January 19, 2005, 8:04 a.m.
Freedom’s Gala
Having a ball, even during a time of war.

Washington, D.C. is a party town. It always has been. Any excuse is good enough to have a celebration, and the festivities surrounding the quadrennial inauguration ceremony top them all. In more genteel times the inaugural ball was considered the closing event of the formal entertainment season. However, this year some have questioned the propriety of inaugural celebrations. Our nation is at war, and they feel that such outpourings of festive spirit are inappropriate when our fighting forces are facing privation in foreign lands. They cite the examples of Woodrow Wilson and Franklin D. Roosevelt, both reelected, both taking the oath under shadow of war, and both having minimal celebrations. Surely, they maintain, these are prototypes for our troubled times.

Are they? Take Wilson. The United States was not actually at war with Germany until more than a month after Wilson's inauguration on Sunday, March 4, 1917, so strictly speaking his case does not even apply. However, the crisis that would soon lead to war had arisen with the publication of the Zimmerman Telegram on March 1, and this cast a damper on the planned celebrations. Wilson also faced a political crisis with contemporary resonance, as a small group of Senate Filibusters, led by Populist Senator Robert "Fighting Bob" LaFolette of Wisconsin, derailed the final legislative initiatives of Wilson's first term. (This led to the adoption of the cloture rule, the first limitation of debate in the Senate.)

Wilson was re-inaugurated while working at his desk, stopping for a few minutes to allow Chief Justice Edward D. White to administer the oath of office, witnessed by only a few members of his administration and his family. The formal inauguration had been set for Monday, March 5, to avoid having the festivities fall on a Sunday. Wilson, a political scientist and constitutional scholar, was worried that during the intervening day he would not technically be president. An opinion written by Chief Justice John Marshall for President James Monroe, who faced the same situation, stated that in such cases the slight delay had no impact on the office of the president — that "no impropriety is perceived in deferring [the inauguration] to the fifth" and that "the public business would sustain no injury." Nevertheless, Wilson's literalism got the better of him, and he insisted that he take the oath on Sunday.

The time constraints of the incipient national crisis had nothing to do with Wilson's desktop inauguration. We know this because the next day Wilson attended the formal ceremony as planned. Wilson's procession had exceptional security, given the circumstances — Pennsylvania Avenue became "a lane of steel" by one report, with Secret Service men and Army troops guarding the president, and sharpshooters on the rooftops. 40,000 crowded around the Capitol to view the second oath-taking and hear Wilson's speech, which was drowned out by gusting wind. (Wilson caught cold the next day, and a proposal was made to delay future inaugurations to April. In 1901, two senators had died as a result of standing outside in an inaugural blizzard.) Wilson then spent over six hours reviewing the inaugural parade, which featured 18,000 active duty troops, some just back from the Punitive Expedition in Mexico. West Point and Annapolis sent contingents. Spanish American and Civil War veterans also marched, as did 6,000 civilians from mainly Democratic clubs and associations, along with many politicians. An honor guard featured 75 employees of the Interior department in the garb of Continental soldiers. The streets and buildings were decorated with strings of lights and American flags. The latter were something of an issue — legislation had recently been passed against desecrating the flag, and the inaugural committee wanted to make certain there was a good showing of Old Glory. Inaugural Chairman Colonel Robert N. Harper stated, "Are you patriotic? Then get a flag." There were some large groups of demonstrators, mainly suffragists seeking the Federal right to vote for women. Tellingly, they cancelled some of their more elaborate demonstrations out of respect for the president in time of crisis.

That night there were fireworks near the Washington monument; tickets for the choice viewing spots sold for 50 cents to a dollar. Celebrations were held all over town, dinners, dances, and a ball hosted by Vice President Thomas R. Marshall. True, President Wilson did not host his own inaugural ball, but one cannot read too much into that fact. He also failed to throw a ball during his first inauguration in 1913. Wilson did not cancel a long-planned celebration to make a point about sacrifice during wartime; he was just a fuddy-duddy.

