Encore: Presidential Assassinations | Murder for Spoils | 2
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Imagine it's before dawn on April 26, 1865. You're inside a tobacco barn in rural northern Virginia. You're on the run with the most wanted man in America, John Wilkes Booth. Twelve days ago, Booth assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. But he didn't do it alone. You helped him in the plot. And now you're both fleeing ahead of federal troops. You're pretending to be Confederate soldiers on the way home from the war. And you've convinced a local farmer to give you shelter.

You wake to the sound of barking. Booth stirs beside you. Hey, you awake? You hear that? Something's got the dogs going. You shoot upright as Booth presses his ear against a crack in the barn wall, listening to the sounds outside. I hear hooves. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. You sure? Yeah. We gotta get out of here. Grab the revolvers. I'll take the carbine. You snatch up the weapons and rush to the front of the barn.

But when you reach the door and pull, it won't open. It's locked! That was bad enough the farmer refused us a bed. Now he's trapped us in here. You and Booth try to force the door open, but it won't budge. You feel sweat trickling down your neck. God, it's no use. Well, they're getting closer. Come on, we gotta find another way. Booth wheels around and limps over to the back wall. He injured his leg jumping from a balcony when he shot the president. Let's try and kick a board off and crawl out.

Booth swings his good leg at the barn wall, but his wounded leg can't support his weight, and he collapses in the ground in agony. Let me try. But your attempts are no better. It's clear there's no way out. Oh, this is it. We better give up. No, I'd rather die than surrender. Booth looks at you with a steely gaze, and you know that look.

You may be ready to turn yourself in, but he's still spoiling for a fight. You just hope that when Booth dies at the hands of these soldiers, he doesn't take you with him. If you love iPhone, you'll love Apple Card. It comes with the privacy and security you expect from Apple. Plus, you earn up to 3% daily cash back on every purchase, which can automatically earn interest when you open a high-yield savings account through Apple Card.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. American History Tellers

In our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made. And we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now.

On April 26, 1865, Union soldiers closed in on the barn where Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth and his co-conspirator David Harold were hiding. When Booth refused to give himself up, soldiers lit the barn on fire to drive him out. Harold surrendered and was later tried and executed. But Booth refused surrender and was instead shot at the scene. It was the end of a 12-day manhunt that gripped a grieving nation.

Abraham Lincoln was the first American president to be assassinated, but he would not be the last. In the decades that followed, more American presidents would find themselves in the crosshairs of an assassin's gun. Some would survive these attempts on their lives, but three more presidents would not.

The motives behind these murderous plots varied, but all left a deep mark on American history. The assassins' bullets ricocheting through the years, causing far-reaching political shifts, social change, and international consequences. The effects of Lincoln's death were obvious and immediate. The nation not only lost its leader just at the moment of victory in a bloody civil war, but also its most steady moral compass, sorely missed in the subsequent years of Reconstruction.

But only 16 years after Lincoln's death, another assassin again forever changed America by plotting to kill the man who stood between him and his thirst for power, President James Garfield.

And if you'd like to learn more about an earlier attempt on the life of Abraham Lincoln and his daring escape, you can read about it in the new book from American History Tellers. The Hidden History of the White House takes readers inside the halls of power with 15 new stories about moments that changed the course of history. Follow the link in the show notes to learn more. On June 2nd, 1880, the Republican Party gathered in Chicago to choose its presidential nominee.

The sitting president, Republican Rutherford B. Hayes, had decided not to seek re-election. So 18,000 delegates, power brokers, and spectators crowded the convention floor to select his successor.

But the party was fiercely divided over a single issue, political patronage. For decades, the federal government had operated under a spoil system in which winners of presidential and congressional elections handed out government jobs to their supporters. The practice strengthened party loyalty and filled campaign coffers, but the system was riddled with corruption, and it left many departments staffed by unqualified and incompetent men.

