andy was a history buff, approached him one day and said, "Look, I've got this gun, it belonged to Teddy Roosevelt and, you know, you might want to take a look at it." Essentially Andy came to realize it was stolen, came to realize that actually it didn't belong to his girlfriend, but her ex-husband and her husband had essentially kept it around the house, sometimes wrapped up in a sweatshirt, sometimes tucked under the seat of a car.

McCarthy: So basically if that woman and her husband had not gotten divorced, the gun might still be missing?

Rossen: It's very possible, yeah.

The FBI approached Andy and asked him to retrieve the gun from his girlfriend.

Rossen: Again, he wanted to drag his feet a little bit and was reluctant about revealing the identity of his girlfriend, but being the FBI, they were rather persuasive with him.

The gun was retrieved and authenticated, and in 2006—16 years after it disappeared—it was returned to Sagamore Hill. Eventually, it took its place back in a case in the museum, one that was now much more secure.

As for the man who took the gun—we’ll call him Anthony T. He was charged with misdemeanor theft, which perhaps feels like a light sentence for someone who took something that belonged to a former president.

Rossen: It's interesting because if you look at heists involving valuable items, rare items, paintings, things of that nature, the punishment can be pretty severe. With something like Roosevelt's gun, even though there's been valuations placed on it that reached into the hundreds of thousands, I don't know that there's any definitive way of placing a price on it. And additionally, the federal government doesn't really insure these kinds of things. It seems the prosecutors looked at Anthony T.'s situation and realized that he was not by any means a professional thief, a career criminal, and decided to really let him off rather easily. He got probation, he had to pay a fine, and he had to perform a fair amount of community service.

Though the gun is back where it belongs, questions still linger. No one seems to know why Anthony took the gun, although investigators have posited that it was an impulsive act.

Rossen: So Anthony T was at the museum, and saw the gun, saw that there really probably wasn't any employee around, saw that the case could be easily manipulated. And it was a crime of opportunity. Actually, one of the investigators essentially described it as a kind of artifact shoplifting; something done on impulse and obviously something he came to regret. I think the irony really is the fact that Anthony, when he was charged with a crime, was charged with violating the American Antiquities Act of 1906, which is basically a law stating that “Hey, you know, you can't steal government property, items, or historic artifacts.”

The president who signed the American Antiquities Act into law? Theodore Roosevelt.

We’ll be back in a couple of weeks with another bonus episode of History Vs.

Credits

History Vs. is hosted by me, Erin McCarthy. This episode was written by me, with fact checking by Austin Thompson.

The executive producers are Erin McCarthy, Julie Douglas, and Tyler Klang. The supervising producer is Dylan Fagan. The show is edited by Dylan Fagan and Lowell Brillante. If you want to find out more about this episode, and Theodore Roosevelt, visit MentalFloss.com/historyvs.

History Vs. is a production of iHeartRadio and Mental Floss.

Looking to Downsize? You Can Buy a 5-Room DIY Cabin on Amazon for Less Than $33,000

Five rooms of one's own.
Five rooms of one's own.
Allwood/Amazon

If you’ve already mastered DIY houses for birds and dogs, maybe it’s time you built one for yourself.

As Simplemost reports, there are a number of house kits that you can order on Amazon, and the Allwood Avalon Cabin Kit is one of the quaintest—and, at $32,990, most affordable—options. The 540-square-foot structure has enough space for a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a sitting room—and there’s an additional 218-square-foot loft with the potential to be the coziest reading nook of all time.

You can opt for three larger rooms if you're willing to skip the kitchen and bathroom.Allwood/Amazon

The construction process might not be a great idea for someone who’s never picked up a hammer, but you don’t need an architectural degree to tackle it. Step-by-step instructions and all materials are included, so it’s a little like a high-level IKEA project. According to the Amazon listing, it takes two adults about a week to complete. Since the Nordic wood walls are reinforced with steel rods, the house can withstand winds up to 120 mph, and you can pay an extra $1000 to upgrade from double-glass windows and doors to triple-glass for added fortification.

Sadly, the cool ceiling lamp is not included.Allwood/Amazon

Though everything you need for the shell of the house comes in the kit, you will need to purchase whatever goes inside it: toilet, shower, sink, stove, insulation, and all other furnishings. You can also customize the blueprint to fit your own plans for the space; maybe, for example, you’re going to use the house as a small event venue, and you’d rather have two or three large, airy rooms and no kitchen or bedroom.

