As every American knows, this year marked the 137th anniversary of Calvin Coolidge’s birth. The entire nation celebrated this with fireworks, as we always do, because Coolidge was born on July 4th.

            Unfortunately, the annals of history do not smile upon our 30th president. They do not frown either. Mostly, they just snore. In fact, the one thing most of us remember most vividly about Calvin Coolidge is that there is nothing much to remember about him at all, except that he once said “The business of America is business,” and that he had a habit of keeping conspicuously mum at state functions. Thus the nickname “Silent Cal.”

Even during Coolidge’s lifetime, the pundits of the day lampooned his notorious dullness. His wife, Grace Goodhue, said that she chose Coolidge from her numerous suitors because he “out-sat everybody else.” Alice Roosevelt Longworth, Washington’s social queen, stated that she thought he had been “weaned on a pickle.” Even Groucho Marx once addressed him at a Washington performance of  Animal Crackers saying, for the benefit of the audience, “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Cal?”

             Poor Silent Cal. To have been misunderstood in his own lifetime was bad enough; to remain unappreciated today is tragic. For the fact is, Calvin Coolidge was perhaps the greatest comic genius to have ever occupied the White House. His delivery was simple and precise; not only did he fully comprehend the nuances of brevity and deadpan, his comedic abilities may have inspired many of the comedians of his day.

Jack Benny, for example, who was a fledgling Vaudevillian at the time, may have borrowed his famous skinflint persona from Coolidge, who was widely reputed in the press to have been a notorious cheapskate. Journalists of the day made note of the fact that the White House chef was provoked to resign by Coolidge’s stinginess. Throughout his administration, he regularly examined his wife’s bills to make sure she was not overspending. Once, as the story goes, when Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes informed Coolidge that the Queen of Romania was planning a visit to the United States, Coolidge told him to make certain she paid her own expenses. But Coolidge’s best skinflint line occurred after he had been handed an outrageously expensive bill by a hotel concierge. While at the  front desk, dutifully writing out a complaint form, he asked the hotel clerk for some stamps.

          “How many two-cent stamps do you need Mr. President?” the clerk asked.

            “Depends on how much you’re asking for them,” was Silent Cal’s reply.

Coolidge was also a distinguished master of the non sequitar. Anyone who could manage to survive the Harding Administration and later get elected in his own right by a landslide must have had more up his sleeve than an arm. Coolidge’s use of the non sequitar was on a par with the talents of  Sam Goldwyn, Groucho Marx and George Kaufman. Take for example, Silent Cal’s classic remark on the subject of silence: “If you don’t say anything, you won’t be called upon to repeat it.”

No subject was too sacred for Coolidge’s sense of humor, not even religion. One Sunday morning, Coolidge arrived home from church when his wife, who had been too ill to attend, inquired about the subject of the sermon. “Sin,” said Silent Cal.

            “And what did he say about it?” Mrs. Coolidge asked.

            “He was against it.”                                                                 

Washington hostesses of the era thought of Coolidge as a crashing bore, and many of them only invited him because he was the President. At one such function, hostess Alice Roosevelt Longworth, once tried to get Silent Cal to loosen up, saying “I guess going to all these parties must bore you, Mr. President. Why do you go?” To which Coolidge replied, “A man has to eat somewhere.”

At another Washington soiree, Coolidge had the misfortune to sit beside a man who had just delivered a long dull political speech. Eager for the President’s approval, the orator asked him what he thought of the speech.

            “Not bad,” Coolidge said, “but you missed a good opportunity.”

            “What opportunity is that?” the man inquired.

            “The opportunity to sit down twenty minutes earlier.”

Some years later, during an operatic recital at the White House, while the nervous soprano was doing her utmost to please the First Family, one of the guests turned to Coolidge and asked, “What do you think of the singer’s execution?”

          “I’m all for it,” Coolidge replied.

           It was during his governorship of Massachusetts that Coolidge honed much of his wit. On one occasion, he was sitting quietly in his office, strumming through a legal text, half-listening to two politicians arguing in front of him. Finally, one of the men told the other to go to hell and the insulted man turned to Coolidge for help.

            “What are you going to do about it, Governor?” he demanded. “He just told me to go to hell!”

            “Don’t worry,” said Coolidge. “I’ve looked up the law. You don’t have to go.”

As another story goes, Coolidge was once asked to attend a groundbreaking ceremony and, after shoveling a bit of dirt, he tossed the shovel aside and began to walk back to his car. An aide caught him and advised that it was improper to leave the ceremony without first saying a word or two. So Coolidge looked down at the newly overturned soil, said “Nice fish worms you got here,” and walked away.

Self-deprecating humor was also a specialty of Coolidge’s. At a dinner party, the President was once approached by a stuffy matron. “President Coolidge,” she said, “my husband has bet me that I won’t be able to get three words out of you all evening.”

            “You lose,” Coolidge replied.

Calvin Coolidge died on January 5, 1933. His last words were not especially witty or inspiring; he said, “Good morning Robert,” -- Robert being the family gardener -- and dropped dead. The only memorable eulogiac line commemorating his passing was delivered by Dorothy Parker who, upon being informed of Silent Cal’s death said “How can they tell?”

None of the great comedians of the day attended the funeral. Perhaps they did not know how much they owed him. There have been no movie bios, no TV specials, not even an A&E Biography of Coolidge. Books have been written on the wit and wisdom of Lincoln, Truman and Kennedy, but Coolidge’s wit remains unheralded. Most historians appear convinced that Coolidge was no more than a misplaced dullard.

            But even on that score, Silent Cal had the last laugh. “I always figured the American public wanted a solemn ass for President,” he once said. “So I went along with them.”