Kill Bill, Part 2

"A Great Nation Prostrate" by Canfield in Pittsburg [sic] Press, September 14, 1901

You were probably expecting something commemorating the 20th anniversary of 9/11 today; but I haven't drawn any new cartoons about it since the last time I marked its anniversary. And besides, I started commemorating the 120th anniversary of the assassination of President William McKinley last Saturday, and I wasn't finished yet.

So anyway, doctors were able to remove one of the two bullets in the president's body, and within a week after the shooting, they were optimistic for his recovery. They also felt that rummaging around for the second bullet was riskier than leaving it in. But on September 14, 1901, President McKinley succumbed to infection around that second bullet.

"William McKinley" by Wm. C. Rogers in Harper's Weekly, September 21, 1901

By chance, a new X-ray machine had been on display at the Pan-American Exposition where McKinley was shot, and would have been able to show the president's doctors where the bullet was. But the opportunity, and the president, were lost to history.

"In This Day of Mourning..." by Carter Simons in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 14, 1901 

There were a lot of mourning Columbia cartoons, rather than the weeping Uncle Sams that would flood editorial pages 100 years later. Columbia predated Uncle Sam as the personification of the U.S. by over 100 years; she flourished as a cartoon character in the 18th and 19th Centuries. But by World War II, if a cartoonist wanted to depict the U.S. as a woman, he or she was more likely to draw the Statue of Liberty.

I've come across a couple of cartoons that are more interesting than all those mourning Columbias:

Felix Mahony in Washington (DC) Evening Star, September 14, 1901

Felix Mahony's sketchbook illustration highlights the story of James "Big Ben" Parker, a Black American in the presidential receiving line immediately behind the assassin Czolgosz. According to a Secret Service agent present, "Parker struck the assassin in the neck with one hand and with the other reached for the revolver which had been discharged through the handkerchief and the shots had set fire to the linen. While on the floor Czolgosz again tried to discharge the revolver but before he got to the president the Negro knocked it from his hand."

There is a poem by Lena Doolin Mason extolling Parker's deeds that day.

"It Is God's Way" by Canfield in Pittsburg Press, September 18, 1901

The sangfroid of Canfield's cartoon of Father Pitt, drawn as the train carrying McKinley's body passed through Pittsburgh, would probably get any cartoonist into a heap of trouble today. The president is dead? Oh, well. Que será será.

But I can see certain right-wing cartoonists who might to get away with it these days.

"What, Wouldst Thou Have a Serpent Sting Thee Twice" by Wm. Walker in Life, September 26, 1901

Aside from grief-stricken Lady Columbias, there was another theme that ran through a lot of editorial cartoons after Leon Czolgosz shot President McKinley.

"Now, Uncle, Come Down Hard" by Canfield in Pittsburg Press, September 8, 1901

It's as if some memo came down from Cartoon Headquarters telling the nation's scribblers that everyone had to represent anarchists and anarchism as snakes. This presented Pittsburgh's Canfield with the dilemma of how to depict a snake holding a gun and a bomb.

He evidently decided, what the hell, I'll draw it with ears, too.

Felix Mahony in Washington (DC) Evening Star, September 9, 1901

Felix Mahony was content that a snake is threatening enough without adding limbs and ears. But you don't want to try to kill a snake by stomping on its middle.

"While I'm About It..." by Gennette in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 15, 1901

Gennette adds in a few more vipers for Uncle Sam to bludgeon, notably including "lynchings" and "burnings at the stake." The cartoon is more aspirational on Gennette's part than factual on Uncle Sam's part; the ensuing crackdown on anarchists was not accompanied by much civil rights legislation. As President Theodore Roosevelt put it, "When compared with the suppression of anarchy, every other question sinks into insignificance."

"No Room on This Ship" by Wm. A. Rogers in Harper's Weekly, October 5, 1901

Czolgosz was quickly brought to trial, and readily admitted murdering the President. He told authorities that he had been inspired by the speeches of anarchist Emma Goldman; but as it turns out, he had never been able to ingratiate himself into her inner circle. He had been the sort of guy who is too eager, and asks too many questions. Some of her associates were convinced that he must be a government spy.

"A Proper Concert of the Powers" by Wm. Walker in Life, October 3, 1901

Most anarchists disavowed Czolgosz, but for her part, Goldman refused to condemn what he had done. She instead characterized him as a "supersensitive being" and likened him to Julius Caesar's assassin Marcus Brutus.

Czolgosz tried to plead guilty at his trial, which began on September 23, but was overruled by presiding Judge Truman White. His jury deliberated for less than 30 minutes before returning guilty verdicts the very next day.  

"Wasn't You Present at the Execution?" by Rowland C. Bowman in Minneapolis Tribune, October, 1901

On October 29, Czolgosz was electrocuted to death at Auburn State Prison. In order to prevent any macabre Czolgosz memorabilia getting out, prison officials burned his clothes and other possessions, and doused his corpse with acid before burying him on the prison grounds.

The Temple of Music where McKinley was shot, and the rest of the Exposition buildings, were razed that November. That wasn't entirely in order to erase unpleasant memories of the assassination; the Exposition buildings were never intended to be permanent structures.

But unlike with John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald, or Sirhan Sirhan, (or, for that matter, Osama bin Laden,) the Spirit of Notoriety has kept its distance from Leon Czolgosz. Unless you've seen Assassins, chances are you don't even know how to pronounce his name.