Intrigued? Find out more here.

[h/t Simplemost]

This article contains affiliate links to products selected by our editors. Mental Floss may receive a commission for purchases made through these links.

History Vs. Bonus Episode: The Statue

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iHeartRadio

One thing that happens when you make a Theodore Roosevelt-themed podcast is that whenever there’s TR-related news, you get a ton of messages about it. Which is exactly what happened to me when news broke that the American Museum of Natural History had asked for the equestrian statue of TR that stands outside its Central Park West entrance to be removed.

The request comes at a time when hundreds of thousands of people are taking to the streets to protest police brutality and systemic racism. Statues of historical figures, including those of the Confederacy and monuments dedicated to figures who owned or sold enslaved people, are being defaced, removed, or pulled down entirely—and not just here in the States, but all around the world as well.

Although the museum’s request to remove the statue—which features TR on horseback, flanked on the ground by one Native American and one African figure—was made in light of the current movement, this particular statue of TR has been controversial for a very long time. In 1971, activists dumped a can of red paint on Roosevelt’s head in what a paper at that time called “the latest incident against the Roosevelt statue.” In 1987, former New York City parks commissioner Gordon Davis said he would support the statue being blasted away from where it stood—“unless,” he noted, “Roosevelt got off and walked with them.” Beginning in 2016, activists have protested the statue by organizing marches, covering it with a parachute, and splashing red paint on the base.

Removing the statue was considered as recently as 2017. The Mayoral Advisory Commission on City Art, Monuments, and Markers—which was, according to a report issued in January 2018 [PDF], “committed to a process of historical reckoning, a nuanced understanding of the complicated histories we have inherited”—was split about what to do with the statue.

Ultimately, the city decided to keep the statue where it was, and asked the museum to add context to the work—which the museum did in its exhibit “Addressing the Statue.” We touched briefly on the statue and on the exhibit in a larger discussion of Roosevelt’s views on race in the episode “History Vs. TR.”

Why was the city involved in the decision, you ask? Because even though many associate the statue directly with the museum thanks to its location, Roosevelt’s own history with the institution, and things like the Night at the Museum movies, it’s actually part of a public memorial to Roosevelt located on public land.

While some have issues with the statue because of Roosevelt himself, the museum has said that its request to move it isn’t about Roosevelt but rather because of the statue’s composition and what it implies.

So, in this bonus episode of History Vs., we’re going to talk about the statue—why it’s there, what the artists intended, and why it’s viewed as controversial today. And we’ll dive into Roosevelt’s own views on legacy.

The statue’s story begins in 1920, when the New York State Legislature established the Roosevelt Memorial Commission. Nine years later, construction began on a memorial within the museum that, according to the prospectus of the competition, should “express Roosevelt’s life as a nature lover, naturalist, explorer, and author of works of natural history.”

The memorial may have ended up at AMNH because of Henry Fairfield Osborn, who was then both president of the museum and the head of the New York State Roosevelt Memorial Commission. Osborn had also known Roosevelt—who contributed specimens to the museum, and whose father was one of the founding members—personally.

The memorial was designed by architect John Russell Pope and included the museum’s Central Park West entrance, its Theodore Roosevelt rotunda, and the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall. In 1925, the Equestrian Statue of Theodore Roosevelt was commissioned to become a part of that larger memorial.

In 1928, Pope wrote that the statue would sit on a granite pedestal “bearing an equestrian statue of Roosevelt with two accompanying figures on foot, one representing the American Indian and the other the primitive African. This heroic group … will symbolize the fearless leadership, the explorer, benefactor and educator.”

Sculptor James Earle Fraser—who had created, among other things, a bust of Roosevelt, a statue of Ben Franklin, and the Buffalo nickel—was chosen to create the sculpture, which was based on a statue by Andrea del Verrocchio.

The statue was completed in 1939 and unveiled in 1940. Fraser said that the figures beside the former president “are guides symbolizing the continents of Africa and America, and if you choose may stand for Roosevelt’s friendliness to all races.” The figures have no names, and are below, and trail behind, Roosevelt.

