President McKinley’s visit to the 1901 Pan-American Exposition began “under every auspicious condition,” the Buffalo News reported, and “McKinley weather, which is only another name for the finest brand of Buffalo weather, has been provided for the occasion.” He received a royal welcome from Buffalonians and tourists, and tipped his tophat at a record-breaking crowd of 116,000 spectators. “Toward the end of the President’s speech occurred the only unpleasant feature of the occasion. A woman got under the stand and when requested to leave by a patrolman refused to do so, talking so loudly and so angrily that the President was evidently greatly annoyed. The woman was taken out from under the stand by the officer.” This was a good reminder for secret service agents to stay sharp on the lookout.
His first evening at the Expo was celebrated with music by John Philip Sousa, and pyrotechnics by Henry J. Pain, “The Fireworks King.” Red rockets glared and bombs burst in the air, the sky was blasted in a display that culminated in a giant fiery portrait of McKinley in the sky, with a sparkling caption below: “Welcome President McKinley, Chief of our Nation and our Empire.” Asked for his opinion, McKinley grinned “It’s fine! It’s grand! It’s a most magnificent spectacle! The people of Buffalo are to be praised for their enterprise in building this great Exposition. This is a scene which I never shall forget.”
On September 6th, his second day at the Expo, the “McKinley weather” turned out to be inclement for its namesake: as the temperature spiked over ninety, everyone was pulling out their handkerchief, either to mop their brow-sweat or wave at the President, or both. One of these white hankies concealed a small revolver.
We get a blow-by-blow eyewitness account from James Benjamin “Big Jim” Parker, whom the Buffalo News called “the tawny lion of the Exposition” because of his heroism during the attack. The 6’6” African American giant had waited from mid-morning to 4pm to shake hands with the President.
“I was in the line waiting to shake hands with the President. This fellow…crowded in front of me. I was next to a little girl, 12 years old, and wanted to keep there, but he kept getting beside me and crowded in. I tried to keep him out, but at last I said ‘You — — — —, go on then.’ The President shook hands with the little girl and then reached out his hand to this fellow. Bang bang! Went a revolver… When I heard the shots I grabbed him so” (throwing his forearm around the neck of the NEWS reporter from behind by way of illustration, and causing [him] to experience strangulation.) “’You son — —! You’ve shot the president!’ I shouted. The hold I had on his throat caused him to throw up the hand with the revolver. If it hadn’t been for that action he would have fired the other three shots. As soon as his hand went up, Foster grabbed away the revolver. An artilleryman grabbed the weapon out of Secret Service Officer Foster’s hand and drew a big knife on him. He must have thought he looked like an Anarchist. He did look more like one than the other one [Czolgosz] did, because he had glasses and a three-day’s growth of beard… The murderer tried to get up, but I held him down by that elbow clasp of his throat. If he had got up he would have escaped, because the struggle was about Foster, who kept crying: ‘It ain’t me that shot the President. There he is, there!’ In spite of that he got pummeled up by the artillerymen and guards.”
Buffalo News, Sept 8, 1901
In celebration of his heroism, “Big Jim” was allowed to assist in dragging Czolgosz to the police wagon. He became an instant celebrity, posing for photos, and souvenir collectors gave him $25 each for the buttons on his coat. “If it wasn’t for me,” he said in his thick Georgia accent, “That murderer would have fired the rest of the three shots from his pistol and the President would have been killed.”
“Big Jim” had saved the President’s life. McKinley’s bodyguard had valiantly attempted to assist, but the angry crowd beat the crap out of him because his spectacles and three-day goatee made him look like an anarchist or Antichrist.
The magnificent monuments, landmarks and palaces of the Pan-American Exposition were essentially like the sets of an old western movie: evocative in front and flimsy in back, built to impress but not to last. The onsite hospital was, likewise, a temporary structure, more like a festival first-aid tent than a surgical ward. And while the Expo boasted a zillion dazzling electric lights, the hospital was dimly lit with old oil-lamps full of smoky liquified whale-blubber. An attending physician held a mirror up by a window to light the operation with the dying rays of the setting sun. As the doctor frantically searched for bullets, engineers were scambling to rig up an electric light.
If a cartoon lightbulb had appeared above anyone’s head, it could have signified any number of bright ideas. In hindsight, waiting the extra ten minutes for the area’s best abdominal surgeon would have been wise, but in the heat of the moment, the nearest Mr. Right was Dr. Mann, UB obstetrics professor and president of the American Gynecological Society. He was brushing up on his male anatomy skills when Dr. Roswell Park arrived on a special train, but by that point it was clear that sticking one more surgeon’s unwashed hands into the stew was not going to improve the situation. One shot had grazed but failed to penetrate McKinley, but the other bullet was in there somewhere, and after digging around a while, Dr. Mann decided that it must not be anywhere important. So he closed the two holes in the stomach. Just as the surgery came to a close, eureka! An electric bulb finally crackled to life.
A PRIEST’S STRONG RIGHT
“Father Fitzgerald of San Francisco is credited with an act of muscular Christianity which appealed to a crowd in front of a bulletin board during the excitement of Friday night. A roughly dressed man standing near him read a bulletin which had just been put out announcing that President McKinley had recovered from the shock of the operation and was resting easy. The roughly-clad man exclaimed: ‘It’s a — —— shame the man didn’t make a good job of it and finish him quick.’ The priest wheeled like a flash and gave the craven traducer a tremendous and scientific blow right on the point of the chin, which knocked the recipient clear off the sidewalk and into the street, and ‘put him out’ as completely as ever a pugilist put out an opponent. A crowd had heard what the man had said and were for lynching the miscreant at once, when the priest again stepped forward and protected the man he had struck down from the mob violence.”
Buffalo News, September 8, 1901
The City of Good Neighbors had come through in McKinley’s darkest hour, mainly by punching people. Within a couple of days, his friends and doctors were sharing optimistic reports and predicting a full recovery – for the President, and also, by extension for the City of Light, where the start of the twentieth century promised new opportunities. A place where a waiter could save a president, a gynecologist could become a combat field medic, and a San Francisco padre could shine as a heavyweight champ. September 14th, 1901 had some valuable lessons in store (let’s not spoil any surprises), but September 6th was the day President McKinley’s life was saved at the Pan-American Exposition.
This article was initially going “To Be Continued…” but after looking ahead in the story, it’s become clear that this is the best place to end it.