Over the issue, Republicans split into two warring factions. One group, the conservative Stalwarts, wanted to protect the spoil system. Their liberal rivals wanted to replace patronage with a new system that awarded positions based on merit. Stalwarts supported former President Ulysses S. Grant. Party liberals supported Maine Senator James Blaine. But when balloting began, neither faction's frontrunner was able to muster enough votes to secure the nomination.

The convention was deadlocked. But with each successive vote, support grew for an alternative candidate, Ohio Congressman James Garfield. At 48 years old, Garfield was tall and charismatic, known for his warm smile and strong handshake. Born in a one-room log cabin on the Ohio frontier,

Garfield grew up in grinding poverty. Before even his second birthday, his father died after battling a forest fire, leaving Garfield's mother with four children to care for by herself. Garfield did not even own a pair of shoes until he was four years old.

But with his passion for learning, he defied his humble origins. Working as a school janitor to pay for his education, he eventually became a professor, a college president, and lawyer. In 1859, he entered politics, becoming the youngest member of the Ohio State Legislature. Garfield was also a lifelong abolitionist.

During the Civil War, he organized a regiment in Ohio and helped save the crucial border state of Kentucky for the Union at the Battle of Middle Creek. Within two years, he rose to the rank of Major General, and at the height of the war, in 1862, he ran for Congress and won, taking his seat as a U.S. Representative for Ohio in 1863. He used this position to fight for equal rights for Black Americans.

In the 17 years Garfield spent in Congress, he declined opportunities to seek higher office, writing in 1879 that he was determined to avoid what he called the evil effects of the presidential fever.

But just one year later, circumstances forced him to rethink his aspirations. In 1880, Garfield spoke powerfully before the deadlocked Republican National Convention. After his rousing speech, much to Garfield's chagrin, several delegates began calling for his nomination.

Garfield desperately tried to stop the votes in his favor, but to many he was the ideal compromise candidate. Though Garfield supported the liberal Republicans' calls for reform, he had also worked closely with stalwarts. The stalemate was finally broken on the 36th ballot, when the party selected James Garfield as their nominee. Surrounded by cheering supporters, Garfield turned pale, horrified to be chosen for an office he never wanted.

To appease the stalwarts, Republican delegates chose Chester Arthur as Garfield's running mate. Arthur was a close ally of the most powerful stalwart, New York Senator Roscoe Conkling. He was also a beneficiary of the spoil system.

A decade earlier, Conkling helped Arthur secure one of the most powerful and lucrative positions in government, collector of the New York Customs House. As collector, Arthur was tasked with handling millions of dollars of tariff revenues at the nation's busiest port. But in 1878, he was fired after an investigation found evidence of corruption and graft under his watch. But now, despite having never held elected office, Arthur was only a few short steps away from the presidency.

While the Republicans fought over their ticket, a thousand miles away in Boston, a man named Charles Guiteau followed news from the convention obsessively.

Born in Illinois in 1841, Guiteau grew up with a fanatical belief in his own importance in the eyes of God. Despite this, he failed at everything he ever tried. He dropped out of university, his wife left him, and he drifted aimlessly from one venture to the next, first law, then preaching, then living in a free love commune. He constantly begged friends and relatives for money and spent much of his time on the run from landlords and creditors.

But Gouteau refused to give up on his dreams of fame and prestige. By 1880, he was 38 years old and living in Boston, where he became obsessed with politics. A staunch Republican, he immersed himself in the debate over civil service reform. He decided he was a stalwart, believing the spoils system would give him a pathway to the power, wealth, and influence that had long eluded him.

So three days after Garfield's nomination, Gatteau boarded a ship bound for New York, heading for the Republican campaign headquarters.

Earlier that year, Guiteau had written a rambling campaign speech he originally hoped to deliver on behalf of Ulysses S. Grant. When Garfield unexpectedly became the nominee, Guiteau simply crossed out Grant's name and replaced it with Garfield's. After arriving in New York, he hounded Republican campaign officials, begging them to let him deliver it on Garfield's behalf. In August, they finally relented. Guiteau gave his speech to a small crowd of confused spectators on a street corner in New York City.

