It may seem strange, but there is very strong evidence that the White House killed a number of presidents in the mid-nineteenth century. The deaths of Zachary Taylor, William Henry Harrison, and James K. Polk are all linked to something in the White House – although many believed that some presidents were poisoned by their enemies. William Bodkin explains all…

A poster of Zachary Taylor, circa 1847. He is one the presidents the White House may have helped to killed...

A poster of Zachary Taylor, circa 1847. He is one the presidents the White House may have helped to killed...

President of the United States is often considered the most stressful job in the world.  We watch fascinated as Presidents prematurely age before our eyes, greying under the challenges of the office.  Presidential campaigns have become a microcosm of the actual job, with the conventional wisdom being that any candidate who wilts under the pressures of a campaign could never withstand the rigors of the presidency.  But there was a time, not so long ago, when it was not just the stress of the job that was figuratively killing the Presidents.  In fact, living in the White House was, in all likelihood, literally killing them.

Between 1840 and 1850, living in the White House proved fatal for three of the four Presidents who served.  William Henry Harrison, elected in 1840, died after his first month in office.  James K. Polk, elected in 1844, died three months after he left the White House.  Zachary Taylor, elected in 1848, died about a year into his term, in 1850.  The only occupant of the Oval Office during that period to survive was John Tyler, who succeeded to the Presidency on Harrison’s death.  What killed these Presidents?  Historical legend tells us that William Henry Harrison “got too cold and died” and that Zachary Taylor “got too hot and died.”  But the truth, thanks to recent research, indicates that Harrison, Taylor, and Polk may have died from similar strains of bacteria that were coursing through the White House water supply.

Conspiracies and Legends

On July 9, 1850, President Zachary Taylor, Old Rough and Ready, former general and hero of the Mexican-American War, succumbed to what doctors called at the time “cholera morbus,” or, in today’s terms, gastroenteritis.  On July 4, 1850, President Taylor sat out on the National Mall for Independence Day festivities, including the laying of the cornerstone for the Washington Monument.  Taylor, legend has it, indulged freely in refreshments that day, including a bowl of fresh cherries and iced milk.  Taylor fell ill shortly after returning to the White House, suffering severe abdominal cramps.  The presidential doctors treated Taylor with no success.  Five days later, he was dead.

Taylor’s death shocked the nation.  Rumors began circulating immediately concerning his possible assassination.  The rumors arose for a good reason.  Taylor, a Southerner, opposed the growth of slavery in the United States despite being a slave owner himself.  While President, Taylor had worked to prevent the expansion of slavery into the newly acquired California and Utah territories, then under the control of the federal government.  Taylor prodded those future states, which he knew would draft state constitutions banning slavery, to finish those constitutions so that they could be admitted to the Union as free states.

Taylor’s position infuriated his southern supporters, including Jefferson Davis, who had been married to Taylor’s late daughter, Knox.  Davis, who would go on to be the first and only President of the Confederate States of America, had campaigned vigorously throughout the South for Taylor, assuring Southerners that Taylor would be friendly to their interests.  But in truth, no one really knew Taylor’s views.  A career military man, Taylor hewed to the time honored tradition of taking no public positions on political issues.  Taylor believed it was improper for him to take political positions because he had sworn to serve the Commander-in-Chief, without regard to person or party.  Indeed, he had never even voted in a Presidential election before running himself.

Tensions between Taylor and the South grew when Henry Clay proposed his Great Compromise of 1850, which offered something for every interest.  The slave trade would be abolished in the District of Columbia, but the Fugitive Slave Law would be strengthened.  The bill also carved out new territories in New Mexico and Utah.  The Compromise would allow the people of the territories to decide whether those territories would be slave or free by popular vote, circumventing Taylor’s effort to have slavery banned in their state constitutions.  But Taylor blocked passage of the compromise, even threatening in one exchange to hang the Secessionists if they chose to carry out their threats.

