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The Papers of Andrew Johnson Project began in the mid-1950s as part of a larger trend toward projects for the collection and publication of presidential papers. The project was headed by University of Tennessee historians LeRoy Graf and Ralph Haskins and led to its conclusion by Paul Bergeron. The project became part of the Tennessee Presidents Center in 1987, joining the papers projects of the two other Tennessee presidents, Andrew Jackson and James K. Polk. The first volume of The Papers of Andrew Johnson was published in 1967 and the project was completed on July 31, 2000, with the publication of the sixteenth and final volume. The entire project covers Johnson's correspondence from 1858 to 1875.
The Papers of Andrew Johnson Project began in the mid-1950s as part of a larger trend toward projects for the collection and publication of presidential papers. The project was headed by University of Tennessee historians LeRoy Graf and Ralph Haskins and led to its conclusion by Paul Bergeron. The project became part of the Tennessee Presidents Center in 1987, joining the papers projects of the two other Tennessee presidents, Andrew Jackson and James K. Polk. The first volume of The Papers of Andrew Johnson was published in 1967 and the project was completed on July 31, 2000, with the publication of the sixteenth and final volume. The entire project covers Johnson's correspondence from 1858 to 1875.
Few presidents have been as eviscerated in history as Andrew Johnson, who suddenly on a rainy morning in April of 1865 became the nation’s new chief executive upon the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. A man who rose from dire poverty through a sheer primal force of will, Johnson was elected to every level of government—always taking his case to the people—in a remarkable, if often chaotic career that included service as a state legislator, member of Congress, Governor of Tennessee, U.S. Senator, vice-president, and finally the presidency itself. During the Civil War, Johnson bravely stood up to Confederates, his life repeatedly threatened serving at Lincoln’s pleasure as the Military Governor of Tennessee and pushing for an end to slavery. Yet he is the same man who, upon succeeding Lincoln, could not see his way clear to securing the full Constitutional rights for ex-slaves. Because of his endless fights and many confrontations, Johnson’s presidency has since been roundly condemned as one of the most disastrous in U.S. history. Johnson, notes Page Smith in his seminal People’s History series, put on full display “a reckless and demonic spirit that drove him to excess, to violence, harsh words and actions.” “He was thrust into a role that required tact, flexibility, and sensitivity to the nuance of public opinion—qualities that Lincoln possessed in abundance, but that Johnson lacked,” asserts historian Eric Foner, “He was an angry man,” notes David Stewart, a chronicler of Johnson’s impeachment trial, “and he was rigid, and these were qualities that served him terribly as president.” Yet, for all of the scholarly indictments of the 17th President, indictments supported by a recent Siena College Research Institute historians’survey placing him at the bottom in overall performance, Andrew Johnson challenges us as a singularly American story of triumph, defeat, and renewal, a man who overcame the challenges of poverty, class, and alienation to reach the highest peaks of power in the country. That drive was ironically most tellingly on display after Johnson left the White House, denied even the opportunity of a party nomination for another term in office. From the ashes of that loss, Johnson methodically rose again, winning election to the U.S. Senate and improbably returning to national prominence. Andrew Johnson’s renaissance, coming 6 years after an unprecedented effort to impeach and remove him from the presidency, represents one of the greatest comebacks in American political history and serves as a testament to a man who could never be totally defeated.