So, we’ve talked about what the artists intended when they created the statue. Now, let’s talk about how the statue is viewed today.

Because a white man is ahead of and above an Indigenous American person and an African person, many see a clear picture of racial hierarchy and white supremacy. Others see a monument to colonialism and conquest.

Not only that, but the unnamed figures seem to be a hodgepodge of stereotypes and poor research. The Native American figure appears to be a Plains Indian, but it’s a generic and stereotypical rendering. According to the museum’s exhibit about the statue, the shield on the African figure appears to be based on the Maasai people, whom Roosevelt met during his time in East Africa. But the museum explains that “the hairstyle and facial scarification on the figure do not accurately reflect Maasai traditions,” and the cloth draped around the body is more akin to a Greek or Roman sculpture.

In 1999, James Loewen wrote in his book Lies Across America: What Our Historic Sites Get Wrong that “some authorities claim the flanked figures are ‘guides’ or ‘continents,’ but visitors without such foreknowledge internalize the monument without even thinking about it, as a declaration of white supremacy. When the statue went up the museum was openly racist.”

At that time, the museum had strong ties to eugenics. Under Osborn’s tenure, two conferences about eugenics were held there. Roosevelt himself also supported certain aspects of eugenics, especially later in his life.

Now … about TR’s quote-unquote “friendliness to all races.” If you listened to the “History Vs. TR” episode of this podcast, you’ll remember just how complicated and sometimes contradictory TR’s views on race were. But simply put, TR held white supremacist and racist views that were shaped by his childhood, the books he read, his education, and his correspondence with scientists. Roosevelt developed a theory of the stages of civilization, a racial hierarchy that put the white, English-speaking man on top.

According to historian William S. Walker in Controversial Monuments and Memorials: A Guide for Community Leaders, Fraser’s statue is basically a visual representation of the prevalent thinking about race at the time—a “troubling hierarchy of human groups that places whites above Indigenous peoples and other people of color on a universal scale of human civilization,” he writes. “The statue’s symbolism corresponds with overtly racist statements Roosevelt made in his writings … and actions he took, such as his wrongful condemnation and punishment of Black soldiers after the Brownsville affair in 1906. Moreover, the racial imagery of Fraser’s statue matches the dominant paternalistic attitudes that many whites, including Roosevelt, displayed toward people of color in the early 20th century.”

We’ve covered a lot of the frankly horrible things Roosevelt said about other races in previous episodes of the podcast, but right now, I want to look at just a few examples of what he said about Black people, to show just how contradictory his thinking could be.

The first is from remarks he made in February 1905: “Our effort should be to secure to each man, whatever his color, equality of opportunity, equality of treatment before the law. As a people striving to shape our actions in accordance with the great law of righteousness we cannot afford to take part in or be indifferent to the oppression or maltreatment of any man who, against crushing disadvantages, has by his own industry, energy, self-respect, and perseverance struggled upward to a position which would entitle him to the respect of his fellows, if only his skin were of a different hue."

Sounds pretty good, right? But. In 1906, Roosevelt wrote in a letter to Owen Wister that Black people “as a race and as a mass … are altogether inferior to the whites.” And in 1916, he wrote to Henry Cabot Lodge, “I believe that the great majority of Negroes in the South are wholly unfit for the suffrage.” Extending them that right, he said, could “reduce parts of the South to the level of Haiti.”

Historian Thomas Dyer breaks down TR’s thoughts on a number of races in depth in his book, Theodore Roosevelt and the Idea of Race, and if you want more information than I’ll ever be able to deliver here, you should definitely pick it up.

Dyer notes that while Roosevelt didn’t support segregation or disenfranchisement of Black Americans, and while he championed specific Black individuals, like Minnie Cox, there’s no question that Roosevelt felt that Black people as a whole were inferior to white people. And he believed it was the white man’s job to help the Black man become as civilized as the white man—a process that he believed would take an extremely long time.

However, according to Dyer, Roosevelt shouldn’t be lumped in with the deeply racist politicians of the Deep South, but instead was “associated with the group of theorists who promoted the vision of racial equipotentiality and with those politicians who publicly deplored the oppression of American Blacks yet opposed ‘social equality,’” Dyer writes. “Thus, although Roosevelt may have been a moderating force in an age of high racism, he nevertheless harbored strong feelings about the inferiority of Blacks, feelings which suggest the pervasiveness of racism and the harsh character of racial ‘moderation’ in turn-of-the-century America.”