Guiteau was pleased to make a contribution to the campaign, and when the votes were counted in November, Garfield won the presidential race with the closest popular vote margin in history. Guiteau was convinced that it was his speech that had swayed the election in Garfield's favor by helping him win the critical state of New York. Believing he would soon be rewarded for his efforts, Guiteau decided a diplomatic position in Europe would suit him well.

Months later, on the morning of March 4, 1881, snow fell on Washington, D.C., but by noon the skies had cleared as James Garfield took the oath of office. Despite the cold, tens of thousands of Americans turned out to witness the inauguration of a man who had climbed out of poverty to reach the highest office in the land. One reporter declared, Garfield sprung from the people.

But after the inauguration, as Garfield set to work, he found himself spending hours each day meeting with men hoping to be appointed to government positions. In the 19th century, Americans believed that as citizens of a democratic nation, they had the right to unfettered access to their president. Garfield met with roughly 100 office seekers every day.

None were more persistent than Charles Guiteau, who had set his sights on becoming ambassador to France. The day after Garfield's inauguration, Guiteau moved to Washington to pursue what he believed was his just reward. On March 8th, he briefly met with Garfield face-to-face, managing to hand him a copy of his campaign speech with the words, Paris Consulship, scrawled beside his name.

Then, day after day, in the same threadbare clothes, Guiteau loitered around the White House waiting room and wrote letters to the president. Guiteau was also a frequent visitor at the State Department. Garfield had named liberal Republican James Blaine as his Secretary of State. So Guiteau flooded Blaine's office with letters pressing his case, certain that the ambassadorship he craved would soon be in his grasp.

Imagine it's May 14th, 1881 in Washington, D.C. You're the Secretary of State and walking through a hall in the State Department with your aide on the way to your next meeting. Ever since you joined President Garfield's cabinet, you've been hounded by a constant parade of office seekers. So as you make your way down the hall, you carefully avoid eye contact with everyone you pass. But just when you think you've made your escape,

As you turn a corner, you find yourself face to face with the most relentless office seeker of them all, Charles Gouteau. The man has been pursuing you for weeks. Mr. Secretary, just the man I'm looking for. Ah, Mr. Gouteau, I am afraid I am in a rush.

You raise an eyebrow at Guiteau's unkempt appearance. His hair is greasy. He's wearing a frayed jacket and rubber sandals. Well, sir, I thought I'd come by and ask how things are progressing with my appointment. As you know, I'm inclined to accept the Paris consulship, but I'm willing to consider other options in Europe. You take a step back, annoyed by Guiteau's audacity. Sir, I haven't had time to recommend someone to the Paris consulship yet. As soon as I make a decision, you'll be the first to know.

You steal a meaningful glance at your aide, silently willing him to help you exit the conversation. "'Well, I'm not sure what's taking you so long to decide, though, sir. You know how much I contributed to the President's victory with my speech.'

Gouteau then removes a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and hands it to you. You grimace, reluctantly taking it from him. "'Oh, yes, of course, your speech. As I've told you before, I practice law in New York and Chicago, and you know I've recently become engaged to a wealthy heiress.' "'Oh, is that so?' Gouteau pulls another piece of paper from his pocket and thrusts it towards you. "'I've written a recommendation for my appointment to the consulship. If you just sign it here, I won't trouble you any further.'

This is getting to be too much, and you fear you've reached your breaking point. Mr. Coteau, I will do no such thing. But sir, after all I've done for the president, let me make myself clear. You have no prospect whatsoever of receiving the Paris consulship or any other appointment in this administration. Now, if you will excuse me...

Gouteau stares at you in shock as you grab your aide by the elbow and walk off. It pains you to be rude, but you've had enough of Gouteau's presumptions. You hope you're finally rid of the man. On May 14th, after numerous encounters with Gouteau, Secretary of State Blaine finally rejected him, bluntly telling the persistent spoil-seeker never to ask about the ambassador's position again.

