23 Letters to the 21st President

By Silence Dogood

One of the precipitating factors for this column, aside from obviously coinciding with the semiquincentennial of the nation, was the release of the Netflix series “Death by Lightning.”

The series examines the tragic assassination of President James A. Garfield by Charles Guiteau. One of the side stories of the series is Chester A. Arthur’s rise from a low-level lackey of New York Senator Roscoe Conkling to Vice President under Garfield.

With Garfield’s death, Chester Arthur was sworn in as the 21st president of the United States.

As the series suggests, when Arthur was thrust into power, he had something of a “come to Jesus” moment. He turned away from the corruption of his past and continued Garfield’s mission to reform the government.

Why? What changed Chester Arthur?

One has to imagine that having the weight of an entire nation thrust upon you is no small thing. It is very likely that the sheer magnitude of the situation Arthur found himself in was enough to change a man’s ways.

But was there, perhaps, another reason?

Chester A. Arthur was born in Fairfield, Vermont. His family eventually relocated to central New York, and after graduating from law school, Arthur moved to New York City to pursue his new career.

As his legal career began, Arthur was involved in several civil rights cases. In one such case, in 1854, he represented Elizabeth Jennings Graham, a Black woman who had been forcibly removed from a New York City streetcar because of her race. Arthur won the case, and the verdict had far-reaching effects, helping lead to the desegregation of the city’s streetcar system.

During the Civil War, Arthur was commissioned as a brigadier general in the New York State militia and assigned to the quartermaster department. He was so effective in supplying the troops that he was eventually promoted to quartermaster general of the militia. During this time, he developed close relationships with powerful figures in the New York Republican political machine.

After the war, in 1870, at the behest of Conkling, President Grant appointed Arthur Collector of the Port of New York. In this powerful role, Arthur earned a large salary and controlled the distribution of hundreds of jobs. At the time, a significant portion of federal revenue passed through the port in the form of tariffs (there was no income tax at this time), giving the position immense influence. Though already lucrative, Arthur and his associates engaged in widespread patronage and corruption, enriching themselves in the process.

When President Hayes succeeded Grant, he was appalled by the corruption at the Custom House and, despite fierce opposition from Conkling and his allies, removed Arthur from the position.

Shortly after his removal, Arthur found himself once again at Conkling’s side at the 1880 Republican Convention. Conkling and his faction backed Ulysses Grant for what would have been an unprecedented third term. Their machine had thrived under Grant, why not continue it?

But Grant failed to secure the nomination. Finally, after dozens of deadlocked ballots, a dark horse emerged: Congressman James Garfield of Ohio.

Garfield stood in opposition to everything Conkling represented. Party leaders feared New York Republicans might not support Garfield in the general election. To maintain unity, they placed one of Conkling’s men on the ticket as vice president. That man was Chester Arthur.

In the summer of 1881, Charles Guiteau, a deranged office seeker, shot President Garfield.

Arthur was devastated. Many doubted he was qualified for the presidency—Arthur himself chief among them. The vice presidency carried little responsibility. The presidency carried the weight of a nation.

How was he going to handle this new role?

In August 1881, as Garfield lay dying, Arthur received a letter from a woman named Julia Sand.

She wrote: “The hours of Garfield’s life are numbered… The people are bowed in grief; but—do you realize it?—not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor… But making a man President can change him! … Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life… Reform! … Rise to the emergency. Disappoint our fears. Force the nation to have faith in you.”

Julia Sand lived in New York and came from a wealthy family. Though often confined indoors due to illness (she referred to herself as an invalid) she was deeply engaged with politics and remarkably well informed.

Her second letter arrived shortly after Garfield’s death. Now writing to a sitting president, Sand described Arthur as the “chief mourner,” not because of personal loss, but because of the burden now placed upon him. Despite his past, she expressed faith that he could change.

The letters continued.

They were thoughtful, informed, and unusually direct. In one, she urged him to “smash the machine” and break from Conkling’s influence.

Arthur soon had the opportunity to act. As president, he needed to appoint a new Collector of the New York Custom House. Given his past, many expected him to reward a Conkling loyalist. He did not.

Arthur reportedly said, “For the vice presidency I was indebted to Mr. Conkling. But for the presidency of the United States, my debt is to the Almighty.”

After years as Conkling’s ally, Arthur broke with him.

Did Julia Sand’s letters play a role? Whether they did or not, they kept coming.

Over the course of about a year, Sand continued writing. She often hinted that she hoped to meet him. As far as we know, Arthur never responded to her letters.

Then, on August 20, 1882, Julia Sand heard an unfamiliar voice in her home. Her family was entertaining a visitor. When she entered the room, she found President Chester Arthur.

He had come to see her.

Initially stunned, she soon relaxed and spoke openly with him. They discussed her letters and politics at length. At one point, she asked whether he could forgive the bluntness of some of her letters. “No,” he replied.

After about an hour, he departed.

Soon, civil service reform became the central issue of the day. Sand’s letters reflected this shift. Reform efforts had begun under President Hayes—ironically with Arthur’s removal from the Custom House—but now gained real momentum.

With Arthur’s backing, the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act, which had long sat dormant in Congress, gained traction. The law established merit-based hiring for federal jobs and created a civil service commission to enforce it.

Arthur appointed genuine reformers to that commission. In the end, the man who had risen through the spoils system may have done more than anyone to dismantle it.

By the election of 1884, Arthur had alienated his former allies while never fully gaining the trust of reformers. Despite earning widespread respect for the handling of his difficult situation, he failed to secure the Republican nomination.

In 1886, Arthur died, living only one year and eight months past his presidency. Alexander McClure, a famed journalist at the time, encapsulated Arthur well when he said, “No man ever entered the Presidency so profoundly and widely distrusted as Chester Alan Arthur, and no one ever retired … more generally respected, alike by political friend and foe.”

Just days before his death, Arthur ordered most of his papers burned. Only a few items were spared. Among them was an envelope marked “J.I.S.” Inside were the 23 letters from Julia I. Sand.

Why?

Was it sentiment? Nostalgia for his time in office? Or did these letters truly matter to him?

Years later, Arthur’s grandson came across the Sand letters and, intrigued, tracked down Sand’s nephew, who had actually been present the day Arthur visited her. In 1956, the letters were donated to the Library of Congress.

Perhaps they meant nothing.

Perhaps Arthur would have changed on his own.

Or perhaps this ordinary woman, who cared so deeply about this American experiment, truly had a profound impact on the 21st president of the United States. Perhaps we owe Julia Sand, a woman whose name few know today, an immense debt of gratitude.