Though these may have been prevalent views at the time, and while one could try and justify Roosevelt’s racist views by saying that he was a product of his time, there were plenty of people at that time, like Jane Addams and William English Walling, who did not agree with these views, who were much more progressive on this particular issue than Roosevelt was.

We’ll be right back.

 

Right around the time the museum’s “Addressing the Statue” exhibit went up in July 2019, I spoke with David Hurst Thomas, curator of North American Archaeology, Division of Anthropology at AMNH. Here’s what he had to say about the statue and the exhibit:

David Hurst Thomas: It was put up by the state of New York, memorializing a governor who went on to become a president. Our entire western facade is dedicated to the career of Theodore Roosevelt. And as you walk along there, you know, there are sculptures, there are all sorts of things, but the standalone one of Roosevelt on the horse with the African and the Native American walking along sent one message in the 1930s when it was put up and it sends a different message today to many people. So we're trying to come to grips with that. What are the different points of view here? What does that tell us about where we were then and where we are now?

In the exhibit, the museum grappled with what it called Roosevelt’s “troubling views on race” and its “own imperfect history,” saying that “Such an effort does not excuse the past but it can create a foundation for honest, respectful, open dialogue.”

In a recent statement, the museum said it was proud of the exhibition, “which helped advance our and the public’s understanding of the statue and its history and promoted dialogue about important issues of race and cultural representation, but in the current moment, it is abundantly clear that this approach is not sufficient. While the statue is owned by the city, the museum recognizes the importance of taking a position at this time. We believe that the statue should no longer remain and have requested that it be moved.”

Theodore Roosevelt IV, TR’s great-grandson and a museum trustee, supports the statue’s removal, as does New York City Mayor Bill De Blasio, who said in a statement that "the city supports the museum's request. It is the right decision and the right time to remove this problematic statue."

It hasn’t yet been decided when the statue will be removed, or where it will go. And the museum isn’t completely cutting ties with TR. Instead, it will name its Hall of Biodiversity for Roosevelt “in honor of [his] role as a leading conservationist.”

It’s possible that Roosevelt would have preferred this memorialization to any statue. Michael Cullinane, the historian and author of Theodore Roosevelt’s Ghost who I interviewed for this podcast, wrote in a recent op-ed for The Washington Post that “Theodore Roosevelt never wanted a statue. Long before he died, he left strict instructions to his wife and children that no likeness of himself—equestrian or otherwise—appear in stone or bronze. He even fought a memorial group that sought to preserve his birthplace in New York City. … As a historian Roosevelt knew that the past necessarily gets rewritten. He anticipated an ever-changing legacy.”

Clay Jenkinson, who I interviewed for several episodes, also emphasizes this point in a new book of essays he co-edited, called Theodore Roosevelt, Naturalist in the Arena. He points out that, in 1910, when North Dakotans wanted to erect a statue to TR, Roosevelt suggested that a pioneer or pioneer family would be more appropriate.

And in 1916, Roosevelt wrote a letter against building monuments to the dead, saying, “There is an occasional great public servant to whom it is well to raise a monument; really not for the man himself, but for what he typified. A monument to Lincoln or Farragut is really a great symbolic statue to commemorate such qualities as valor and patriotism and love of mankind, and a willingness to sacrifice everything for the right … As for the rest of us who, with failures and shortcomings, but according to our lights, have striven to lead decent lives, if any friends of ours wish to commemorate us after death the way to do it is by some expression of good deeds to those who are still living. Surely a dead man or woman, who is a good man or woman, would wish to feel that his or her taking away had become an occasion for real service for the betterment of mankind, rather than to feel that a meaningless pile of stone, no matter how beautiful, had been erected with his or her name upon it in an enclosure crowded with similar piles of stone—for such a tomb or mausoleum often bears chief reference not to the worth, but to the wealth of the one who is dead.” In fact, after TR’s own death, Jenkinson notes that “his family was lukewarm, sometimes outright negative, about commemorative statues.”