Bitterly disappointed, Gouteau turned his obsessive focus to a subject near and dear to him, Garfield's escalating conflict with the stalwarts. Garfield had a difficult first two months in office. Malaria almost killed his beloved wife, Lucretia, and he was mired in a battle with the stalwarts over the spoil system.

stalwart leader Roscoe Conkling was furious after Garfield nominated a judge named William Robertson to be the collector of the New York Customs House. Conkling believed only he should have the power to appoint anyone to the prize collector position and viewed the liberal, reformed-minded Robertson as an enemy. In protest, Conkling made the dramatic move of resigning from the Senate in mid-May.

And in 1881, senators were elected by state legislatures. Conkling was certain that the New York legislature would promptly re-elect him in an embarrassing rebuke to Garfield. But on May 31st, Conkling failed to muster the votes he needed, and he was left completely humiliated. Meanwhile, the Senate confirmed Garfield's nominee as the collector of the New York's Customs House.

Garfield had scored a major victory against the Solwerts and the spoils system they supported. Americans admired his courage in taking on Conkling. And with a groundswell of popular support, Garfield looked forward to finally focusing on the real issues he cared about, black civil rights, education, and the economy. But Garfield's battle with Conkling made it clear to Guiteau that the president was intent on ending the spoils system.

Guiteau finally accepted that he would not be getting the ambassadorship he wanted, so on June 1st, he hatched a plan for revenge. Believing that God was commanding him to take action, Guiteau resolved to kill the president, reasoning that with Garfield's death, stalwart Vice President Chester Arthur would take over and save the country from civil service reform.

Guiteau convinced an old acquaintance to lend him some money, which he used to purchase a revolver. He selected a model with an ivory handle because he believed it would look better in a future museum display. And as summer arrived in the capital, Guiteau began stalking Garfield. Consumed by his obsessions and delusions, Guiteau was convinced that Americans would see him as a hero for his courageous act of murdering the president. ♪

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In June 1881, Charles Gouteau spent his days preparing to kill President James Garfield. He practiced shooting his new gun. He asked for a tour of the city jail, where he suspected he would soon be incarcerated. And he stalked Garfield relentlessly, even following him, his wife, and five children to church.

Guiteau believed Garfield would be an easy target. Like the presidents who came before him, Garfield had no security detail. Despite the assassination of President Lincoln 16 years earlier, no changes had been made to presidential security. Americans viewed Lincoln's assassination as a tragic byproduct of the Civil War. Surely, they thought, during peacetime, such an act of violence could not happen again.

And for many Americans, the lack of presidential security was essential to the nation's identity as a democracy. They saw armed guards as something used by European monarchs and dictators. America, with its freely elected leaders, was different. And Garfield himself also rejected the ideas of bodyguards. Shortly after his election, he told a friend, "'Assassination can no more be guarded against than death by lightning, and it's best not to worry about either.'"

In late June, Garfield was looking forward to a summer vacation in New England. He announced that he and his family planned to leave Washington by train on July 2nd. On the night of July 1st, Garfield walked out of the White House to visit Secretary Blaine, who lived a few blocks away. Gatteau was sitting outside on a park bench when he looked up and saw the president walking past. He stood and followed him, but never raised his gun.

Later, Guiteau was furious with himself for hesitating. He swore he would not let his next opportunity pass without killing the president. The next morning, Garfield was in a playful mood as he prepared to leave for his summer vacation. He bounced into his teenage son's bedroom, sending them into peals of laughter by performing flips for them. At the age of 49, standing six feet tall and weighing 210 pounds, Garfield was as healthy and happy as he had ever been.

Meanwhile, Guiteau spent the morning gathering letters he had written to the White House, the Army General-in-Chief, and the New York Herald describing his motive for the assassination as a political necessity. He then made his way to the Baltimore and Potomac train station on the National Mall to await the president. At 9.30 a.m., Garfield arrived at the station with his two sons and Secretary Blaine. His Secretary of War, Robert Todd Lincoln, son of the late president, was there to see him off.

As Garfield entered the station waiting room, Gatteau stepped forward, raised his revolver, and pulled the trigger. He was standing only three feet away, but the first bullet only grazed Garfield's arm. The president cried out, My God, what is this? But Gatteau fired again. The second bullet struck Garfield in the back and lodged itself in his abdomen. He fell to the floor and vomited as blood spread out over his suit jacket.

