#baltimore bullets

[basketball-lifer]

Stanley Lee "Whitey" Von Nieda Jr. was an American professional basketball player and coach. Up until his death, he was the oldest living NBA player

[thenewdemocratus]

Wilt Chamberlain Archive: Video: MSG: NBA 1973-ECSF-Game 1-Baltimore Bullets @ New York Knicks: Highlights

The Daily Journal The Bullets-Knicks rivalry in the 1970s, was one of the best rivalries in the NBA and represents something that has almost disappeared in the NBA, which are rivalries. The 1970s and 80s, you had the Celtics-Lakers, Celtics-Knicks, Celtic-76ers, 76ers-Bullets, Bullets-Knicks and perhaps a few other great rivalries in the NBA that you don’t see that much anymore in this league…

[xxxg0ryygurlll13xxx]

my state needs more metros and subways

we have a lot of public buses and bus stops but need more metros like esp east to west plus i love the subway i ride it all the time in VA and DC but where i live theres only a few stops and theyre hard to get to. just some food for thought

[tagong-boy]

my figure display shelf

Tokisaki Kurumi (Date a Bullet) - Spiritale

Baltimore (Azur Lane) - Alter

Sawamura Spencer Eriri (Saekano) - Aniplex

Hatsune Miku  - Spiritale

[itcanbefilmed]

The Baltimore Bullet (Robert Ellis Miller, 1980)

[postercollector1975]

The Baltimore Bullet 22x28 Movie Poster (1980)

Avco Embassy Pictures

[allpromarlo]

we met with anthony richardson lmao it's so joever

[mar2cool]

[allforthegaymes]

Andrew sat in the fbi interrogation alongside Neil, stuck between trying to decide wether to keep his wary eyes on the agents sat across from them or to keep his eyes locked on Neil, as if he’ll disappear again if he loses sight of him at any point.

Instead he keeps a finger hooked around one of Neils belt loops and sets himself to memorizing every word out of Neils mouth, keeping a watch on the agents to make sure they dont make a sudden attempt to go back on their words.

Which means he gets the first hand sight of how other people would react to hearing about what Neil’s gone through. And while he’d accepted every word from Neils mouth without a facial reaction, watching how the agents react make him think maybe he shouldve.

(The whispered thanks from Neil afterwards about Andrew not looking at him differently changes his mind)

The only part that really makes him freeze is when Neil begins the talk of his mothers death. Andrews all too familiar with dead mothers in cars, but hearing about the gun wound, the vinyl seats sticking to a half burnt away body, the bone burial along the beach. Neil stutters only once during his recounts, where he slips and mentions the smell.

He compares it to the scent of cigarettes, used Andrew’s one marlboro reds as a reference and suddenly all those rooftop rendezvous together makes more sense.

Neils half smoked cigarettes, never stubbed out but left to continue burning on the concrete next to them while they sit and talk. The way he only does stub them out when talking about his parents, or when Andrew mentions something about his own mom, or when Andrew says anything about the earlier days with Aaron.

Neil stops talking for a moment after that. Lost in thought.

And as always, Andrew follows him half a step behind.

Neils adamant claims during their zombie apocalypse walks with Renee around the track that he would always burn their friends bodies to make sure they dont come back from the dead.

The way he always leaves the room when they watch the newest episode of that stupid viking show that Aaron and Kevin like to watch and theres a burning boat funeral.

The way he-

And then Neil starts talking to the fbi agents again and Andrew is forced to tune back in and tuck away those thoughts till later.

He tells them about what happened in Baltimore.

The torture from Lola. The dashboard lighter pressing seared wounds into his skin. Over the tattoo, scattered across his arms, the faint marks from where she tried to burn holes through his jeans to get to his thighs. Saved only half as well as they were by the fact he’d worn a pair of the carhartt work pants Andrew had bought for him and not a pair of the threadbare thrift store jeans he usually wore.

Andrew makes the mental note to stop using his own dashboard lighter to light the cigarettes he smokes in the car. And to swap cigarette brands. And to stop smoking in the car.

And then its about the trunk of the car, the way Lola had held onto him and the comments she made in the car, the basement, the offhanded mention about how Nathan was barefoot when he walked down the stairs.

The little details that only someone who’s truly grasping for any recollection in a traumatic moment would retain. The way even when Nathan was walking down to tear Neil limb from limb, Neil still couldnt bring himself to look at his fathers face. The face that Neil shares. The face Neil still avoids looking at when he walks past the mirror in the hall in Columbia.

And he thinks about the way Neil shied away from Wymack in the beginning, the way he now searches for Wymacks face whenever they get separated from their coach at away games.