That’s not to say he was against being honored altogether. Jenkinson notes that Roosevelt was thrilled when, in 1911, a dam in Arizona was named after him. “I do not know if it is of any consequence to a man whether he has a monument: I know it is of mighty little consequence whether he has a statue after he is dead,” Roosevelt said. “If there could be any monument which would appeal to any man, surely it is this. You could not have done anything which would have pleased and touched me more than to name this great dam, this reservoir site, after me.”

“The unmistakable sense one gets from reading Roosevelt on this subject is that he wanted his historical memory to be tied to civic, even civilizational achievement,” Jenkinson writes, “and that the giant cyclopean dam in the Arizona desert—named in his honor for his vision, his Americanism, his legislative mastery, and his love of the American West—appealed to him as the right way to pay tribute to his life and work."

If the Theodore Roosevelt Facebook group I’m in is any indication, opinions about the statue’s removal are heated. To be frank, most people in there are quite angry. But I, for one, think it could be a good thing.

Hear me out. Though I’m fascinated by TR, it’s probably clear by now that he was not without his flaws. He was obsessed with his image and wasn’t above asking his friends to gloss over the facts to paint his life and his accomplishments in the best light. He felt he knew what was right and did not often want to admit when he’d been wrong. He could be as bitter and as nasty as he could be kind. And his views on race ranged from deeply paternalistic to openly racist. But understanding those views is important.

As historian and assistant professor at the University of Virginia Justene Hill Edwards said when I interviewed her:

Dr. Justene Hill Edwards: We live in a country, that from the very beginning, has been polarized along issues of race. And so, yes, it is important to understand our public figures and political figures' perspectives on race because it's such an important part, in my mind, of what it means to be American, thinking about these questions because it's an indelible part of the American story. It would be like not understanding, you know, the Civil War, or the American Revolution, or our participation in World War I or II.

Like many historical figures, TR was a person—an incredibly complex person. He did both good things and bad things, and those things should be considered together. Here’s Edwards again:

Edwards: He did amazing things for idealizing and realizing the beauty of America's natural landscapes, right, for ideas of conservation, that's really important. And we don't have to denigrate that legacy with his more problematic legacy on race. And so I think it's important to view historical figures as they were. They're complex people with complex inner-workings of their lives, and it's just important to understand that human complexity.

In order to even get close to a full picture of TR, we need to consider all of the sides of him rather than picking the parts that support the vision of him that we prefer. History, like TR, is complicated. I think the statue’s removal spurs us to grapple with all of that, as well as with America’s own racist history, and that’s important. Which is why I hope that, even if the statue will one day be gone, AMNH will keep its exhibit about the work around so visitors can learn from it for decades to come.

As Cullinane wrote, the statue “indicates nothing of Roosevelt’s environmental legacy. Rather, it symbolizes the least appealing aspect of his natural history philosophy.” I think Cullinane nailed it when he said, “If we honor complex figures, we should make sure we do so in ways that emphasize their enduring contributions, not their worst failures.”

As Jenkinson points out, TR’s legacy isn’t in a single statue—in fact, it’s all around us. “Theodore Roosevelt’s monumental footprint can be found in nearly every state in America,” Jenkinson writes. “While some of it is appropriately visible … still more is quietly enshrined in the U.S. Navy, in the National Park Service, in the modern identity of the American presidency, and in countless landscapes, parks, and forests across the Western Hemisphere. No other president has such a legacy. No other president even comes close.”

I’ll leave you with something TR expressed to Cecil Spring Rice in 1905, on the occasion of his Secretary of State John Hays’s death: “It is a good thing to die in the harness at the zenith of one’s fame, with the consciousness of having lived a long, honorable, and useful life,” he wrote. “After we are dead, it will make not the slightest difference whether men speak well or ill of us. But in the days and hours before dying it must be pleasant to feel that you have done your part as a man and have not yet been thrown aside as useless, and that your children and children’s children, in short all those that are dearest to you, have just cause for pride in your actions.”

CREDITS

History Vs. is hosted by me, Erin McCarthy. This episode was written by me, with fact checking and additional research by Austin Thompson.

The Executive Producers are Erin McCarthy, Julie Douglas, and Tyler Klang.

The Supervising Producer is Dylan Fagan.

The show is edited by Dylan Fagan and Lowell Brillante.

To learn more about this episode, and Theodore Roosevelt, check out our website atmentalfloss.com/historyvs.

History Vs. is a production of iHeart Radio and Mental Floss.