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"Wombats and Such"

Calvin and Grace Coolidge and Their Pets



by David Pietrusza



Calvin and Grace Coolidge certainly lived up to those words—

and more. Before, during, and after their White House years,

the Coolidges kept a dizzying array of pets. From cats and

dogs, canaries and mockingbirds, to wombats and raccoons,

the Coolidges surrounded themselves with four-footed or

feathered creatures.



We know that Calvin Coolidge's involvement with animals

began early, right here as a matter of fact, at Plymouth

Notch—a place where there was little human company—and

where shy young Calvin had trouble interacting with even the

few souls that happened to be nearby. "Like many shy

people," historian Hendrik Booraem wrote in his study of

Coolidge's early years The Provincial: Calvin Coolidge and

His World, 1885-1895 , "he found comfort in animals, with

whom it was possible to have a relationship without the strain

of verbal communications. There were numerous cats around

the Notch, as in most dairy farming areas, to keep down the

mice in the barns. Many farm children, and farm families for

that matter, were fond of them; many a farmhouse in Vermont

had a 'cat door' in its kitchen. To Calvin they were real friends.

His letters home from college in later years contained

comments or questions about the family cats almost as often

as any references to humans at the Notch. One of the stories

of his childhood involves his going to some trouble to save a

litter of kitchens from being drowned. He liked teasing cats,

not like other boys, for the amusement of his comrades, but

for his own and, one could say, for that of the cats. His attitude

toward horses was quite similar. His grandfather Coolidge,

who died when he was six, had been a horseman and

stockbreeder, and had taught him to ride. He rode horseback

by himself a lot, because, as he put it 'a horse is good

company.'"



Now, as one might expect, Calvin often kept his emotions

about such "good company" to himself, often disguising his

feelings with the most mordant of comments—even in later

life. Once Grace Coolidge received a Maltese Angora cat

from a friend. He persisted in calling the creature"Mud,"—for,

as he noted, "anyone can see that his name is mud." And

although Grace would write "Mr. Coolidge and I are

particularly found of cats," her husband would take fiendish

glee in stashing an early family cat, "Bounder," in various

unlikely places—including the hall clock and the porch roof.

"Sometimes," Grace once recalled, "I would hear [Bounder's]

"Meow" in a tone that, being interpreted, meant "Help," and I

knew that his master had hidden him in some outlandish

place and I was expected to rescue him."



Yet it should not be construed that no emotional bonds

developed between the taciturn Mr. Coolidge and the family's

felines—in fact, author Ishbel Ross claimed he liked cats far

more than did Mrs. Coolidge. Miss Ross may have indeed

been right. When Calvin took office in the state legislature in

1907, the reigning household tabby, Climber, missed his

master so much "he pined away and died."



In the White House, the Coolidges again had cats, this time

two kittens named Tiger (or Tige) and Blacky. The President

enjoyed walking around the White House with Tige draped

round his neck. On one occasion, Tige provided the

President with an opportunity to put an oppressive guest in

her place. Journalist John Lambert described the occasion:



"A feminine guest at a White House luncheon had obviously

sought this opportunity to belabor her pet enemy. This enemy

happened to be an American ambassador who was

understood by the Administration to have performed

meritorious service. But, according to the lady's estimate, he

was rough, uncouth, uncultured, and lacking in respect for the

customs, traditions, and ceremonials of the ancient court to

which he had been assigned.



"Tige, the old black cat that is almost a White House tradition,

had sauntered into the room and was lazily rubbing itself

against the table leg. The President turned to the person upon

his right and said in a voice that was quite audible to the

shrewish woman upon his left,"That is the third time that cat

has stopped at this table."



The Coolidges had a green collar made for Tiger—a red one

for Blacky. On both collars were affixed engraved name

plates reading "The White House." Eventually, Tiger

disappeared, and Mrs. Coolidge theorized "perhaps, instead

of safeguarding him with the collar, we had made him a too

attractive and tempting souvenir." Blacky, however, remained

at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, usually preferring to take his

chances in the kitchen rather than commune with the First

Couple upstairs.



There may been a reason beyond a sniffing around for

snacks that caused Blacky to avoid the President's quarters.

Colonel Edmund Starling, chief of the President's Secret

Service detail, related that just before Coolidge's inauguration

in March 1925 he found Coolidge "in the basement putting a

black cat in a crate with a rooster, just to see what would

happen."