Is there life after the presidency? That is the question with which Andrew Johnson wrestled after his return to Tennessee in March 1869 until his death in the summer of 1875. He answered that question with a resounding "yes" and revitalized his political ambitions. For his six post-presidential years, Johnson relentlessly pursued a vindication of earlier setbacks and embarrassments. He had hardly arrived back in Greenville before he began mapping his strategy to recapture public acclaim. Johnson eschewed the opportunity to compete for the governor's chair and opted instead to set his sights on the prospects of going back to the nation's capital, preferably as a U. S. senator. Johnson engaged in three separate campaigns, one in 1869, one in 1872, and the final one is 1874-75. In the first, he sought election to the U. S. Senate. At the very last minute the tide went against him in the legislature, and Johnson thereby lost a wonderful opportunity to return to Washington only a few months after the end of his presidency. In 1872, Tennessee stipulated that its new congressional seat would be an at-large one. This suited Johnson, who favored a statewide, rather than a district, race. When he could not secure the formal nomination of the state's Democratic part, he boldly declared himself an independent candidate. Although he knew full well that his actual chances of election over either a Republican or a Democratic rival were slim, Johnson stayed in the fray. Confederates exerted one the Democratic party, and he succeeded. The Republican contender emerged victorious, much as Johnson had calculated, and therefore in a somewhat perverse this strengthened Johnson's political clout for another day. The day came in 1874, when he launched his campaign for the U.S. Senate. Johnson labored mightily throughout the state in this cause: by the time the legislature convened, he was the major contender for the post. But Democratic party successes in the gubernatorial and legislative elections had encouraged a number of other hopefuls. Eventually, the legislature staged fifty-five ballots before Johnson carried the day in late January 1875. As fate would have it, President Grant summoned a special session if the U. S. Senate to meet in March, enabling Johnson to claim his seat well ahead of the normal schedule. The ex-president strode confidently into the Senate chamber, the scene of his impeachment embarrassment in 1868, and took the oath of office. Many well-wishers, as well as old foes, greeted the battle-scarred political veteran whose vindication had been achieved at last. After lingering in Washington after the close of the Senate session, Johnson returned to Tennessee, where he lived out the short remainder of his days. With the exception of serious financial reverses and a nearly fatal battle with cholera in 1873, Johnson's sole focus had been his political rehabilitation. Considering his return to the Senate, albeit brief, the argument could be made that he succeeded. But, considering the verdict of most historians, it remains debatable whether he achieved his aims. The Editor: Paul H. Bergeron is professor of history at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville.
The meanings and practices of American citizenship were as contested during the Civil War era as they are today. By examining a variety of perspectives—from prominent lawmakers in Washington, D.C., to enslaved women, from black firemen in southern cities to Confederate émigrés in Latin America—The Civil War and the Transformation of American Citizenship offers a wide-ranging exploration of citizenship’s metamorphoses amid the extended crises of war and emancipation. Americans in the antebellum era considered citizenship, at its most basic level, as a legal status acquired through birth or naturalization, and one that offered certain rights in exchange for specific obligations. Yet throughout the Civil War period, the boundaries and consequences of what it meant to be a citizen remained in flux. At the beginning of the war, Confederates relinquished their status as U.S. citizens, only to be mostly reabsorbed as full American citizens in its aftermath. The Reconstruction years also saw African American men acquire—at least in theory—the core rights of citizenship. As these changes swept across the nation, Americans debated the parameters of citizenship, the possibility of adopting or rejecting citizenship at will, and the relative importance of political privileges, economic opportunity, and cultural belonging. Ongoing inequities between races and genders, over the course of the Civil War and in the years that followed, further shaped these contentious debates. The Civil War and the Transformation of American Citizenship reveals how war, Emancipation, and Reconstruction forced the country to rethink the concept of citizenship not only in legal and constitutional terms but also within the context of the lives of everyday Americans, from imprisoned Confederates to former slaves.
Andrew Johnson, who was thrust into the office of presidency by Lincoln's assassination, described himself as a "friend of the colored man." Twentieth century historians have assessed Johnson's racial attitudes differently. In his revisionist study, David Bowen explores Johnson's racist bias more deeply than other historians to date, and maintains that racism was, in fact, a prime motivator of his policies as a public official. A slave owner who defended the institution until the Civil War, Jonson accepted emancipation. Once Johnson became president, however, his racial prejudice reasserted itself as a significant influence on his Reconstruction policies. Bowen's study deftly analyzes the difficult personality of the seventeenth president and the political influences that molded him. This portrait of a man who, despite his many egalitarian notions, practiced racism, will intrigue historians and readers interested in Civil War and Reconstruction history alike.