More speculation

Speculation on the true cause of Taylor’s death only increased throughout the years, particularly after his former son-in-law, Davis, who had been at Taylor’s bedside when he died, became President of the Confederacy.  The wondering reached a fever pitch in the late twentieth century, when a University of Florida professor, Clara Rising, persuaded Taylor’s closest living relative to agree to an exhumation of his body for a new forensic examination.  Rising, who was researching her book The Taylor File: The Mysterious Death of a President, had become convinced that Taylor was poisoned.  But the team of Kentucky medical examiners assembled to examine the corpse concluded that Taylor was not poisoned, but had died of natural causes, i.e. something akin to gastroenteritis, and that his illness was undoubtedly exacerbated by the conditions of the day.

But what caused Taylor’s fatal illness?  Was it the cherries and milk, or something more insidious?   While the culprit lurked in the White House when Zachary Taylor died, it was not at the President’s bedside, but rather, in the pipes.

During the first half of the nineteenth century, Washington D.C. had no sewer system.  It was not built until 1871.  The website of the DC Water and Sewage company notes that by 1850, most of the streets along Pennsylvania Avenue had spring or well water piped in, creating the need for a sanitary sewage process. Sewage was discharged into the nearest body of water.  With literally nowhere to go, the sewage seeped into the ground, forming a fetid marsh.  Perhaps even more shocking, the White House water supply itself was just seven blocks downstream from a depository for “night soil,” a euphemism for human feces collected from cesspools and outhouses.  This depository, which likely contaminated the White House’s water supply, would have been a breeding ground for salmonella bacteria and the gastroenteritis that typically accompanies it.  Ironically, the night soil deposited a few blocks from the White House had been brought there by the federal government.

Something in the water

It should come as no surprise, then, that Zachary Taylor succumbed to what was essentially an acute form of gastroenteritis.  The cause of Taylor’s gastroenteritis was probably salmonella bacteria, not cherries and iced milk.  James K. Polk, too, reported frequently in his diary that he suffered from explosive diarrhea while in the White House.  For example, Polk’s diary entry for Thursday, June 29, 1848 noted that “before sun-rise” that morning he was taken with a “violent diarrhea” accompanied by “severe pain,” which rendered him unable to move.  Polk, a noted workaholic, spent nearly his entire administration tethered to the White House.  After leaving office, weakened by years of gastric poisoning, Polk succumbed, reportedly like Taylor, to “cholera morbis”, a mere three months after leaving the Oval Office.

The White House is also a leading suspect in the death of William Henry Harrison. History has generally accepted that Harrison died of pneumonia after giving what remains the longest inaugural address on record, in a freezing rain without benefit of hat or coat.  However, Harrison’s gastrointestinal tract may have been a veritable playground for the bacteria in the White House water.

Harrison suffered from indigestion most of his life.  The standard treatment then was to use carbonated alkali, a base, to neutralize the gastric acid.  Unfortunately, in neutralizing the gastric acid, Harrison removed his natural defense to harmful bacteria.  As a result, it might have taken far less than the usual concentration of salmonella to cause gastroenteritis.  In addition, Harrison was treated during his final illness with opium, standard at the time, which slowed the ability of his body to get rid of bacteria, allowing them more time to get into his bloodstream.  It has been noted, that, as Harrison lay dying, he had a sinking pulse and cold, blue extremities, which is consistent with septic shock.  Did Harrison die of pneumonia?  Possibly.  But the strong likelihood is that pneumonia was secondary to gastroenteritis.

Neither was this phenomena limited to the mid-nineteenth century Presidents.  In 1803, Thomas Jefferson mentioned in a letter to his good friend, fellow founder Dr. Benjamin Rush that “after all my life having enjoyed the benefit of well formed organs of digestion and deportation,” he was taken, “two years ago,” after moving into the White House, “with the diarrhea, after having dined moderately on fish.  Jefferson noted he had never had it before.  The problem plagued him for the rest of his life.  Early reports of Jefferson’s even death stated that he had died because of dehydration from diarrhea.