The gun shots during the Hatford raid, the way even though Neil was bruised and battered he still found himself with a smile on his face when he saw Lola’s body get blasted apart by silenced guns.

The way he knew even if they got a proper funeral no one down there would get to have an open casket. The evidence in their bullet shattered bones that their bodies would never rest peacefully. That people in a thousand years would know from the unmarked graves and their remains that they deserved whatever ended them.

And then he claims it goes dark, he says it with the same way Neil lies about everything else, with his body forced relaxed to not twitch and give himself away, but he breathes a little heavier when he calmly tries to describe the way he came to and found himself being helped by the emergency services, feigning he doesnt know what theyre actually called, playing into the runaway kid sent on the road too young and not knowing completely how the world works still.

Andrew wishes he didnt know Neil well enough to know its only half real. Wishes he didnt know Mary probably only taught Neil how to recognize and run from EMT’s, and never actually explained what EMT was meant to stand for.

Andrew knows first hand how hard it is to gain sympathy from government officials, but Neil’s got them eating out of his hand with the way he words his story, their final nail in the coffin to take down the Wesninski trails in Baltimore and beyond.

Neil knows they need him and he knows how to play them to believe whatever story he deems they’re worthwhile to hear.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Masterlist

Hannibal

Hannibal Lecter

I Fucked Your Wife (Smut) (Hannibal’s Version) Will's Wife and Hannibal do the unspeakable while he's in prison.

Just One Date Y/N hates Hannibal but he wants to go on a date with her.

Wife (Smut) Hannibal and Will have a wife that’s just as crazy and messed up as them.

Older Men Do It Better (Smut) Y/N can’t seem to find guys that satisfy her needs, so Hannibal offers to help her.

Busy (Smut) Y/N is horny but Hannibal is busy

Sex in the rain (Smut) Y/N loves the rain and when Hannibal comes home, they have sex in the rain.

Hannibal Obsessed with his Patient (Smut) bullet points of Hannibal being obsessed with his patient

After The Fall What would have happened if Y/N was there during The Fall?

Getting Hannibal Drunk (Bullet Points) Y/N and Will decided to get Hannibal drunk.

Hannigram + Y/N playing UNO (Bullet Points) Y/N introduces UNO to Hannibal

Will’s sister Will’s sister and Hannibal take a liking towards each other.

Different Universes (Smut) Y/N ends up in the Hannibal universe and Hannibal falls for her

Which One (Drabble) They both like Y/N and when she finds out she was to choose one.

Jealousy looks hot on you (Smut) Hannibal gets jealous after Mason flirts with Y/N.

Dr. Y/L/N (Smut) Y/N is Hannibal’s doctor while he’s in prison.

Give Him A Chance Alana tries to get Y/N and Hannibal together even though Y/N doesn’t like him.

Hannibal and Y/N trying for a baby Hannibal and y/n want a baby

One Touch (Drabble) Y/N finds out her cousin’s therapist is her soulmate

Fantasize (Smutty) Hannibal pleasures himself thinking about Y/N

Will Graham

I Fuck Your Wife (Smut) (Will’s Version) Hannibal is in prison and Will and his wife hook up.

Hannibal’s Innocent Friend (Smut) Will meets Hannibal's friend that doesn't have a lot of experience and Will would like to change that.

The Twist Hannibal meets Will's wife that he didn't know Will had. He figures out the dark reason why Will kept her a secret.

Submissive (Smut) Will overhears Y/N telling Hannibal that Will is too submissive in bed.

Choose (Smut) Hannibal and Y/N fight over Will.

Affair (Smut) Y/N cheats on Hannibal with Will but Hannibal doesn't give the reaction they thought he would.

Baltimore (Series) (Smut) Will and his wife plan to take Hannibal’s house. Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Teacher’s Pet (Smut) Will is doing one of his student’s but nobody knows.

Wife (Smut) Will and Hannibal have a wife that’s just as crazy and messed up as them.

The Pact Y/N and Will made a pact when they were 6 years old

Best Friend (Smut) Will catches Y/N masturbating to him

Virgin Will (Smut) (Bullet Points) Will is a virgin and Y/N wants to be the one that takes his virginity

The Note Y/N finds out that Will is cheating on her with Hannibal

After The Fall What would have happened if Y/N was there during The Fall?

Drunk (Drabble) Y/N is drunk and has a secret

Getting Hannibal Drunk (Bullet Points) Y/N and Will decide to get Hannibal drunk

Hannigram + Y/N playing UNO (Bullet Points) Y/N introduces UNO to Hannibal

Back Of The Classroom (Smut) Will fingers Y/N in the back of the classroom while her father and Jack are talking.

