It’s difficult to know where to start as this biography contains so many themes. It’s simply the life of Sarah Polk, spouse of James K. Polk, by Dr. Amy S. Greenberg, a Professor of History at Penn State University.
But the life didn’t turn out the way it ought to have. Born in central Tennessee to a self-made businessman and politician, Sarah Childress should have lived an antebellum southern life of no consequence at all: giving parties, gossiping, having and raising children, and supporting her husband. Oh yes, and owning slaves.
But her husband turned out to be James K. Polk. A U.S. congressman from Tennessee, eventually Speaker of the House, he became a one-term governor of Tennessee and narrow two-time loser. His next stop, however improbable it was, turned out to be the White House.
Polk, a Democrat, sounds like a Republican today: small government, expansionist (or neo-con, today, one supposes, given his love of Manifest Destiny), and a slave-owner (don’t the current crop wish). His main goal was to take the west away from Mexico, which he did, after a too-long war occasioned by a Gulf of Tonkin-type incident. At his side the whole way was Sarah Polk, his lifelong political partner.
In his youth, surgery may have rendered Polk sterile and possibly impotent, so there were no children to distract Sarah. In a real accident of history, her father treated her as an equal and gave her, at great expense, an education, which not only didn’t go to waste but spurred her formidable intelligence and intellectual curiosity.
And she was a born politician. As such, she stepped into a void left by her spouse, who was dour, just as devoted to religion as she, and not given to any frivolity at all. Men who should have been his political intimates were hers; she corresponded frequently with several, and in the process gleaned political intelligence useful to James.
But this position wasn’t there for the taking. She was, after all, a woman who of course had no vote. She was furthermore a southern woman, and southern men viewed with suspicion (in my experience, southern men are suspicious of everything) women who took any part whatsoever in public affairs. So she acted and spoke in all ways with great deference. “Lowliness” was the term used, without irony or judgment—more a term of praise, if you can imagine.
She also socialized relentlessly. The custom of calling on other women constantly, however, was tiresome to her, so she imported two nieces from Tennessee to handle that odious task. But the dinners and balls, which James heartily disliked, went on without respite. Oddly enough, it wasn’t her social ability that people admired most but her obvious virtue and steadfast Christianity. The Polks would serve wine in copious amounts, but, goodness, no hard liquor! At moments, one wanted to have been able to remind the Polks about the separation of church and state.
James won the west, but the war was unpopular for a lot of the right reasons—who were we to take Mexico’s land? Why is the war going on so long? James was a workaholic, and, in frail health in any event, nearly killed himself as president and was relieved when his one term was over.
They returned to Tennessee and a retirement James craved. They bought a large house in Nashville; it was in disrepair, but before leaving Washington, they arranged for its revival. He was young, and they might have had a long, happy, easygoing retirement. But he died nearly immediately in 1849 of cholera, and Sarah was launched unexpectedly on a decades-long widowhood.
Inconveniently, it included the Civil War. Her loyalty was to the south, but Tennessee fell very early in the war (hurray for an upcoming General Grant) and Nashville was occupied by the Union forces. Sarah trod a very fine line: she was cordial to the northerners and expressed loyalty to the Union. On the other hand, she undertook to hide valuables vouchsafed to her by other Confederate families. She cemented her position by relying on being a widow of a former President. She and her property were left alone, unlike a lot of her fellow citizens of Nashville.
She led a life of some contradiction: her and James’ devotion to their religion didn’t interfere with his buying a plantation in Mississippi and stocking it with slaves, buying more as needed. She lived the familiar story of praising herself by being a good slave owner—but, as Professor Greenberg points out, the only good slave owner was one who freed her slaves. She also appeared to be devoted to certain individual slaves, but, again, they were her property, and certain hypocrisies obtained.
Late in life, she was delighted by reform movements such as the Women’s Christian Temperance Union—here were real women activists! What she had had to do by manipulation and outward deference could now be done openly. But mainly by northern women; southern women evolved to promote a pre-war world in which they remained on a pedestal and were protected by men. As noted before, the Southern men preferred it that way. Further, they were a defeated and humiliated region, so the men preferred women who supported them and didn’t get mixed up in anything outside the house.
Childless, she enjoyed the company of any number of nieces and nephews, particularly one, Sallie, who was devoted to her. Sarah intended to leave the Polk house to Sallie, but James botched his will, and the house fell into litigation among many possible heirs and eventually was simply torn down. The ending has a kind of Ozymandias feel to it, or would, if their presidency had been successful.
Even that is ambiguous; arguably, the acquisition of Texas and all points west including California was as significant as the Louisiana Purchase, but who now thinks about James K. Polk? It’s an interesting question. Perhaps if James had been as genial as Abraham Lincoln, his reputation would have survived in better shape. No one thinks much of John Quincy Adams, either.
What I think is really significant about this work is this woman, born to live a life of genteel southern comfort, lived a life of ambition, skill, diligence, and forbearance of a difficult man. She made it work for her, and her reputation after he died surpassed his. She was universally admired to the end of her life—a long one, and one in which she kept her wits about her.
A housekeeping note: Dr. Greenberg’s book is incapable of being put down. I picked it up because I’ve long had a blind spot about American history from 1815-1860, often confused by all the provisos and compromises and hemming and hawing when everyone knew slavery was an enormous issue that would probably lead to war. Dr. Greenberg’s book will bring you up to date without larding on detail; it’s enormously readable.
Dr. Greenberg writes on her faculty page that she “tend[s] to focus on the transformation of gender roles.” I’ve been out of academia so long that I don’t really even know what that means in the study of literature, much less history. However, Sarah Childress certainly lived a life different from most other women in her generation and lived long enough to see her worldview become more, if not the norm, at least possible. I bet she’d cheer mightily for the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team, and I think we’d all have enjoyed having her in the room when they won.
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