Presidents after Zachary Taylor fared better, once D.C. built its sewer system.  The second accidental President, Millard Fillmore, lived another twenty years after succeeding Zachary Taylor.  But what about the myths surrounding these early Presidential deaths?  They were created, in part, by a lack of medical and scientific understanding of what really killed these men.  With the benefit of modern science we can turn a critical eye on these myths. But we should not forget that myth-making can serve an important purpose past simple deception.  In the case of Zachary Taylor, it provided a simple explanation for his unexpected death.  Suspicion or accusations of foul play would have further inflamed the sides of the slavery question that in another decade erupted into Civil War, perhaps even starting that war before Lincoln’s Presidency.  In Harrison’s case, that overcoat explanation helped the country get over the shock of the first President dying in office and permitted John Tyler to establish the precedent that the Vice-President became President upon the death of a President.  In sum, these nineteenth century myths helped the still new Republic march on to its ever brighter future.

What did you think of today’s article? Do you think it was the water that killed several Presidents? Let us know below…

Finally, William's previous pieces have been on George Washington (link here), John Adams (link here), Thomas Jefferson (link here), James Madison (link here), James Monroe (link here), John Quincy Adams (link here), Andrew Jackson (link here), Martin Van Buren (link here), William Henry Harrison (link here), John Tyler (link here), and James K. Polk (link here).


  • Catherine Clinton, “Zachary Taylor,” essay in “To The Best of My Ability:” The American Presidents, James M. McPherson, ed. (Dorling Kindersley, 2000)
  • Letter, Thomas Jefferson to Benjamin Rush, February 28, 1803
  • Milo Milton Quaife, ed., “Diary of James K. Polk During His Presidency, 1845-1849” (A.C. McClurg & Co., 1910)
  • Jane McHugh and Philip A. Mackowiak, “What Really Killed William Henry Harrison?” New York Times, March 31, 2014
  • Clara Rising, “The Taylor File: The Mysterious Death of a President” (Xlibris 2007)

John Tyler assumed office after William Henry Harrison died. But how would the American Republic react? Would there be anarchy? Or would the system remain strong? William Bodkin explains the story of how John Tyler took office in 1841…

A portrait of John Tyler.

A portrait of John Tyler.

The president was dead.

For the first time in American history, but sadly not the last, a president had died in office.  One short month after his inauguration, on April 4, 1841, William Henry Harrison was no more.  Not a soul in the United States of America was quite sure what it meant.

The Constitution, on its face, seemed clear.  Article 2, Section 1 stated that in the event of the president’s “death, resignation or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the said office, the same shall devolve on the Vice-President.”  But what did that mean?  The “same shall devolve”?  Was it merely the powers of the presidency?  Was the vice-president merely “acting” as the president for the remainder of the dead president’s term?  Or was it something else?   Did the vice-president inherit the office, as generations of princes, and too few princesses, had when kings breathed their last?

The future of the Presidency was in the hands of one man, vice-president John Tyler.  But his decision would have to wait.  Tyler was not in the nation’s capital, but home in Williamsburg, Virginia.  Tyler had left Washington, D.C. soon after his inauguration.  In those days, the vice-president’s sole responsibility was to preside over the Senate.  That august chamber was in recess until June.  Tyler had known about Harrison’s illness, but elected to stay in Williamsburg lest he be seen as a vulture perched over Harrison’s bedside, waiting for his demise.

Two messengers were sent on horseback from Washington, D.C. to Williamsburg to inform the vice-president.  One was Fletcher Webster, son of Harrison’s Secretary of State, Daniel Webster. The other was Robert Beale, doorkeeper of the U.S. Senate.  The men galloped through night and day to summon the future of the Republic.  It was dark when the men arrived on the morning of April 5, 1841.  The young Webster pounded on the door, but received no response.  The Tyler family was asleep.  Beale, used to rousting intoxicated Senators, gave a try, pounding more vigorously then his friend.  Finally, John Tyler opened the door.  Recognizing the men, he invited them in.  Webster handed over the letter the cabinet had prepared:

“Washington, April 4, 1841


It becomes our painful duty to inform you that William Henry Harrison, late President of the United States, has departed this life.  This distressing event took place this day, at the President’s mansion in this city, at thirty minutes before one in the morning.