Which One? (Drabble) They both like Y/N and when she finds out she has to choose.

Sneaking Around (Drabble) Y/N and Will are sneaking around until Freddie sees them and threatens them.

Animal Kingdom

Barry "Baz" Blackwell

Fuck You (Smut) Baz and Y/N have a lot of tension between them but Baz is married. Spoilers for the ending of Season 2!

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Older (Smut) Y/N has a crush on Dean but he’s 20 years older than her.

You’ve Never What? (Smut) Y/N has never rode anyone’s face and Dean is shocked about it.

Cas

Experience (Smut) Y/N has feelings for Cas but when he catches on she avoids it.

The Boys

Homelander

Assistant (Smut) Y/N is Homelander’s assistant and he has feelings for her but doesn’t know how to show it.

Bully Y/N bullies Homelander

Obsessed with Homelander (Smut) (bullet points) Bullet points of Y/N being obsessed with Homelander

Breastfeeding with Homelander (Smut) Homelander wanting to suck milk out of his wife’s breasts.

Forget Homelander loses his memory

The Bet (Smut) Homelander and Y/N make a bet that ends sexually

What if Y/N had powers and Homelander didn’t? (Bullet points)

Homelander dating a member of The Boys (Bullet Points)

Fake Dating Homelander (Drabble) Y/N and Homelander have to fake date to get ratings up.

Using Homelander For Your Own Pleasure (Drabble) (Smut) Y/N using Homelander for her own pleasure

Innocent (Smut) Y/N is the newest member of the seven and Homie takes interest in her.

Homelander and Billy being obsessed with Y/N

Future A new Supe that can see the Future joins the Seven but the future isn’t what anybody expected

Both Of You (Smut) Y/N, Billy and Homelander fuck

Clingy Homelander headcons

Soldier Boy

His Dad (Smut) Homelander cheats on Y/N with Storm Front so she sleeps with a handsome stranger

The Getter (Smut) Soldier Boy wants Y/N but she’s already hooking up with another member of the boys

Better Soldier notices that Homelander is mean to his wife

Sexist (Drabble) Ben is sexist and Y/N can’t stand it.

Mother of America Y/N and Ben have a son that they weren’t aware of.

Billy Butcher

Beard (Drabble) Y/N wants to see Billy without his beard

Innocent (Smut) Y/N is the youngest member of The Boys and has no experience. Billy would like to change that.

You’re A Supe Y/N is a supe so Billy hates her until she saves his life

Used (Smut) Billy uses Y/N to get what he wants but that plan backfires when he falls in love with her.

Homelander and Billy being obsessed with Y/N

Both Of You (Smut) Y/N, Billy and Homelander fuck

Star Wars

Obi Wan Kenobi

Jedi Code (Smut) Y/N has dirty thoughts about her master when she knows she shouldn’t.

Challengers

Patrick Zweig

Jealousy (Smut) Y/N and Patrick both get jealous.

Pregnant with Patrick’s baby (Drabble) Y/N is pregnant with Patrick’s baby but is with Art.

Want Art wants Patrick’s wife. Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Six Seven

Cheater Patrick cheats on Y/N, Tashi cheats on Art Part Two Part Three

You Still Want Me? (Smut) Even after 13 years Patrick still wants her.

You Belong With Me Y/N is in love with Patrick but is convinced he doesn’t feel the same

Egotistical (Drabble) Y/N gets a tennis coach and it happens to be the most egotistical guy she’s ever met.

Patrick and Y/N having a baby

Whimpers (Smut) Y/N gets turned on by Patrick’s moans while he plays Tennis but doesn’t tell him for 13 years

Trapped (Smutty) Y/N is in love with Patrick but when she thinks that he doesn’t like her she starts hooking up with Art.

Art Donaldson

Pathetic Y/N loves Art but he loves Tashi even though she’s using him.

Cheater Patrick cheats on Y/N and Tashi cheats on Art Part Two Part Three

5 Minutes (Smut) Y/N tells Art she will be back in 5 minutes but he gets concerned when she takes longer

Leave My Wife Alone (Drabble) Y/N wants to Retire but Tashi isn’t okay with that.

Whimpers (Smut) Y/N gets turned on by the noises that Art makes during Tennis

Trapped (Smutty) Y/N is in love with Patrick but when she thinks that he doesn’t like her she starts hooking up with Art.

