Local and Lurid: Read All About It
INFAMOUS INCIDENTS! ASTONISHING AFFAIRS! TORRID TALES!

By Christina Breda Antoniades
Special to The Washington Post
Sunday, August 19, 2007; M01

If you're compiling a list of local scandals a nd the people behind them (and, really, how can you resist?), it quickly becomes clear that the Washington area is a capital region in more ways than one. From Deborah Jeane Palfrey and Jack Abramoff to Robert Hanssen and Marion Barry, there's no shortage of colorful characters whose deeds have set local, and even international, tongues wagging. As it has been around the globe and throughout time, "wherever you've got a lot of money and power concentrated, you're going to find somebody to abuse it," notes Zachary Schrag, a historian and assistant professor of history at George Mason University. No wonder Washington is such a hotbed of hanky-panky.

But just in case you think we live in a particularly scandal-ridden era, we took a look at some of the early -- and lesser known -- names in the local guide book of questionable behavior. Some were victims of their time -- engaging in behavior we'd scarcely bat an eyelash at today -- while others have no one to blame but themselves. Whether they were following their hearts or their wallets -- or something else below the belt -- they'll all be remembered for giving D.C. something to talk about.

Henry Clay (1777-1852)

Dealmaker accused of making a corrupt bargain

Although a Senate committee in 1957 crowned Clay one of the five greatest senators in U.S. history, his persuasive skills sometimes got him into hot water. Take, for example, the presidential election of 1824, a nasty race that failed to produce an electoral-vote majority. The House of Representatives was given the task of deciding who would be president -- Andrew Jackson, John Quincy Adams or Treasury Secretary William Crawford. Odds were on Jackson, who had won the popular vote and received the most electoral votes. But behind the scenes, Clay -- then speaker of the House and a presidential candidate who was fourth in electoral votes -- was hard at work, persuading fellow members of Congress to put Adams in the White House. Once elected, Adams promptly awarded Clay the position of secretary of state, a move that led to an outcry of quid pro quo. Critics claimed Clay and Adams had struck a deal, and Jackson labeled Clay "The Judas of the West."

Postscript: Clay vigorously denied that any deal had been struck. Still hoping to land the top job, he ran for president again in 1832, losing to Jackson, and in 1844, losing to James Polk.

Margaret 'Peggy' O'Neal Eaton (1799-1879)

Wife who split the Cabinet

Margaret O'Neal Timberlake joined the ranks of the notorious shortly after the death of her first husband, when she tied the knot with John Henry Eaton, a senator and patron of the boardinghouse and tavern owned by her father. Her "friendship" with Eaton before her husband's death had raised some eyebrows, and when her new husband was appointed secretary of war in 1829, a cabal of D.C. political wives had had enough. They disdainfully nicknamed her "Peggy" and closed ranks against her. President Andrew Jackson sided with Eaton, but many members of his Cabinet stuck by their spouses, creating a divide in the executive branch. The acrimonious scandal caused Jackson to replace nearly the entire Cabinet. Eaton went on to become governor of Florida and ambassador to Spain, where his wife was a big hit.

Postscript: After Eaton's death, Margaret married a young dancer who wiped out her fortune, divorced her and eloped with her granddaughter, no doubt leaving her longing for the days when society sniping was her biggest worry.

Baron Alexander De Bodisco (1786-1854)

Elder statesman looking for love (in the schoolyard)

When he arrived in Washington in the late 1830s as the Russian minister, De Bodisco settled into 3322 O St. NW and began meeting the locals. Tops on his list was Harriet Beall Williams, a 16-year-old he pursued romantically, if somewhat awkwardly. (The story goes that he sometimes carried her books to school.) Despite being in his 50s, De Bodisco managed to convince the girl -- and her family -- that marriage was a good idea. The two wed in 1840 in a lavish ceremony that drew the city's elite, including President Martin Van Buren.

Postscript: De Bodisco and his young wife had a happy marriage (and seven children). After his death, she married a younger man.

Daniel Sickles (1819-1914)

Congressman with a deadly temper

When it comes to Sickles's early life, things are a bit fuzzy. He often gave his birth year as 1825, although historians believe it was 1819. And his daughter's birth date was similarly vague, leading some to believe Sickles's 16-year-old wife was carrying a little more at her wedding than a bouquet. The senator already was a scandal magnet -- he was censured by the New York State Assembly for bringing a prostitute into its chambers -- when, in 1859, he learned that his wife was having an affair with Philip Barton Key, the son of Francis Scott Key and the U.S. attorney for the District. Seeing Key in Lafayette Square, Sickles shot him several times at point-blank range. Key died, and in a high-profile trial, Sickles became the first American to use the temporary-insanity defense.

Postscript: Sickles was found not guilty, reconciled with his wife and went on to fight for the Union at Gettysburg, where he disobeyed orders and nearly botched the battle. He donated his amputated leg to the Army Medical Museum (now the National Museum of Health and Medicine), where it is still on display.

Rose O'Neal Greenhow (1817-1864)

Master spy

After growing up in the District, Rose Greenhow traveled in Washington's privileged circles, a fact that allowed her to become an effective spy for the Confederacy during the Civil War. Among other feats, Greenhow is credited -- or discredited, depending on whose side you're on -- with passing a secret message to Gen. Pierre G.T. Beauregard that helped him win the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861. After home confinement and a stint at the Old Capitol Prison, she finally was sent packing to the South, where she was welcomed with open arms.