We lose no time in dispatching the chief clerk of the State Department as a special messenger to bear you these melancholy tidings.

                  We have the honor to be with highest regard,


Your obedient servants.”



Tyler accepted the news solemnly.  Letter in hand, he woke his family to tell them.  He dressed, had breakfast, and by 7AM departed with his son, John Jr., who often acted as his personal secretary.  The two took every means of transportation available in 1841: horse, steamboat, and train.  Tyler and his son arrived in Washington, D.C. just before dawn on April 6.

Oddly enough, John Tyler was quite possibly one of the more qualified men to assume the presidency.   No previous vice-president had his resume of political accomplishment: state legislator, governor of Virginia, United States Congressman, U.S. Senator, and vice-president.  Tyler’s father had been also been Governor of Virginia, and had been friends with Thomas Jefferson.  One of the pivotal moments of young John Tyler’s life was when the great Jefferson visited Tyler’s father in the Governor’s mansion for dinner.  Tyler saw himself as not just the successor of William Henry Harrison, but the heir of the legendary Virginia dynasty: Washington, Jefferson, Madison and Monroe.  There was, however, one small problem.  Tyler, true to his origins in the Virginia aristocracy, wasn’t quite a Whig, like Harrison.  But he wasn’t quite a Democrat either, as he had been a fierce opponent of Andrew Jackson.  He was, quite simply, a Virginian.

The former presidents were not about to let Tyler, or the nation, forget it.  Andrew Jackson derided Tyler as the “imbecile in the Executive Chair.”  John Quincy Adams, finding in rare agreement with his old nemesis, blasted the new president as “a political sectarian of the slave driving, Virginian, Jeffersonian school, with all the interests and passions and vices of slavery rooted in his moral and political constitution.”  Adams lamented that Harrison’s death had brought “a man never thought for it by anybody” to the presidency.  Many feared that Tyler would simply be steamrolled by Congress, led by perpetual presidential striver Henry Clay of Kentucky, then a U.S. Senator.  They believed that Tyler lacked the strength of character to deal with the nation’s roiled factions.

They were wrong.  When Tyler arrived in Washington, he seized command.  Tyler tolerated no debate over whether he was the acting president.  He was president in word and deed.  Tyler immediately convened Harrison’s cabinet, declaring that he was not the vice-president acting as president.  He was the President of the United States, possessing the office and all its attendant powers.  Secretary of State Webster, himself one of the other great presidential strivers of pre-Civil War America, told Tyler that President Harrison and the cabinet had cast equal votes in reaching decisions and that the majority had ruled.  Webster did not, of course, explain what decisions had been made by Harrison in the month of his presidency that he had spent on his deathbed.  Tyler firmly rejected the “democratic” cabinet.  He advised the Cabinet that he was very glad to have them. They were a true assemblage of able statesman.  But he would never consent to being dictated to.  He was the President of the United States, and he would be responsible for his administration.  Tyler told the Cabinet he wished them to stay in their posts, but if they would not accept what he said, he would gladly accept their resignations.  No one resigned.


More powerful than any person

Webster suggested that Tyler take the Oath of Office as President to quell any uncertainties.  Tyler asserted that it was unnecessary. He believed that the oath he had sworn as Vice-President was sufficient.  However, he saw the wisdom in putting the nation’s doubts to rest.  William Branch, Chief Justice of the United States Circuit Court of the District of Columbia, was summoned.  Tyler took care to advise Judge Branch that he was qualified to assume the presidency with no further oath, but asked that the judge administer it to him again, “as doubts may arise and for the greater caution.”  The Presidential Oath was administered. 