The station erupted in chaos. A police officer grabbed Guiteau, who cried out, I am a stalwart and want Arthur for president. As officers dragged him to a nearby police station, Guiteau begged for his letters to be delivered, believing that with Garfield out of the way, the Paris ambassadorship was finally his.

Back at the train station, Garfield was carried upstairs. His injury had not been fatal, but it was severe enough that everyone at the scene believed he was dying. Robert Todd Lincoln was devastated to witness another presidential assassination. My God, how many hours of sorrow I have passed in this town. But Lincoln also had close knowledge of some of the best physicians in town and quickly called for Dr. Willard Bliss, who had helped treat his dying father 16 years prior.

But calling for Dr. Bliss was a mistake. Though he was a childhood acquaintance of the president, Bliss also refused to pay attention to new medical theories out of Europe claiming that infection could be prevented through sterilization of hands and implements. Arriving on the scene, Bliss dug into the president's wound with his unwashed finger and a long, unsterilized probe. He believed that the bullet had passed through the president's spine, narrowly missing the spinal cord and lodging somewhere near his liver. ♪

Garfield was soon taken back to the White House, where Bliss took charge, shouting orders and isolating Garfield from all but a few family members and friends. He was determined to keep the president's care entirely under his control.

Imagine it's the morning of July 3rd, 1881, in Washington, D.C. You're an Army doctor and President Garfield's personal physician. Yesterday, you were in Pennsylvania visiting a friend. But when you heard the news that the president had been shot, you took the first express train to Washington. Now you've just arrived at the White House. You're exhausted from your trip, but you won't rest until you see your patient and assess his condition.

An usher leads you into a room adjacent to Garfield's, where you find a man lying on a sofa. He's dictating a letter to an assistant. And thank you most cordially for your kind attention and skillful advice, for which the President and family are deeply grateful. Most sincerely, Dr. W.B. Bliss. All right, that'll be all. The assistant leaves with his dictation, and you address the doctor, pointing to the door on the other side of the room. You're Dr. Bliss? I came as soon as I heard the news. Is the President in the next room?

The doctor smiles pleasantly and gestures to the foot of the sofa. "'Yes, good morning. I am Dr. D. W. Bliss. Please take a seat.' "'I'd rather not. I'm President Garfield's physician. I must see to him.' "'Well, it wouldn't be proper to take you to see the president at this time.' "'No, I won't be turned away. He's my patient. I need to see him.' "'Your patient? What do you mean?' You look at the doctor in confusion. "'Yes, my patient. I have been his physician for five years.'

Bliss's smile fades. Still stretched out on the sofa, he looks up at you coldly. Well, you might have been his physician for ten years, for all I know, but you are not his physician this morning. You can't just come in here and steal this case from me. I'm not trying to steal anything. I'm here to care for the president. Bliss springs to his feet, knocking over a glass of water on the coffee table. No, no, you're not here to do anything. Get out! Hearing the commotion, the assistant rushes into the room. Please, escort this man out.

You clench your teeth, seething with anger. You would keep arguing, but you don't want to make a scene in the room next to where the president lies critically wounded. So with a nod to the assistant, you walk out the door.

You rushed to Washington to save the president's life. And if you had other physicians there to assist you, all the better. So you're stunned that this doctor has turned you away, even accusing you of stealing his case. This Dr. Bliss seems more intent on growing his reputation than saving the president's life. The day after Garfield was shot, his personal physician, Dr. Jedediah Hyde Baxter, arrived at the White House only to have Dr. Bliss block him from seeing the president.

With the force of his personality, Bliss ousted his competitors. And later that day, he sent letters to the other doctors who were there at the train station treating Garfield with him, insisting that at the president's request, no additional consultations were necessary. They took him at his word. One later remembered, "'Bliss happened to be the first man called after the shooting, and he stuck to it, shoving everybody else aside. Neither the president nor Mrs. Garfield ever asked him to take charge.'"