After the President's death, Grace had at least one more cat.

We know this because of a photo that remains of her

bestowing awards to a group of Eagle Scouts at her

Northampton home. Her cat, a huge white creature has

draped itself on the shoulders of one scout"or perhaps was

placed there by the mischievous former First Lady.



"A Dog Is No Joke"



During Coolidge's 1920 vice-presidential campaign, his

family received a Belgian police dog, Judy the First. Initially

the two Coolidge boys—John and Calvin—attempted to send

the dog to their paternal grandfather up in Vermont, but

Colonel Coolidge refused the honor—which seemed to be

just as well since the Coolidges were just as pleased to have

Judy the First remain with them. Just before the election

Calvin reported on the pooch to his father:



"Your dog is growing well. She has bitten the ice man, the

milkman, and the grocerman. It is good to have some way to

get even with them for the high prices they charge for

everything."



A week and a half later, Calvin updated his father on events:



"I had a picture sent to you of your dog taken with Grace. You

will see she is a good dog. She has not bitten anyone lately

so the trades people still come to the house."



Judy the First, however, did not have staying power. A

"nervous disorder" laid her low, and the veterinarian had to

put her away. "We all felt very badly," wrote the new Vice-

President.



A Bird in the Hand



When the Coolidges moved to Washington in the spring of

1921, they resided not in a private residence but rather in the

Willard Hotel at 1401 Pennsylvania Ave. Thus they had no

room for such relatively large pets as cats or dogs. So Grace

resorted to whatever critters came her way. "The members of

Washington society were not the only ones who partook of

vice presidential hospitality," she once wrote:



"We were also at home to a family of mice, who had a private

entrance behind a large davenport placed across one corner

of the dining room, which served as a sitting room for we had

our meals downstairs in the main dining room. Seated at my

desk one evening I was suddenly aware that I had a visitor,

who had arrived unannounced and was sitting up looking me

over as critically as any other guest who had favored me with

a call. Finding me amiable, he got down and began an

inspection of the place. I made no protest, sitting quite still

and allowing him to go about at his will. Having completed his

tour of investigation, he disappeared beneath the davenport,

presumably to report on his findings to his family, and I arose

to do a little investigating of my own, discovering that he had

made his exit by way of a small semicircular hole in the

baseboard just above the concrete flooring. On several

succeeding evenings we were dining out, but on the next

evening which we spent at home my little visitor in gray was

back again and brought one of the children. In accordance

with the rules of hospitality I served tea. The larder afforded

only pieces of dry cracker, but these seemed to meet with

approval and were quickly nibbled away. From then on,

Father Gray looked to me for daily food for his family,

consisting of himself and his wife and several children. Mother

Gray was a rather portly lady, and when she paid me a visit

she found the doorway a bit low and narrow, but she was

resourceful as well as plump, and she managed to enter by

turning over on her back, placing her feet against the

baseboard and pushing herself through. I brought all sorts of

delicacies from the hotel table for the delectation of these

visitors of mine, and I firmly believe that I thus acquired some

friends in Washington who would have pronounced me the

perfect hostess. Their favorite form of amusement was to

scramble up the outside corners of the metal scrap basket

and from the edge jump into the wastepaper in the bottom, as

I have seen boys climb to the beams of a hayloft and jump into

the hay. When all were buried in the bottom I would tip over

the container, and after they had run out, set it up again, and

they would repeat the performance. I think they missed me

when I had gone, and I often wonder how they fared.



"I saw them last in the spring of 1923. The short session of

Congress adjourned on the fourth of March and we went

home. When we returned unexpectedly in August, all was

changed, and there was so much hustle and bustle, so much

moving about of busy feet, that the shy little creatures dared

not venture forth, even if they were there."



While the Coolidges resided at the Willard, a friend

suggested to Grace that she get a canary. Before that

happened, however, Grace and Cal moved into a semi-

private house. The friend inquired as to whether she still

wanted a bird. "Yes," she replied, "two." And so the

Coolidges became owners of their first two birds, Nip and

Tuck, two olive green canaries. Eventually they were followed

by a white canary (Snowflake), another canary (Peter Piper),

a "yellow bird" (Goldy), and a trush (Old Bill). When the

Coolidges spent the summer in the Adirondacks in 1926 four

birds went along.