[millportisntreal]

Thinking about son of Hermes Neil Josten. Growing up with a mother who stuck with the Butcher, a man so vile no monsters would come near. Mary praying, praying, praying for auburn hair and blue eyes, to need there to be no question of paternity. Thinking about how when they finally go on the run, Neil feels more at home than he ever did in Baltimore. The road is a comfort for him, not quite safe but secure in the rightness of movement. Being fast when he needs to get away, outrunning hands and bullets and knifes. Coming into his own as a thief, a pick pocket, always finding luck on his side. Realizing that he picks up and understands languages better than anyone else he knows. And when his mother’s body is burning and then the bones are buried in the California sea side, he gets a message on the wind, the speaker sounding familiar like a dream or a childhood friend - “You’ll be safe at Palmetto.”

Once Neil learns the truth, when he’s safe at Palmetto surrounded by people like him, I imagine how relieved he is to learn that the Butcher is not his father. He was a Wesninski only in name, and not in blood. Neil uses his God-given wit and cunning to take down Riko and the Nest. He is a permeable boundary that brings together the Monsters and the rest of the Foxes.

And, of course, he’s the fastest on the team.

[thenewdemocratus]

NBA-TV: Video: NBA 1971-NBA Finals- Milwaukee Bucks vs. Baltimore Bullets: Highlights

The Daily Journal The Bullets never seemed to be able to get into sync either offensively or defensively against the Bucks in the whole 71 NBA Finals. The Bullets were either getting stopped and turning the ball over, or giving up big buckets to the Bucks. The Bucks big three especially of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Oscar Robertson and Bob Dandridge. And the only question about the Bucks would be, who…

[sunriseabram]

Fic Masterlist

It's quiet now and you're waiting on me (Twinyards) - Mature - 1.4k | One-shot - Graphic Depictions of Violence - Telepathy and Easthaven

Got A Secret (Can You Keep It?)  (Matt/Andrew/Neil) - Explicit - 4.3k | 2/6 chapters - Sexual Content - Actor Neil / Actor Andrew / Camera Man Matt

Vervain (Andreil) - Mature - 30k | 9/9 chapters - Graphic Depictions Of Violence - Vampire Neil / Human Secret Agent Andrew

Wolfsbane (Andreil) - Vervain Sequel - Mature - 32k | 9/9 Chapters - Graphic Depictions Of Violence - Vampire Neil / Vampire Andrew

We're Okay (It Wasn't Real) (Andreil) - Mature - 710 | drabble - Nightmares - Drake

Exposure Therapy (Andreil) - Mature - 10.7k | 3/5 Chapters - Panic Attacks and PTSD - Non-sexual Bondage

All This Time Watching Our Backs. Who is Watching Yours? (Andreil) - Mature - 3.8k | one-shot - Graphic violence - Fantasy and D&D AU

Dreams You Die In (Andreil) - Mature - 2.8k | one-shot - Nightmares - Graphic violence Problem (Kandrew / Kandreil) - Explicit - 1.7k | one-shot - Mutual Pining - NSFW

In Time, I Will Be Fine (Kevin) - Teen and Up - 1.2k | one-shot - Canon Compliant - Character Study

Bullet With Butterfly Wings (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 2.1k | one-shot - Canon Compliant - Angst with a happy ending Devil Sent To Plague (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 15k | 7/7 chapters - Demon Neil / Human Andrew - Comedy

Not Today, Nathan. (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 1.5k | one-shot - Vampire Neil / Human Andrew

The Ghost of Nathaniel Wesninski (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 839 | drabble - Graphic Depictions of Violence - Canon Compliant | BAMF Neil Josten

Defining Love (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 460 | drabble - Andrew Character Study

A Hunger Only You Can Fulfil (Andreil) - Gen - 620 | drabble - Soft Andrew

Not that type of body count (Andreil) - Mature - 727 | drabble - Canon Compliant | BAMF Neil Josten

Talk Shit, Get Hit (Kevin) - Mature - 621 | drabble - BAMF Kevin Day

You keep his shirt, he keeps his word (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 4k | 3/3 chapters - Fluff

I can admit, I am not fireproof (Andreil) - Teen and Up - 2.6k | one-shot - Baltimore from Andrew POV

Whenever you are is where I call home (Neil) - Teen and Up - 2.4k | one-shot - Graphic Depictions of Violence - Neil at nest | warning: riko moriyama

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part eleven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you get the short end of the stick, but it’s worth it.

a/n: okayyyyyyyyy shit’s getting heavy, folks, but things are chaaaaaaanging. hope you’re ready 😈

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, a lot of angst, a lot conversation, canon-typical violence and injuries (heavy on both), drinking, Joel has more feelings, I love Tess.

if you haven’t already, please read the announcement/follow up I posted about giving Liv a name.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨

Tess likes to talk. You don’t mind; it makes the walk back much faster, and the QZ is within sight much sooner with the easy conversation between you. 