Though Garfield's wife Lucretia soon brought in her own physicians, Bliss had the final word on Garfield's treatments. He also made himself the face of the president's medical team, providing reporters with regular updates about Garfield's condition. And the press could not get enough. News of Garfield's shooting sparked public anger and widespread cries for swift justice. Meanwhile, Gouteau remained in jail, thrilled to be the subject of so much attention.

He told anyone who would listen that his friend Chester Arthur would soon free him. Over the next two weeks, Dr. Bliss administered wine, rum, and daily injections of morphine to the bedridden president. Garfield was in excruciating pain, and he vomited constantly. He had long had a delicate stomach and normally ate a controlled diet, but Bliss served him rich foods which made the vomiting worse.

Bliss also feared that Garfield might come down with malaria two months after Lucretia's near-fatal case. So he administered regular doses of quinine, which worsened Garfield's stomach cramps.

Despite the pain, though, Garfield remained upbeat, telling jokes to put his attendance and family at ease. As he lay in his sickbed, Garfield was unable to perform most presidential duties. And the Constitution gave no guidance for a presidential disability. But thankfully, Garfield's injury did not cause major challenges, because the federal government had essentially shut down for the summer, as was its custom in the 19th century.

But one thing that was frustrating Garfield, and his doctors, was the location of the bullet in his body. Dr. Bliss continued to probe Garfield's wound, fruitlessly searching for the bullet. In mid-July, he met with Alexander Graham Bell, the famous inventor of the telephone. Bell had an idea for a new tool that would detect the metal in Garfield's body without physically probing it. He called it an induction balance. And Bell spent the rest of the month furiously working on his new contraption.

But time was running out. On July 22nd, President Garfield took a turn for the worst. The wound was grossly infected, and the president came down with a high fever. Bliss summoned two surgeons to the White House. They made an incision in Garfield's back to insert a tube, hoping to drain the infection. Two days later, they operated again, pulling out infected muscle, tissue, and bone.

Several times a day, they probed the president's body with unsterilized fingers and instruments, still desperately trying to find the bullet and extract it from his body.

All throughout this, Garfield's family was counting on Alexander Graham Bell to locate the bullet. And after weeks of careful tinkering, on August 1st, Bell arrived at the White House with his induction balance. It was a crude metal detector, which Bell had tested on Civil War veterans who were living with lead bullets inside their bodies. When Bell passed the device over the bullets, it responded with a clicking sound that could be heard through an earpiece.

Bliss only allowed Bell to use the device on Garfield's right side, where he believed the bullet was lodged. And when Bell moved the device over Garfield, he did hear a faint clicking sound, registering the presence of metal. Bliss was satisfied that he had been correct all along. But Garfield's condition continued to worsen. He had survived the bullet, but now infection ravaged his body. He suffered symptoms of severe septicemia.

And on August 8th, surgeons operated again to drain the infection. But they could not keep up with the multiple abscesses that were forming, caused by uncontrolled sepsis. By the end of August, Garfield had dropped from 210 pounds to 130. He could barely hold a pen. He was dehydrated, had no appetite, and was prone to violent vomiting. Meanwhile, Dr. Bliss continued to tell reporters that Garfield was recovering,

But by now, it was obvious to both the president and all those around him that he was a dying man. There was nothing Dr. Bliss or any other doctor could do to save him. Getting engaged can be stressful. Getting the right ring won't be at BlueNile.com. The jewelers at BlueNile.com have sparkled down to a science with beautiful lab-grown diamonds worthy of your most brilliant moments.

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As President Garfield grew sicker in the late summer of 1881, he was desperate to escape the Washington, D.C. humidity and be near the sea. He had loved the ocean since he was a young boy and wanted to see it one last time.

At first, the president's chief physician, Dr. D.W. Bliss, insisted that Garfield was too ill to travel. But on September 5th, Bliss relented, hoping the ocean air might aid the president's recovery. The next day, tear-stricken White House staff said their goodbyes. A specially outfitted train carried Garfield and his family to the Jersey Shore. And at every station, crowds appeared, bowing their heads as the dying president rolled past.