One of the more enduring attributes of the American Republic is the idea that no one is indispensible to its functioning.  Presidents, Generals, Senators, and Governors come and go. The Republic marches on.  George Washington set the tone by leaving the presidency after two terms in office.  And thanks to John Tyler, the nation knew that if a president should leave office before his term expired, the Republic’s leadership could change hands between elections, even arguably moving from one political party to another, without unrest in the streets, or shots being fired.  It would happen simply by operation of the Constitution and the laws of the land.


Did you enjoy this article? If so, tell the world! Tweet about it, like it, or share it by clicking on one of the buttons below!


William's previous pieces have been on George Washington (link here), John Adams (link here), Thomas Jefferson (link here), James Madison (link here), James Monroe (link here), John Quincy Adams (link here), Andrew Jackson (link here), Martin Van Buren (link here), and William Henry Harrison (link here).


Gary May.  John Tyler: The American Presidents Series: the 10th President: 1841-1845 (Times Books, 2008).

Witcover, Jules.  Party of the People: A History of the Democrats (Random House 2003).

Schlesinger, Arthur M., ed. Running for President, the Candidates and Their Images: 1789-1896.

Miller Center of the University of Virginia: U.S. Presidents series: John Tyler (

AuthorGeorge Levrier-Jones

William Henry Harrison has the shortest presidency on record.  The oldest elected president at the time, he died after one month in office.  But was he an unlikely president or destined for the greatest office? Here, William Bodkin explains the story of this fascinating president…

A William Henry Harrison campaign poster.

A William Henry Harrison campaign poster.

Part Andrew Jackson and part Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison was a successful general who had lusted after higher office for decades, only to have death take him from his greatest achievement.  For the United States, it may have been fortunate.  Harrison’s pre-presidential career showed that while he may have had Jackson’s military talent, he lacked Van Buren’s political talent. Harrison fell upward into the presidency, almost by accident.

Harrison was the first “Dark Horse” candidate for president.  His 1836 candidacy seemed to come from nowhere.  In fact, the opposite is true.  Harrison’s father, Benjamin, signed the Declaration of Independence and served three terms as Governor of Virginia.  The Harrisons were close to the Washingtons.  For his career in the army, Harrison used his Washington connection to secure an officer’s commission.  Harrison was sent to Fort Washington in the Northwest Territory and showed real ability as a fighter against Native Americans.  He was given command of the Fort and steadily promoted by a succession of presidents: Adams, Jefferson and Madison.  As his administrative duties increased, Harrison continued leading men into battle, mostly against the Indian leader Tecumseh.  Tecumseh sought to rally the Middle West’s native tribes into a force that would resist Americans.  One such battle, in November 1811 at the confluence of the Tippecanoe and Wabash rivers in Indiana, was against Tecumseh’s brother.  When Harrison’s forces won, Harrison proclaimed “The Battle of Tippecanoe” a great victory.  It was, at first, little noted. But by December 1811, newspapers were reporting the story along with accusations by Andrew Jackson that the British were stirring up the tribes to rebel against the America.  As the controversy raged, Tippecanoe became the powder keg that eventually ignited the War of 1812.


Harrison and the War of 1812

The War of 1812 gave Harrison his greatest pre-presidential fame. Harrison led the army that recaptured Detroit and then hotly pursued the Native Americans, led by Tecumseh, and the British into Canada.  In the Battle of Thames River, Harrison’s forces, aided by a corps of Kentucky marksman, bested the tribes and killed Tecumseh.  Harrison then retired from the army and went on a victory tour to New York City, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C., soaking in the adulation of the crowds as the great general who killed Tecumseh. 

Upon his return to Ohio, Harrison became a professional office-seeker.  He ran and won election to Congress, serving from 1817-1819.  As Congressman, he spent much of his time seeking more prestigious posts, trying and failing to become James Monroe’s Secretary of War and Ambassador to Russia.  After this term in Congress ended, he was elected to Ohio’s State Senate.  Harrison then tried and failed to become Governor of Ohio, and twice to become a Senator.  Finally, in 1824, he won election to the U.S. Senate from Ohio.  On his return to D.C., Harrison began lobbying immediately for a better position.  With the help of Henry Clay, Harrison was named John Quincy Adams’ Ambassador to Colombia, despite Adams’ discomfort with what he described as Harrison’s “rabid thirst for lucrative office.” But ambassador was no role for Harrison.  He embroiled himself in controversy by choosing sides in Colombia’s internal politics against the ruling government.  When Andrew Jackson won the presidency, Harrison was recalled.  He went back to Ohio, where he took a job as recorder of deeds in his home county just to make ends meet.