Postscript: Greenhow published her memoirs and toured Europe, rubbing elbows with the elite and stoking support for the Confederates wherever she could. Upon her return to the United States in 1864, she drowned when a small boat she was in capsized after being pursued by a Union gunship.

Antonia Ford Willard (1838-1871)

Spy who switched sides for love

Fairfax resident Antonia Ford took her secessionist views seriously, passing information on Union troops to Confederate generals in the hopes of helping their cause. Ford was captured when counterspy Frankie Abel won her confidence and confirmed her covert work. Ford was arrested in March 1863, later released and then rearrested.

Postscript: Despite her criminal record, Ford managed to catch the eye of the Union officer who arrested her. He was Joseph Willard of the Willard hotel family. He proposed; she accepted and swore an oath of allegiance to the North. The two were married in 1864 and had three children.

Alexander Robey 'Boss' Shepherd (1835-1902)

Made the city pretty, but at what cost?

Like many a notorious Washingtonian, Shepherd left a legacy that's still debated today. One of the most powerful city leaders of his time, Shepherd was head of the Board of Public Works from 1871 to 1873 before being appointed governor of the District. His efforts to pull the city out of the mud and muck through much-needed infrastructure projects earned him the moniker "Father of Modern Washington." On the downside, some say his tendency to award contracts to friends and make unilateral decisions, plus the sky-high costs of his upgrades, helped bankrupt the government and lead Congress to take over, a state of affairs that lasted until 1973. (Others, including local historian Nelson Rimensnyder, say Shepherd was the victim of an economic downturn beyond his control.)

Postscript: Shepherd has a neighborhood named after him -- Shepherd Park in Northwest Washington -- and a much-traveled statue (as statues go). It stood outside the District Building (now the John A. Wilson Building at 1350 Pennsylvania Ave. NW) until the 1970s, when it was put into storage. It reappeared in an obscure location in Southwest and then, as his reputation was burnished, finally was restored to its original site in 2005.

Alice Roosevelt Longworth (1884-1980)

Wild child in the White House, social commentator with a acid tongue

When she wasn't scampering up to the White House roof to (gasp) smoke cigarettes, President Theodore Roosevelt's sassy eldest child, Alice, was earning a reputation as a wild youngster in other ways: gambling, consorting unescorted with young men and generally running roughshod over the place. Her dad famously declared: "I can be president of the United States or I can attend to Alice. I cannot possibly do both." Alice went on to become a Washington institution, hostess to the elite and a columnist whose sharp tongue gave many a lashing.

Postscript: Her marriage to Congressman Nicholas Longworth was rocky, with infidelities alleged on both sides. When Alice became pregnant at age 41, rumors flew that the father was actually Sen. William Borah. Alice outlived her daughter, Paulina, who died of a combination of pills and alcohol at age 31.

George Lyons Cassidy (dates unknown)

Bootlegger

Congress might have foisted Prohibition on the nation, but fortunately for many representatives, they had Cassidy to make sure they didn't miss out on the fun. While on a booze run in the House Office Building in 1926, Cassidy was nearly caught with a briefcase of liquor. He escaped -- and got a new name, "The Man in the Green Hat," for the felt topper he was wearing. Three years later, he was arrested in the Senate Office Building with a bottle of liquor (and more booze in the car), prompting one senator to wonder aloud, "Why do they pick on the Senate?," Time magazine reported at the time.

Postscript: Cassidy's little black book was said to be on him at the time of his arrest, throwing some members of Congress into a tizzy. The book, however, mysteriously disappeared, according to Jeanne Fogle, a local historian and founder of A Tour de Force, a local tour provider.

Edward 'Ned' Beale McLean (1889-1941)

Playboy

Between what he inherited from his father and the fortune he'd married into by tying the knot in 1908 with wealthy socialite Evalyn Walsh, filthy-rich playboy McLean had enough money to buy the Hope Diamond (literally). Throwing wild parties and living large, the McLeans managed to blow through much of their fortune. Their marriage fell apart in 1929, and with the stock market crash, McLean was soon forced to unload his assets, which included The Washington Post.

Postscript: After his death in 1941, McLean's trustees sold the couple's mansion to the federal government, which tore it down and created McLean Gardens as housing for defense workers. Later, the Northwest Washington property was converted to condos.

Odessa Madre (1907-1990)

D.C. madam

Madre never threatened to expose her clientele, but if she had, no doubt more than a few Washingtonians would have been quaking in their boots. Working out of a home on 14th Street NW in Shaw in the 1930s and '40s, Madre ran a gambling operation and brothel, and claimed to serve a passel of political types. The big Madre -- she peaked at 260 pounds -- was known for her equally big heart, often loaning or giving money to friends who were having a hard time. She was arrested twice, once for cocaine possession and once on a gambling charge, but bragged that she had much of the police department under her finger.

Postscript: When she died in 1990 at age 83, she was broke, having been taken advantage of by a host of bad characters. For her funeral, friends could scrape together only $51.