She talks about how she found Joel and Tommy, how they’d been stuck together ever since Kentucky. She mentions her husband, Nate, and you offer your sympathy — which she brushes off — and tell her about Dean.

“With a baseball bat?” she repeats, an almost incredulous look on her face. “That baseball bat?”

“Yep,” you laugh, hefting the thing in your hand. “Kept me alive this long. All those years of softball finally paid off.”

Tess tells you what she was starting to build in Baltimore, and you can’t help but grin. The two of you are more similar than you thought. You return her stories in kind, details of your own ventures. “There are lots of ways in and out of the Boston QZ,” you tell her, “you just have to know where to look.”

You don’t ask about her and Joel, and she doesn’t offer the information. He hangs back the entire time, a good twenty feet behind you, rifle slung over his shoulder. You chance a glance back once or twice, mostly making sure he’s still there, and his hard gaze makes you freeze every time.

This definitely isn’t the reunion you’d imagined. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you had envisioned, but this sure as hell ain’t it. Fuck, why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?

You lead them through as quietly as possible, using a spot on the wall where the bricks have been cracked, leaving footholds behind for those who know to look for them. You send Tess up first, then Joel, and he waits at the top, grabs you by the arm and hauls you up the last foot. You open your mouth to say thank you, but he’s already released you, turned away yet again.

All right, so this is how it’s going to be.

Through the top level of the building, down the ladder into the alley. You stash your bat and your bag in the same place, tell Tess and Joel to leave their guns there, too. Joel’s reluctant, but Tess smacks his shoulder and he does as you say, that hard look on his face the entire time. 

Your boots splash in the same puddle they had last night. Tess is close behind you as you head out of the alley and skirt down the next building. A few more alleyways, heads ducked, avoiding soldiers and civilians alike, and you head down another alleyway, waiting for the coast to clear before shoving a dumpster aside, revealing a hole in the bricks that leads inside the empty warehouse.

“How did you—” Joel starts to ask, but cuts himself off.

You hold your arm out, gesturing him inside. “Quickly.”

The opposite end of the warehouse faces the gate almost directly. The windows on the lower level are covered with newspaper, shattered in some places, and you peer through one of the missing panes. Beside the main gate, there’s an office, of sorts. Where they take any survivors that make it to the gate, test them, either put them in the system or put a bullet in their heads.

“Wait here.” You prop open the window, slide through the gap and pop back up the other side. No one pays you any mind as you head towards the office, leaning up on your toes to peer through the little window in the door. Nick’s standing inside, staring at one of the old computer screens, and when you tap on the glass, he nods.

You turn back, waving at Tess. “C’mon.” They’re quick about it, and you push the door open once they’re close, following them both inside. Nick stares at Joel for a moment, meets your eyes over his shoulder. You try to school your face neutral, but you can’t tell if you get away with it or not.

“In there,” Nick says, the words blunt, and points down the hallway, to one of the smaller rooms. The office used to be a doctor’s office, you think; one main lobby, a bunch of smaller exam rooms down the hall. Joel and Tess do as he says, and you start to follow behind, but feel Nick’s hand on your shoulder. It makes you pause, and you look at him, turning beneath his hand.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low. “Joel.”

You repeat yourself to him a third time. “Does it matter?”

Nick’s brow creases. “Of course it fucking matters, Liv.”

You shake your head. “Just process them, please? Then you can throw me in lockup and this’ll all be over.”

The look on his face says he doesn’t believe you, but you push his hand off your shoulder, step into the room where Tess is standing, Joel sitting in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. “This is Corporal Nick Cowan,” you introduce, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “I trust him. He’ll test you both, put you through the system, and take you back to my place.” Your eyes flick to Joel. “Tommy should still be there.” You turn to look at Nick. “On the off chance he’s not, take them to Deanna’s.”

Nick gives you a curt nod, and you can feel Joel’s stare boring holes in your skull. It’s Tess that finally breaks the silence, concern on her face. “What about you? Why aren’t you taking us?”

“Cuz I’m gonna be in lockup,” you say, and Joel jumps to his feet, but doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t do anything but stare, “for the next two days.” You swallow hard. “There’s enough food at my place for you three, water too. Tommy knows where the whiskey is.” You give a little chuckle, staring down at your boots before lifting your head. There’s something like admiration in Tess’s eyes, whereas Joel is pure fire. You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. All part of the deal.”