Franklin D. Roosevelt began his fourth term with the United States having been at war for over three years. The Second World War had a much greater impact on American society than any war since. It was a total war, with all that entailed. Over twelve million Americans were in uniform. On the home front, the watchword was sacrifice. Gasoline was rationed and in short supply. Train seats were reserved for essential war travel. Hotels were full of troops and government employees. Restaurants faced manpower and food shortages. Restrictions on heating fuel were widespread. Sacrifice reached even into the White House, where the thermostat was set at 68 degrees. Mrs. Roosevelt said her bedroom is like "an outdoor icehouse." The surest sign of the degree of national crisis and commitment was that federal workers did not have inauguration day off.

For all these reasons, the government strongly discouraged visitors from coming to Washington for the inauguration. President Roosevelt sought to remove temptation by planning a very low-key ceremony. He took the oath on the south portico of the White House, witnessed by 6,000 guests on the south lawn. Afterwards, some of them were invited inside for chicken a la king sandwiches and coffee. The event cost $2,000 of the $48,500 that had been appropriated. The "austerity inauguration" lived up to its name.

But the most significant wartime re-inauguration in our history was Abraham Lincoln's in March 1865. The country was then in the closing days of the Civil War. The conflict had begun shortly after Lincoln took office; in 1861, he had entered Washington under armed guard. Four terrible years later 600,000 Americans were dead, and countless numbers wounded, maimed, or gone missing. Lincoln's second inaugural address was brief, but memorable, and spoke movingly of the cause for which so many had paid the ultimate price. Fifty thousand visitors came to Washington, and by one report "Pennsylvania Avenue, for once, rivaled Broadway in its busiest days." The mud was deep but spirits high. The length of the street was decorated with flags and banners. A grand reception was held that night at the White House. Which was thronged with visitors. There was a two-hour wait to enter, Lincoln doggedly, if distractedly, shaking hands with all.

The signature social event of the inauguration was the Grand Ball, held on March 6. The elaborately engraved tickets cost $10 (over $100 in inflation-adjusted dollars), and over 10,000 people attended. The event was held in the large marbled hall of the Patent Office, which had been used as a hospital for the wounded after the battles of Antietam and Fredericksburg. Walt Whitman, who served as a nurse in Washington during the war, looked in on the preparations for the ball and was struck by the sense of irony. "To-night, beautiful women, perfumes, the violins' sweetness, the polka and the waltz," he wrote, "then the amputation, the blue face, the groan, the glassy eye of the dying, the clotted rag, the odor of wounds and blood.... Think not of such grim things, gloved ladies, as you bow to your partners and the figures of the dance this night are loudly called, or you may drop on the floor that has known what this one knew, but two short winters since." The scene that night was a magnificent pageant, a celebration of life in a town accustomed to the pains of conflict. Emblems, flags, and banners decorated the walls. A brass band played light music in the foyer, while a string ensemble was on the floor for dancing. Five hundred dancers crowded the floor. Soldiers and sailors in uniform were prominent, both the old and distinguished and the young and dashing. Young women glided along in long dresses of satin, velvet, silk and lace. Politicians and their wives hobnobbed with representatives of foreign governments. Supper was on sideboards, a sumptuous menu of roast beef, veal, chicken, turkey, quail, pheasant, oysters, salads, fruits, cakes, creams, and confections of all types.

The presidential party arrived around 10:30 P.M., and stayed until after 1:00 in the morning. President Lincoln, dressed in a plain black suit, looked weary but pleased with the proceedings; his wife Mary was vibrant in a white satin dress and pearls. After midnight the crush on the dance floor cleared, and those who actually came to "thread the mazes of the dance" were given free reign. The festivities lasted until dawn. Then as now, some were concerned with the appearance of excess. However, as one observer wrote, "the great, warm heart of the nation has little sympathy with that neuralgic nerve which forbids the expression of exuberant feeling at this most auspicious moment."

The Grand Ball of 1865 was a celebration of freedom; and in a chamber that had known suffering and death, it was a statement of life and hope. In time of war, it is vitally important to remember and recognize that for which our troops are fighting. The inauguration of the president is a symbolic rebirth, a renewal of the system of government established by the Constitution and sustained by the faith and fidelity of generations of Americans. To celebrate this event is to rejoice in that freedom, and affirm the sacrifices made by those who at this moment are fighting to defend it.