After reaching the seaside town of Elberon, New Jersey, Garfield was propped up in bed with a view of the ocean. He still suffered from chills, a fever, and a cough he couldn't shake, and at 10 p.m. on September 19th, Garfield cried out in pain. Friends and family rushed to stand vigil as he slowly slipped away. At 10.35 p.m., Garfield's heart stopped beating. Lucretia sat by her husband for an hour, staring at his lifeless body.

He was two months shy of his 50th birthday. During Garfield's final weeks, Vice President Chester Arthur was in New York City, hoping to dispel fears that he might prematurely seize control of the White House. And it was there in New York, soon after Garfield's death, that a messenger arrived at Arthur's home with the news. Just after 2 o'clock in the morning, a state judge administered the oath of office, and Arthur became the 21st President of the United States.

Later that day, physicians gathered to perform an autopsy on Garfield's body. The doctors were shocked by what they discovered. Gouteau's bullet lay behind Garfield's pancreas, on the left side of his body. Bliss and his colleagues had repeatedly probed Garfield's right side, based on Bliss's conviction that the bullet was there. But Bliss had been wrong. The bullet was not anywhere near Garfield's liver, as Bliss insisted.

The autopsy also found clear proof of severe septic poisoning. Garfield's body was riddled with large abscesses, and he had infection-induced pneumonia in both of his lungs. The ultimate cause of death appeared to be a rupture in Garfield's splenic artery near the pancreas. Garfield's final cry of pain had probably come when the artery burst.

After the autopsy, the president's body was taken back to Washington, D.C. More than 100,000 mourners came to view the president as he lay in state in the Capitol. Many grieving Americans blamed the spoil system for making Garfield the target of his delusional assassin. Had this system not existed, Guiteau might never have believed he was entitled to a position in Garfield's government, or that by killing the reform-minded president, he could ensure that the system would remain intact.

But as these cries to end political patronage grew louder, civil service reform found an unlikely champion. Imagine it's October 1881 in Washington, D.C. You're a former U.S. Senator, and you're walking into the Oval Office for a meeting with the recently sworn-in President Chester Arthur. You blame his predecessor Garfield for your recent political troubles, including your inability to regain your office in the Senate. But Arthur is an old ally,

And now that he's the president, you're eager for him to help you find a new position in government. Perhaps even one with more power. Good morning, Mr. President. You find Arthur sitting at his desk. He looks up from a stack of papers and gestures toward the sofa. Good morning. Please take a seat. Arthur gets up from his desk and drops down onto the sofa next to you. A weary look on his face. You sit down across from him. So how are you finding the job, friend? You've come a long way from the New York Customs House.

Arthur scratches his drooping mustache. Yes, it is a long way, and it's certainly a demanding role. I'll say. I'm not used to seeing you up and about before noon. You wink at him, but he ignores your joke with a nervous grimace. So, what can I do for you? Well, you know I've always considered you my protege, and I'm so happy to see you have risen so far and into a position that might be helpful. What do you mean?

"'Well, I think it would be helpful to strip William Robertson of the collectorship of the New York Customs House. That was my appointment to make, not Garfield's. Robertson never should have been given the job.' "'Oh, I see. And I heard that Blaine is planning to resign at the end of the year. That means you'll need a new secretary of state. I do think the job would suit me nicely.' "'Oh, you do?' "'Yes, of course.' Arthur narrows his gaze. "'Well, I don't know what you thought would happen when you came in here.'

But I'm not going to do your bidding. Not anymore. And I'm offended that you would even ask. You're taken aback, but smile at Arthur. Oh, someone's grown a backbone. But need I remind you, I'm the only reason you wound up in public office in the first place. That is perhaps true, but your demands are outrageous. I'm not going to let you use this tragedy to your political advantage. You feel your face turning red as you realize you've lost control of Arthur. Oh, I never figured you for a backstabber.