“You’ve been in FEDRA lockup before?” Tess asks, crossing her arms.

You nod. “Once or twice. I’ve been caught by a couple other soldiers, but I have dirt on most of them. Makes it easier, but this is all part of the plan.” Your eyes dart to Joel before meeting Tess’s. “It’s fine. It’s worth it.”

Nick grabs your arm then, all business, fingers biting into your elbow. “Let’s go. Now.” His voice is louder, and you lift a brow as he pulls you back through the door. “You two, don’t move, or so help me god, I will throw you both right back through that gate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Seriously?”

He stares down at you. He’s angry, you realize. “Seriously.”

Nick yanks the door shut, Joel and Tess staring at you as it closes, and he all but pushes you down the hall to the door, out onto the road, towards the building where you’ll be for the next two days. Lockup. “There were other soldiers in there,” he mutters under his breath. “I had to make it somewhat believable.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

+

Since the world ended, Joel will admit he’s gotten quick to judge. First impressions were hell before cordyceps ravaged the planet, but now they’re even worse, if not more important. But Joel’s met one too many terrible people, and he’s learned to be quick on the draw, quicker on his judgement.

He knows almost immediately that he does not care for Corporal Nick Cowan. At all.

Mainly, he doesn’t like the way Cowan was looking at you. He saw the way he stopped you outside the door, the two of you whispering under your breath to each other, an almost defiant look on your face. Are you two…?

He doesn’t finish the thought.

Joel’s mind has been churning from the moment he saw you, standing there in the gas station parking lot, that fucking baseball bat in your hand. Something else had taken over, something like happiness, spilling into the corners of his heart the moment he had you in his arms again. Alive, breathing, whole, right in front of him. He felt whole, for the first time in a long time, holding you like that. It felt…good.

And then you opened your mouth, and it all came crashing down.

He hasn’t forgotten. He can’t forget that night. The gunshots and the blood and the way Sarah had cried. The way he’d felt her go. It haunts his every step, her voice a constant reminder in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to tell you, if he ever found you again, and in a way, he’s grateful his brother was the one to deliver the news, but the way you’d said it, the broken apology, the tears on your face, it was too much.

It is too much.

Cowan returns not ten minutes after he’d hauled you off, and Joel gets to his feet when the door opens. The soldier gives him a look, but Joel doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this shit; the FEDRA soldiers in Baltimore were the same. “You can sit,” Cowan says, but Joel doesn’t move. Tess sinks into the chair he’d been occupying. There’s a clipboard in the soldier’s hand, and he flips the page over. “Names.”

“Tess Servopoulos.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Date of birth.”

“April 9th, 1969.”

“September 26th, 1967.”

On and on it goes, until the page is full. Cowan doesn’t look at either of them once, and then takes the scanner from his belt. He’s not gentle with it, the hard press of plastic and the following tingle at Joel’s neck making him wince. The scanner turns green both times, and Cowan scoffs.

“Well, there you go.” The soldier sighs. “Boston QZ works about the same as Baltimore. You work for the community, keep it running, earn your ration cards. Liv will tell you where to find assignments, what jobs you’re allowed to take. She’s responsible for you for now, once she’s out. You stay in her place until she comes back, and we go from there.”

“We don’t get our own space?” Tess asks, and Cowan shoots her a look.

“You wait for Liv,” he says tersely, “and we go from there.”

Joel bites his tongue.

He leads them through the QZ quickly, both hands on his rifle. Joel itches for his own gun, stashed in your hideaway, but forces his hands into fists instead. Tess gives him a pointed look. Don’t fuck this up.

It irks his brain that Cowan just knows where your apartment is. Tommy opens the door after the soldier knocks, and pulls Joel into a hug, Tess afterward. “You made it.”

Tommy steps aside to let them in, and when Joel turns back to the door, the Corporal is gone.

Good fuckin’ riddance.

“Much nicer than the shit we had in Baltimore,” Tess comments, shucking her coat off, and Joel huffs a laugh. 

It’s…well, nice isn’t really the word. The flower wallpaper is something else but the place looks lived in, which already makes it better than the plain walls and nondescript shit they had in the Baltimore QZ. There’s a butterfly painted on the window, a bookshelf built into one wall, another little shelf between the two windows with a radio perched on top. The flower paper doesn’t continue along all the walls, giving way to a yellow colour, the lower two feet of the wall painted blue. There’s a big window near the bed, a tall wardrobe beside it, a cracked radiator, the bathroom tucked beside the bedroom.

