We came across a new, must-see piece of television this weekend at the Lewter house.
Early this month, “Death by Lightning” debuted on Netflix. It is a four-part series that tells the story of two often forgotten men in American history— the 20th president and the man who shot him.
It is an enthralling romp through American politics in the early 1880s.
Micheal Shannon plays President James Garfield and Matthew Macfadyn portrays his assassin Charles Guiteau.
They are supported by the likes of Bradley Whitford and Shea Whigham but, in my opinion, the star performance is by Nick Offerman in the role of Chester A. Arthur— the man who became the 21st president of the United States.
We watched the entire series in two sittings, and it was a refresher to a high school history lesson I had long forgotten.
And Offerman has left me preoccupied by President Arthur’s amazing story.
When he arrived at the White House, named vice president by means of a great political compromise, Chester A. Arthur was widely dismissed as a corrupt punchline.
Four years later, he left as the president who dismantled the very political machine that had carried him there.
When Arthur took office in 1881, few people believed he was fit for the role. He had spent his entire career climbing the ranks of New York’s patronage network, thriving on favors, insider deals and party loyalty.
His reputation as “The Gentleman Boss” summed up everything the public distrusted about him.
Even fellow Republicans assumed his presidency would be little more than a continuation of machine politics.
They thought he’d continue rewarding allies with government jobs and protecting the spoils system that enriched him.
They couldn’t have been more mistaken.
Once Arthur assumed power, something shifted.
“Death by Lightning” tells the tale of a man who found nobility in the wake of losing his president. It also implies that Mrs. Garfield had much to do with said inspiration.
However it played out, and for whatever reason, Arthur’s presidency did not take the corrupt direction many feared. The responsibility of the office humbled him.
The turning point was born of tragedy.
On July 2, 1881, President James Garfield—Arthur’s partner on the ticket—was shot by Charles Guiteau, a mentally unstable man convinced he deserved a political appointment and furious he hadn’t received one.
Almost instantly, the nation turned its rage toward Arthur. Crowds camped outside his home, shouting accusations of murder and claiming that the corrupt system Arthur had supported had produced Guiteau’s delusions.
Arthur spent months under guard, tormented by guilt and public hostility.
When Garfield finally succumbed to his wounds after 80 agonizing days, Arthur stepped into the presidency a shaken man, weighed down by grief and shame.
Most assumed he would retreat to the comfort of old habits— shielding his allies, preserving the system that had shaped him.
Instead, he rejected it.
In one of the most dramatic reversals in American political history, Chester A. Arthur, the consummate machine operator, became a champion of reform.
In 1883, he signed the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act, which struck at the heart of the patronage system. For the first time, federal jobs would be awarded based on merit and exams rather than political loyalty.
This is very much the same system still in place today.
The law dismantled everything his political circle had once relied on and everything that had helped Arthur rise.
His former allies felt betrayed. Many abandoned him. His party turned its back on him.
Today, we call it courage. But Arthur faced a private torment as well.
Soon after taking office, he learned he had Bright’s disease, a fatal kidney ailment. He kept the diagnosis secret, carrying out his duties while battling constant pain and the knowledge that he was dying.
He knew he would not run for another term. He doubted he would even finish the one he had. Still, he persisted.
In a personal letter, he once wrote, “Life is not worth living if one must lose self-respect.” That single line explains the transformation he underwent.
After years of benefiting from corruption, Arthur could not escape the truth. Garfield had been killed by a man shaped by the very system Arthur had helped nurture. Faced with that realization, Arthur made a choice.
He chose to repair the system, even at the cost of his own standing. Even as his friends deserted him. Even as his health failed and he had nothing personally to gain.
By the end of his presidency in 1885, the same papers that had mocked his rise acknowledged that he had brought honor back to the office. He declined to run again, understanding his body could not endure another term.
A year after leaving Washington, on Nov. 18, 1886, President Arthur died at 57. Redeemed. The man who entered the White House as the face of corruption left having dismantled its machinery.
Arthur’s story is more than a political tale. Most politicians spend their careers guarding power, defending their party, and protecting their interests. Arthur did the opposite.
He entered office prepared to serve his party. He left having served his conscience.
We could use a few like Chester A. Arthur today.
Such transformation is rare— not the corruption of power, but the decision, while holding power, to become principled.
In a time when leaders so often defend the systems that lift them, Arthur’s life reminds us that real change is possible even when the price is steep.
He was dying. He was despised. He had every incentive to preserve his own standing. Instead, he chose to do what was right.
Chester A. Arthur entered the presidency a joke. He left it with a conscience.
And sometimes, that kind of redemption is the legacy that matters most.
He chose integrity over comfort. We could all take a lesson from the 21st president.
Source: Freepik.com