American presidential elections come up every four years with monotonous regularity. It’s an integral part of our constitutional republic. Despite times of war, peace, economic turbulence, euphoric prosperity or whatever, we faithfully elect (or reelect) a president every four years.
One by-product of this quadrennial electoral process is that Americans are forced to engage in a brief communal period of hopeful anticipation and serious reflection. The election of a president is a natural time to anticipate the challenges of the future and to reflect on lessons of the past.
Just four years ago, we were knee-deep in this process. There was widespread anticipation that Joe Biden would be a “transitional” president, one who would move the country from the political turbulence of the past four years to a period of more political normalcy.
At the same time, a small group of prominent historians met with the newly elected president and exhorted him to move boldly to become a “transformational” president in the mold of Biden’s hero, Franklin Roosevelt. Such were the reflections four years ago.
As it turned out, Biden was neither.
But nonetheless, here we are again: four years later, fully engaged in our quadrennial reflections. The media is rife with ponderings about Donald Trump’s second term. One of the more interesting — and perhaps useful — aspects of all these is the historical nature of some of them.
As we have been reminded now countless times, there is only one historical precedent for a president serving two nonconsecutive terms. Grover Cleveland has been referenced more in the past three months than in the preceding 130 years.
Most Americans know little or nothing of Cleveland. As commentator Karl Rove observed recently, Cleveland’s second term was a political disaster.
Although he triumphantly returned to the White House for a second term after a four-year interregnum and remained steadfast in his conservative convictions, Cleveland lost control of his political party and left office an isolated, defeated figure.
Gaining a second nonconsecutive term does not guarantee success.
Aside from the political outcome of the Cleveland presidency, Americans can benefit from a brief look at Cleveland the man. He is best remembered for his personal honesty and unflinching commitment to limited government. He holds the record for the most presidential vetoes of congressional spending. Not a bad legacy.
Perhaps even more surprising than the reemergence of Cleveland is the looming presence of Calvin Coolidge over the 2024-25 presidential reflections. The frequency with which Coolidge is mentioned these days is a bit perplexing.
At first glance, it’s hard to see many parallels between Trump and Coolidge.
Yet a recent Boston Globe article, “What the Next President Could Learn From Calvin Coolidge,” calls forth Coolidge as an exemplary president for our time. In a not-so-subtle comparison to Trump, the Globe article quotes Coolidge, “It is a great advantage to a president and a major source of safety to the country, for him to know he is not a great man. When a man begins to feel that he is the only one who can lead the republic, he is guilty of treason to the spirit of the institutions.”
While it’s impossible to envision Trump embracing anything close to Coolidge’s self-deprecation, there is more affinity between their political philosophies. Coolidge was relentlessly focused on reducing the scope and cost of government and commensurately reducing taxes.
Trump’s DOGE will need a similar commitment. Coolidge and Trump would also see tariffs and immigration similarly. In very different ways, these two men were masters of communication. Coolidge effectively employed radio and print media to dominate the decade of the ’20s, just as Trump has mastered social media.
The most eloquent insertion of Coolidge into current reflections was from Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist George Will. At the annual Coolidge Presidential Foundation dinner in New York City shortly after November’s election, Will hailed Coolidge as “the cure for our unrestful politics.”
He heartily concurred with Amity Shlaes’ designation of Coolidge as “The Great Refrainer.” Coolidge perfected a disciplined form of brevity and transformed restraint into a political virtue — attributes not found in modern politics. Will lamented, “(Coolidge’s) sixty-seven months at the helm of this country were something that will never be repeated again. That is, he left the government smaller than when he entered it.”
Coolidge believed in and abided by our founding documents — the Declaration of Independence and the U. S. Constitution. Will hailed Coolidge’s 1926 speech commemorating the sesquicentennial of the Declaration of Independence as “one of the great speeches in presidential history.”
In this speech, Coolidge proclaimed, “About the Declaration, there is a finality that is exceedingly restful.” This finality is grounded on the understanding that human nature is fixed, which presupposes “natural rights, rights essential to the flourishing of people with this nature.”
This flies directly in the face of “the nonsense about wokeness and the culture wars that have convulsed our country.” Progressivism posits that human nature is “infinitely malleable … and politics must control everything because it is shaping the malleable human creatures.”
Will concluded, “Wokeness will stop when we get back to the restful politics” of Coolidge.
Who knows how Trump’s second term will play out. Let’s just hope that, when it’s finished, it will somehow remind us of Cleveland and Coolidge.
Garland S. Tucker III is the retired chairman/CEO of Triangle Capital Corporation and author of “Conservative Heroes: Fourteen Leaders Who Shaped America, Jefferson to Reagan” (ISI Books) and “The High Tide of American Conservatism: Davis, Coolidge and the 1924 Election” (Emerald Books).