Also at home in the White House was an unnamed

mockingbird. This last bird caused a bit of problem for the

First Lady, for she found out that keeping mockingbirds in

confinement in the District of Columbia was punishable by a

$5 fine and a month in jail. "I was reluctant to part with my

chorister," Grace revealed, "but I was even more averse to

embarrassing my country by the imprisonment of its First

Lady."



"But the bird with character," wrote Ishbel Ross, "was Do-

Funny, a trained troupial from South America who sometimes

lit on the President's shoulder and tweaked his ear, or

jabbered madly at Mrs. Coolidge. He belonged to the oriole

family and was about the size of a crow, with vivid flashes of

yellow and blue in his shiny dark plumes. He was loud and

raucous when annoyed, but . . . had a flutelike whistle for Mrs.

Coolidge. When let out of his cage he would eat from her

mouth and whistle. He liked to catch food or little wads of

paper in his bill. When she whistled to him from another room

he delighted her by answering."



Cal's Best Friends



The Coolidge White House also witnessed a virtual parade of

canine houseguests. First to arrive was Peter Pan, a wire-

haired fox terrier. Peter Pan, however, was too nervous to

adjust to the hustle and bustle of White House life and was

soon departed for quieter quarters.



Before Peter Pan left, however, Paul Pry (the half-brother of

Warren Harding's famous airedale Laddy Boy) arrived. Paul

Pry was yet another problem for the First Couple. "He," Grace

wrote to friends,"is like some people, always keeping you

guessing and always being funny. True to his breeding he

assumed charge over one individual, that one in his case

being me and he will not let my maid come into my room to

pick up my things if I am not there." Before long he too

departed the scene.



Still more dogs came—and went. There was Tiny Tim, a red

chow-chow puppy who arrived in celebration of a presidential

birthday. Tiny Tim, never did warm in the slightest to the

President—or vice versa—and soon became known as

Terrible Tim. Diana of Wildwood, a white collie puppy first

traveled to the White House via airplane and arrived covered

in a coat of dark black grease. She later became known as

Calamity Jane, a nickname that Mrs. Coolidge commented

"seemed to fit her well."



Grace and son John smuggled Blackberry, a black chow,

along on the summer 1927 presidential trip to the Black Hills.

Blackberry eventually became the property of John's "Certain

Young Lady" (as Grace termed his future bride).



Ruby Ruff, a brown and white collie, was literally left at the

White House door. King Cole, a black Belgian Gruenendahl,

eventually was farmed out to a schoolteacher. Beauty, yet

another white collie, served as the President's companion in

retirement back in Northampton.



Palo, a black and white English Setter, was a bird dog.

Coolidge gave him to Colonel Starling, who in turn sent Palo

to his Kentucky farm to complete his training in birding.



The most famous of White House dogs, however, were the

collies Rob Roy and Prudence Prim.



They were a striking pair, made all the more noticeable by the

baths of blueing they underwent to provide an even greater

gleam to their white coats.



Prudence Prim took a particular shine to Mrs. Coolidge—and

vice versa. "I loved her well," said the First Lady. The two

were inseparable. Once Grace constructed a straw bonnet

festooned with ferns and green ribbons for the dog, who wore

it quite proudly to a White House garden party. Grace also

had calling cards made up for Prudence Prim and would

leave them behind with her own when she went a calling.

When the dog died during the First Family's trip to the Black

Hills, Grace was grief-stricken. "Rob [Roy] and I shared a

common sorrow," she would write.



Rob Roy, the President's favorite, was a sheep-herding dog

from Wisconsin, and the transition to urban life in the District

of Columbia was quite a shock to his system. "I think he had

never been in a house very much . . . .," noted Mrs. Coolidge,

"when I first took him into the [White House] for the first time,

he crouched in fear. The elevator he regarded as an infernal

contraption and lay on the floor of it with all four legs spread

out in an attempt to hang on."



Not helping Rob Roy was the presence of a rival in the

household—a Boston bulldog named Beans, who had

determined that he was master of the premises. When Rob

Roy would attempt to exit the elevator on the second floor,

Beans would cow him back onto the "infernal contraption."

Grace eventually resolved the conflict by packing Beans off to

Northampton to reside with her mother and the Coolidge

family housekeeper.



Rob Roy eventually got the hang of elevators and the great

indoors, but like all dogs he preferred the pleasures of a walk

on the boulevard. Grace would perform the honors herself. It

was not an easy task, as Rob Roy would soon go into high

gear, taking the First Lady along with him.