Tommy makes lunch, some kind of instant mac and cheese that tastes all too familiar to Joel. But washing it down with a glass of whiskey definitely helps. Tess busies herself looking through your bookshelves, combing through the titles. 

“Where did she get all this stuff?” Joel asks. The shelves are filled with books, but there are other things too, little knickknacks and candles and tchotchkes. A little elephant made of jade. Joel picks it up, rubs his fingers over the carved edge.

“If you’d been listening, on the walk back,” Tess quips, an almost sing-song to her voice, “instead of being an asshole, you’d know. She’s been doing the same shit we have. Smuggling. Looting places that have been deserted. And she’s clearly better at it than we are.”

Joel says nothing, his brow lowering as he puts the elephant back on the shelf. There’s a little glass dish on one of the other shelves, filled with rings of all sizes and metals. Wedding rings, he realizes after a moment, engagement rings.

Tess hums. Joel watches as she reaches down, rubs her thumb over the silver band on her finger.

“Who is she, Joel?” Tess asks, and a zap of cold slides down his throat. “To you. Who was she? And don’t try to bullshit me and say nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, instead of nothing, and walks away from the bookshelf. There are no doors between the different rooms, the living room and kitchen and bedroom one open space with a dividing wall. He walks towards your bed, lets his hand trail over the plaid sheets and blankets and sinks onto the edge, parks himself in front of the window.

He stays there, until the sun sets. 

Two days in lockup, you’d said. You wait for Liv, Cowan had instructed.

Part of him feels like he needs to apologize. He’s going about this wrong, he knows that. But the memory of what he’s lost has risen to the surface of his mind, and made him hurt. Made him all too aware of how broken he is.

With Tess, it doesn’t matter. He cares for her — of course he cares for her — but the line in the sand is clear. It’s stress-relief, comfort, a placeholder for what they’ve lost. Tess lost Nate, and Joel lost you.

And what the fuck did he do to deserve to find you again?

Tess crawls into bed, eventually. She doesn’t say a word to Joel, doesn’t invite him to lay with her. He can hear Tommy snoring on the other side of the thin wall that separates the living room and the bedroom, his brother sprawled on the couch.

He gets to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face. The wardrobe door creaks as he pulls it open. There’s not much inside, clothing meant more for warmth than anything else, an assortment of sweaters and flannels. He knows he shouldn’t, feels a prickle of guilt up his spine as he drags his hand through the fabric. His fingers catch on something softer than the others, and he pinches blue flannel, striped with white and grey.

You kept his shirt. All this time. Held it close enough to take it with you when you left.

It makes him ache.

Joel wanders into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of whiskey from where it had been left on the worn kitchen table. It’s a mess of coffee cups, pages torn from notebooks, a collage of maps spread beneath everything else. He sees paths marked in red, on the maps, places circled and x’ed out, scribbled notes and times and dates. The kitchen sink is clean, a few plates stacked beside, evidence of Tommy’s cooking still on the stove. The fridge is slightly crooked, from when Tommy had pulled out the whiskey.

He sees it, from the corner of his eye, on the top door of the fridge. Held in place by a magnet shaped like a strawberry.

July 4th 2002

The magnet falls as he pulls the polaroid off, but he catches it before it can hit the ground. The picture is torn at one corner, the edges a little warped, but otherwise intact. He can remember that night. The warm summer air, your head on his shoulder, beer and barbecue in his belly, the awe on Sarah’s face as you all watched the fireworks together. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Joel puts the magnet back on the fridge, but keeps the picture in his hand, sinks into a chair at the table, takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

He doesn’t hear Tess until she’s sliding into the chair across from him. He says nothing, another long sip from the bottle as she pulls the polaroid from his grip. She looks at it for a long moment, smoothing her fingers over the edges before handing it back to him.

“Tell me who she is, Joel,” she says again, more of a statement than a question. “Please.”

Joel’s throat bobs. Tess doesn’t often say please.

He blows out a shaky breath. “A ghost,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “To be honest, I’m still not totally convinced she’s really here. That we’re really here.”

Tess grips his free hand, pushes the bottle away. “We are here, Joel. Liv is here.” She squeezes his fingers. “Please, I just wanna make sense of it all.” Tess pauses, leans back a little. “Did you love her?”

Joel just nods, the movement slow as molasses, making his neck ache. “Her parents owned a hardware store, back in Austin. She moved back from Michigan after she finished school, started working in the store, and I met her there. We had one summer, and then she got a job in Boston.”

“You let her go.”

His brow crinkles, and his fingers itch to reach for the bottle, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t let her stay in Austin just for me, couldn’t let her throw away her future.” He shoves a hand through his hair. He’s still holding the picture. “We spent the rest of the summer together, and then she left. Came back the next summer, and we had another two weeks.” He rubs his thumb over the photograph, the image of you leaned against him. “But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.”