Well, enjoy the new role. You won't have any more help from me. You get up and storm out of the Oval Office. You never imagined anything could be more humiliating than losing your Senate seat. But with this betrayal by a man you once thought of as your most loyal ally, you worry that your whole career in politics might be over.

In the wake of President Garfield's death, former New York Senator Roscoe Conkling expected new President Chester Arthur to help him salvage his reputation. Arthur owed his career in government both to Conkling and the spoils system. But Conkling was shocked when Arthur spurned him and his cause. Garfield's assassination had changed the new president. Arthur was horrified by Garfield's murder and soon pledged his support for civil service reform.

He described his feelings to a reporter he trusted, admitting he knew the American people would never have chosen him to be president. But he wanted to show the nation that he was worthy of the job anyway, declaring, "...the only way is for me to be the president of the whole people and nobody's servant." So even as Chester Arthur was determined to live up to his new office, regular Americans were determined to make Garfield's assassin pay for his crimes.

The trial of Charles Guiteau began on November 14, 1881, in Washington, D.C. Jury selection proved challenging. Most potential jurors insisted they were convinced of Guiteau's guilt. It took three days and 175 interviews to assemble the dozen men needed to hear evidence and render a verdict.

Gatteau was represented by his brother-in-law, George Scoville, who brought in medical experts to testify that Gatteau was insane and could therefore not be held responsible for his crimes. But Gatteau openly disagreed with his brother-in-law, insisting he was only insane at the exact moment of the shooting, not before or after. He wanted to be thought of as perfectly sane, predicting that he would embark on a lucrative lecture tour after his acquittal.

Gatteau also repeatedly interrupted the proceedings to criticize his own lawyer's legal skills. He recited long, epic poems from the witness stand and solicited spectators for money and legal advice. Prosecutors countered the insanity defense by having experts testify that Gatteau understood the unlawfulness of his actions. Their star witness was Dr. John Gray, the head of a mental asylum and the editor-in-chief of the American Journal of Insanity.

Gray had interviewed Gouteau, and he emphasized the detailed, rational planning that went into the crime, declaring that Gouteau was not insane, but rather profoundly depraved. The prosecution finally rested its case on January 26, 1882. After less than an hour of deliberation, the jury declared the defendant guilty. The courtroom burst into applause. Gouteau was sentenced to death.

But Gouteau still believed he would be set free. Over the next few months, he wrote repeatedly to President Arthur, demanding a pardon, but his appeals failed. On June 30, 1882, spectators gathered in Washington to watch Gouteau ascend the gallows. Gouteau was hanged nearly one year after he put a bullet in the president's back.

But Garfield's autopsy had convinced many that the president's death was ultimately caused by his doctors, not a bullet. Those who believed in and followed antiseptic practices blamed Dr. Bliss and his staff for repeatedly probing the wound with their unwashed hands and instruments. But Bliss never backed down from his insistence that he had provided exemplary care. He even presented Congress with a $25,000 bill. But his reputation and career suffered.

Today, most medical experts believe Garfield would have survived, if not for his inadequate medical care. Sixteen years after war divided the nation, grief over Garfield's assassination united a diverse set of Americans, rich and poor, black and white, northern and southern. All shared in their admiration of a man who rose from extreme poverty to the highest office in the land.

Garfield would largely be forgotten by future generations. But his death changed America by sparking widespread outcry for civil service reform. In January 1883, President Chester Arthur signed the Pendleton Civil Service Act into law, mandating that most federal government positions be appointed based on merit, not patronage. It was one of the most important political reforms of the 19th century.

Though Arthur served only one term, he was widely respected when he left office in 1885, largely because he helped the federal government put an end to the spoils system. But despite the death of a second president by an assassin's bullet, no steps were taken to safeguard future presidents. And two decades later, the failure to take action on presidential protection would once again have tragic consequences.

On the next episode, an anarchist guns down President William McKinley, setting the stage for the presidency of Theodore Roosevelt and America's aggressive expansion abroad. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Molly Bach. Sound design by Derek Behrens. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozansky. Our managing producers are Tanja Thigpen and Matt Gant. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery.

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