"Why," noted one onlooker, "you almost expected her to

break into a race with the collie."



When the Coolidges took the collies to White Pine Camp in

the Adirondacks in 1926, the dogs loved their newfound

freedom. But they were no more well-behaved than at home.

The camp's caretaker had to fix up a wire fence to protect the

garbage cans from the visiting canines.

Observed one member of the Coolidge domestic staff: "Dogs

love garbage cans it seems regardless of their rank."



"Rob Roy was a wild one," noted White House kennel master

Harry Waters, "He would dig into me, but she [Grace] had no

fear of him. Sightseers were sometimes more interested in

the dogs than they were in the White House." Rob Roy was

particularly attracted to pursuing the squirrels on the White

House grounds, only desisting after a "sharp reprimand" from

his Master.



Rob Roy made other White House personnel besides Harry

Waters nervous. One wintry day, some men were shoveling

the snow from the White House walks. Colonel Starling, told

the story:



"He [Coolidge] saw Rob Roy . . . being friendly with an old

negro who was shovelling one of the paths. The negro was

afraid of the dogs.



"'Will he bite?' he asked the President as we came by.



"'Oh, yes," [Coolidge] said. 'He's a very vicious dog. But he's

a peculiar biter. He only bites lazy men. As long as you keep

working he won't bother you.'



"When we got to the house, he stood inside the door and

gleefully spied on the negro, who shovelled furiously, while

Rob Roy, who was interested in the procedure, sat on his

haunches and watched."



As was often the case, Silent Cal chose to hide his true

feelings about Rob Roy and Prudence Prim. To Harry Waters

he would snap, "You can lose them one of these days if you

want to." Waters was never sure if he was kidding or not.



He was. The President was actually quite taken by them and

was particularly fond of Rob Roy (referred to in Coolidge's

Autobiography as "my companion."), who he would take to

his office each afternoon and to his weekly press conferences

each Friday. Grace Coolidge recorded that Rob Roy took a

"vocal" part in those proceedings.



When Rob Roy developed a stomach ailment in September

1928, the Coolidges had him sent to Walter Reade Army

hospital for treatment. "The doctor thought he would come

through OK," wrote Grace to a friend, but the operation was

not a success. "My poor doggie died this morning before I

reached home," the President wrote, "He was still at Walter

Reade."



Calvin even wrote of Rob Roy in his Autobiography : "He was

a stately companion of great courage and fidelity. He loved to

bark from the second-story windows and around the South

Grounds. Nights he remained in my room and afternoons

went with me to the office. His especial delight was to ride

with me in the boats when I went fishing. So although I know

he would bark for joy as the grim boatman ferried him across

the dark waters of the Styx, yet his going left me lonely on the

hither shore."



The President also saw to it that his canine friends received

their fair share of the federal larder—perhaps more than their

fair share. "Well, they was feeding the dogs so much," White

House guest Will Rogers once observed, "that at one time it

looked to me like the dogs was getting more than I was. I

come pretty near getting down on my all fours and barking to

see if business wouldn't pick up with me."



According to White House usher Ike Hoover, Grace Coolidge

could whistle quite well, although Calvin could not. To summon

the family canines the President would use a tin whistle, but

one evening he had neglected to bring it with him and was

having trouble trying to whistle on his own. "What's the matter,

poppa;" Grace asked slyly, "don't your teeth fit tonight?"



The most famous portrait of Grace Coolidge is that painted

by Howard Chandler Christy and featuring not just the First

Lady but also Rob Roy. When Mrs. Coolidge donned a red

dress so she might contrast with the pure white Rob Roy, the

President impishly suggested that she wear a white dress

and dye the dog red.



Despite the fact that the dog was not dyed crimson, Coolidge

enjoyed the portrait so much that he had a photograph made

of it and had copies sent to his friends—including a copy to

the man who had given him the animal. The man wired back:

"Fine picture of dog. Send more photographs."



The Pennsylvania Avenue Zoo



And then there were the exotic animals. To an old

Northampton friend, Alfred Pearce Dennis, Coolidge once

wrote: "I'd like to have your two boys come to the White

House to see the animals. We've got a bunch of young rabbits

that might interest them. Kind people send us animals,

puppies, kittens, queer animals sometimes—wombats and

such."