While Harrison was in Colombia, another man took on the role of the great slayer of Tecumseh.  Richard Mentor Johnson was a Congressman from Kentucky and a former member of the team of Kentucky marksman who had fought alongside Harrison’s men.  Johnson won election to Congress and became famous throughout the West by claiming that he had fired the bullet that killed Tecumseh.  Johnson’s supporters decided that if Andrew Jackson could catapult himself to the presidency on the strength of War of 1812 success, perhaps Johnson could too. 


The surprise president?

By 1834, a movement coalesced around Johnson, with engravings, pamphlets, songs, and a five-act play based on the Battle of the Thames.  Reenactments of the battle were staged around the country, with Johnson’s legend growing from expert marksman to mastermind of victory, usurping the role of one William Henry Harrison.  Harrison was invited to one of these celebrations and was so offended by the antics that he issued a firm public rebuke of Johnson.  The statement reminded many of the old General.  Many of his fellow Ohioans decided to push Harrison for the presidency in 1836.  One newspaper editor declared that the fact that Harrison’s name ended in “-on” was of great importance.  The nation had had Washington, Jefferson, Madison, and Jackson, why not Harrison?  It was just the right name.  No one was perhaps more surprised than Harrison himself, who had planned to retire.  But the Harrison boom was off and running.  Engravings of the battle of Tippecanoe were struck, reenactments were staged, and a big commemorative celebration was held on the battle site.  Harrison, hero of Tippecanoe and the general who beat Tecumseh became a candidate for president.

Martin Van Buren, never one to miss a political movement and running for the presidency himself, made Richard Mentor Johnson his vice-president.  Ultimately, in 1836, the Anti-Jackson, or, in this case, the anti-Van Buren votes were split among too many regional Whig party candidates.  Van Buren eked out the presidency, only to face a tumultuous four years and William Henry Harrison again in 1840.

Ignoring Harrison’s aristocratic Virginia roots, the Whigs adopted as their symbol a log cabin.  Harrison had briefly lived in one in Ohio, but quickly remodeled it into a more stately home.  The image had started as a joke.  One newspaper printed that Harrison would drop out of the presidential contest for a modest pension and a barrel of hard cider, so he could spend his days at home in his log cabin.  The Whigs by this point had learned a thing or two from observing Van Buren, and leveraged Harrison’s war hero status and this remark to give Harrison a rough hewn image, making him the Whig’s answer to Andrew Jackson.  The “Log Cabin and Hard Cider” campaign worked, helped by a weariness of the Democratic Party.  Harrison swept to the presidency.  For his inauguration, perhaps believing his own hype, Harrison marched in his inaugural parade on a wet, freezing day with neither hat, nor coat, nor gloves.  He also delivered what stands to this day as the longest inaugural address in presidential history at 8,445 words.  

A month later, Harrison was dead.


Did you find this article interesting? If so, tell the world! Tweet about it, like it, or share it by clicking on one of the buttons below…


William's previous pieces have been on George Washington (link here), John Adams (link here), Thomas Jefferson (link here), James Madison (link here), James Monroe (link here), John Quincy Adams (link here), Andrew Jackson (link here), and Martin Van Buren (link here).


Feller, Daniel.  “1836” Running for President, the Candidates and their images.  Arthur M. Schlesinger, Editor.  Simon and Schuster, 1994.

Wilentz, Sean. “1840”  ” Running for President, the Candidates and their images.  Arthur M. Schlesinger, Editor.  Simon and Schuster, 1994.

“William Henry Harrison” Miller Center of the University of Virginia (

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