The Lincoln Conspirator

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A Memorial's History

The Lincoln Memorial nearly sank in the swamp of politics. Here, a look at the history of its construction.

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With just days before the House was expected to approve Cannon's memorial near Union Station, Brown and three of his colleagues went to Roosevelt and asked him to create an expert panel to advise him on all new federal buildings, monuments and works of art. It had been a long-term goal of Brown's, who was hardly alone in considering much of the public art in Washington mediocre. One congressman suggested the commission take broadaxes and go on a tour of the city "smashing half the so-called works of art," a newspaper article said. But Brown then saw the advisory body as his only hope for thwarting the competing memorial proposal.

Roosevelt paced up and down the Red Room of the White House as he listened to the architects late one Sunday night, according to accounts by Brown and American Institute of Architects President Cass Gilbert, who accompanied him.

"Mr. President, the proposition to belittle the dignity of Lincoln by making his memorial an ornament and part of the railway station shows the need of expert advice," Brown pointed out. "Isn't the station a good place for it?" the president asked. "They tell me it is all right."

After Brown explained his objections, Roosevelt turned to his trusted aide Gifford Pinchot, who would become head of the U.S. Forest Service, and said, "Giff, I'm going to do what these men want."

Roosevelt told Brown that "Congress will . . . become indignant and say I am exceeding my authority, but I consider it my right and duty to secure expert advisers when I need them. The more violent the congressional objection, the more publicity the papers will give the subject." Roosevelt knew that would generate public support for the commission. "Congress will listen to the public demands." He understood the value of publicity better than anyone else of his era. His remarkable ability to use the press for his own aims had propelled his rise to the Oval Office.

In January 1909, near the end of his term, the president established the Council of Fine Arts and asked it to immediately take up the question of the Lincoln Memorial. The council -- made up of architects, painters and sculptors -- unanimously ruled in favor of the site by the Potomac River. Infuriated, Cannon responded by inserting a provision revoking the council's authority in a government funding bill. Roosevelt signed the bill on his last day in office, but he attached a note declaring the provision on the Council of Fine Arts unconstitutional and therefore not binding on any president.

The furor in Congress produced the favorable press and public support that Roosevelt had predicted. Public opinion turned against putting the memorial near the train station. Backers of that proposal were forced to retreat.

Roosevelt's successor, President William Taft, also favored the proposed Lincoln Memorial near the river. He disbanded the Council of Fine Arts in 1909 and named one of the authors of that plan, Daniel Burnham, chairman of the new Commission of Fine Arts the following year. This new commission, created by Congress, merely advised on local fountains, statues and monuments and had no legal authority. Burnham, who ran the most profitable architecture firm in the country, had been on the now-defunct Senate Park Commission with McKim and Saint-Gaudens, both of whom had died by now.

Around the same time, a group of insurgent Republican congressmen unhappy with Cannon's dictatorial rule led a revolt against their party leader. Nebraska Congressman George Norris cleverly seized on a parliamentary ruling Cannon had made to introduce a bill to remove him as chairman of the Rules Committee, through which the speaker determined the schedule of business, recognized members to speak, made all committee appointments and thus controlled every aspect of House activity. A constituent once asked for a copy of the House rules, and his congressman simply sent him a picture of Cannon.

Cannon and his allies launched a filibuster to stall for time so they could round up enough votes to rescue him. His lieutenants made calls and sent telegrams to absent Republican supporters to ask them to return to vote. Word of the long-awaited showdown quickly spread, and the galleries filled with spectators. The speaker listened quietly for hours as his critics enumerated his alleged crimes and his defenders praised him. Decorum broke down as the debate wore on into the night with members jeering and yelling insults at one another and Cannon. The speaker broke his gavel from banging it all night. By morning, it was apparent that Cannon couldn't get enough votes to win. His friends pleaded with him to step aside for the good of the party. But he refused.

The two Republican factions tried to negotiate a compromise, but their efforts proved fruitless. The speaker finally ended his 26-hour filibuster at 4 p.m., knowing he faced defeat when the measure to throw him off the Rules Committee was voted on the next day. The 74-year-old Cannon was still full of energy and fresh-looking. "Boys, it looks as though we're beaten, but we'll die game," he said to his allies, according to a biography of George Norris.

As the votes went against him, Cannon remained cool and dignified. Afterward, he promptly asked to address the House. He said he wouldn't resign because he'd done nothing wrong. Then he stunned everyone by inviting a vote to remove him as speaker. He knew that the Republican insurgents would vote to keep him to avoid having a Democrat become speaker. Cannon won that vote. His supporters cheered wildly and rushed to congratulate him. He managed to make his defeat look like a great victory. But the biggest obstacle keeping Congress from even considering the proposed Lincoln Memorial in Potomac Park, as the area was now called, was gone. That fall, winning its approval became urgent. In midterm elections, the Republicans lost control of the House for the first time in 16 years, and Southern Democratic leaders had little interest in a memorial to Lincoln.