As usual, Silent Cal was not overstating the case. All sorts of

animals found their way to the Coolidges during their

Washington years. In his Autobiography Calvin observed:



"A great many presents come to the White House which are

all cherished, not so much for their intrinsic value as because

they are tokens of esteem and affection. Almost everything

that can be eaten comes. We always know what to do with

that. But some of the pets that are offered us are more of a

problem. I have a beautiful black-haired bear that was brought

all the way from Mexico in a truck, and a pair of live lion cubs

now grown up, and a small species of hippopotamus which

came from South Africa. These and other animals and birds

have been placed in the zoological quarters in Rock Creek

Park."



The lion cubs—by the way—were named Tax Reduction and

Budget Bureau.



There were others—a wallaby from Australia, a duikir (a small

deer) from Africa, and thirteen Pekin duck hatchlings.



Sometimes critters arrived not as pets, but rather as what the

President had referred to as what "can be eaten."



"One day," Colonel Starling recalled, "a friend sent me two

rock bass, still alive, which he had caught on a fishing trip to

Gunston Pass, down the Potomac. I sent them up to the

President, thinking they would stir his interest. I expected him

to send them to the kitchen to have them served for supper.

The next morning he said to me:



"'I put my little fishes in my bathtub and they swam around all

night. One of them hopped out while I was asleep and Mrs.

Coolidge had to come and pick him up in a newspaper and

put him back.'



"I was pretty sure that he was not asleep when the fish

awakened Mrs. Coolidge with its flip-flopping. He probably

opened the door between their rooms so she could hear it

and then played possum."



And, of course, there was Rebecca the raccoon. Rebecca

also arrived as what "can be eaten." Sent from Peru,

Mississippi, she was to have part of a Thanksgiving White

House feast, but the Coolidges found her to be almost entirely

domesticated and rather too pleasant to be sauteed. "We . . .

had a house made for her in one of the large trees," wrote

Grace, "with a wire fence built around it for protection. We

kept her chained when out of doors, but in the house she had

her liberty. She was a mischievous, inquisitive party and we

had to keep watch of her when she was in the house. She

enjoyed nothing better than being placed in a bathtub with a

little water in it and given a cake of soap with which to play. In

this fashion she would amuse herself for an hour or more."



Rebecca would take her meals on the tiled floor of her

mistress' bathroom. While most Americans of the time were

dining on relatively simple gastronomic fare, Rebecca

seemed a veritable gourmet. Her fare consisted of green

shrimp, chicken, persimmon, eggs (a particular favorite), and

cream.



So pleased was the President with Rebecca (though he

persisted in calling her a 'he"), that he announced her arrival

to the press in one of his regular press conferences. A

reporter wanted to know if the beast was edible. "That

depends on your taste," Cal replied, "I haven't much of a taste

for raccoon meat. Some people like it very much. But I have

established him here in the south lot in suitable housing and

he seems to be enjoying himself very much. . . . I don't think he

is quite grown yet. He is very playful, very interesting, and

seems very well trained and well behaved." At that point the

coon had not yet been named and Coolidge asked the press

to "advertise" for one.



Some reports had the President walking Rebecca around the

house on a leash. Whether that is so or not, it is true that he

would often play with the raccoon after his afternoon

paperwork was done—and as in the case of Tige the cat—

walk about with Rebecca draped around his neck. The

majority of the White House staff disliked the raccoon (she

was always tearing clothes and ripping silk stockings). As

usual the President saw a chance for his brand of humor.

Once when Rebecca had scampered up Mrs. Coolidge's

social secretary, Mary Randolph, Calvin teased the nervous

Miss Randolph: "I think that little coon could bite if she had a

mind too."



A few times Rebecca escaped from the grounds, but each

time was recaptured. The Coolidges, fearing she would be

run over in the street on one last jaunt, turned her over to the

Rock Creek Zoo for her own safety. Grace and Cal, however,

still were concerned regarding her happiness and prevailed

upon zoo officials to secure some companionship for her.

That came in the form of a male raccoon dubbed Reuben.

That matchmaking failed as Reuben eventually escaped from

the zoo, leaving Rebecca to live a solitary life.



As for the Coolidges they considered living without a creature

or two or three tramping or flying about the house, to be an

unsatisfactory, solitary life. "I am unable to understand," Grace

Coolidge once wrote, "how anyone can get along without

some sort of pet—a statement I can only agree with.