“She broke it off?”

He lays the polaroid on the table, thumb still tracing your outline. “She met someone. Dean. The space was too much, for both of us. I understood. I let her go.”

“And then the world ended.”

Joel reaches for the bottle then, and takes a long swig before sliding it across to Tess. “And then the world ended.”

“So, she’s the reason you wanted to go to Boston.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Tess. “I called her that night, when everything happened. Told her to get out of Boston, that I’d find her. It was never about Boston, exactly, it was just about going East, praying that we might meet in the middle. I looked for her at every QZ, every shelter, every single time I saw a body in the street, I was looking for her.”

“But you found her,” Tess says, her voice low, and Joel forces his eyes to hers. “Joel, she’s alive. She’s right here. Second chances like this…” She trails off, shakes her head. “This kind of stuff doesn’t happen all the time, Miller, not anymore. This is…”

“If you call this a miracle, Tess, I swear to god.”

She scoffs a laugh. “No, not a miracle. But…something. You can’t—”

“I told you who she was,” he cuts her off, that same feeling rising in his throat again. What the fuck did he do to deserve a second chance with you? “Now drop it.”

“Joel—”

“Drop it, Tess.” He shoves his chair back, gets up, heads for the bed.

If she notices him take the polaroid with him, she doesn’t say anything.

+

Stairs are hell.

Every step makes your side scream in pain. The pressure you’ve been holding against your ribs has done little to ease the ache, and even breathing makes it worse. Your mouth tastes like blood, iron and tangy against your teeth, and you know you’re lucky as hell your cheek isn’t broken. Bruised to shit, yes, but not broken.

They were feeling feisty in lockup, worse than you’ve ever had it before. Nick left you with two other soldiers inside, muttering something about disturbing the peace. They processed you, put the charge on your record, and when another soldier came to get you, your stomach sank into your toes.

Angie.

The same soldier who’d been working the pharmacy when you’d gone to get inhalers for Henry. You hadn’t threatened her, not exactly, but you’d made it clear that you could do some damage if she didn’t give you what you wanted. The pharmacy is a no-violence zone; she couldn’t have hit you then even if she wanted to. It would get her in deeper shit than you.

But in lockup? A whole other fucking story.

She grabbed you roughly, all but shoving you through the doorway that led deeper into the building. You don’t think the building was originally like this, all cells and interrogation rooms; FEDRA must have built it themselves. 

You were expecting to get shoved into a cell right off the bat, but instead, she lead you to one of the rooms, pushed you inside and yanked the door shut behind you.

“What are you—”

Your words cut off with the first slap, a hard backhand that made your head snap to the side. You grunted, grabbing the back of a chair inside the room. You had half a mind to grab the thing with both hands and launch it at Angie, but that would only extend your time in lockup.

All you could do was sit there and take it.

Her second backhand made your teeth rattle, pain sparking behind your eyes. You nearly ducked to dodge the next hit, out of instinct, but forced yourself still, tears springing forth as her fist connected with your cheek. Over and over again, you just let her hit you. She hit you hard enough that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and the chair behind you and hit the ground. She didn’t waste any time driving her boot into your side, and you just curled inwards, just took it.

You weren’t sure exactly when she left, all you knew was that the blows stopped landing, but the pain didn’t. Two more soldiers came in after, picked you up off the floor, and carried you out of the room. They put you in a cell next, gave you a bottle of water and a blanket. The fabric was mottled with blood when you finally opened your eyes, and your face ached something fierce.

You slept it off, the rest of your time inside. Ate the shitty bread when it was offered, used the water to clean the blood from your face. And then, your forty-eight hours were up, and they let you go.

Part of you expected Nick to be waiting for you outside, but you were happy he wasn’t. You didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything more.

It took ages to get back to your building. Every step outside made pain shoot through your side; you’re pretty convinced at least one of your ribs is broken. And now, fucking stairs.

You almost fall against the doorjamb once you reach your apartment, digging in the pocket of your coat for your keys. You’re fumbling with the lock when the door swings inward, revealing Tess, bright-eyed and wearing one of your t-shirts. “Jesus Christ.”

You actually fall forward then, and Tess catches you, sliding an arm around your waist and dragging you over the threshold. 

“A little help here!” 

Tommy and Joel are both sitting on your couch, and they both jump to their feet the moment they see you. Tommy moves before his brother, and is at your side in an instant, taking some of your weight from Tess. You’re grateful as hell, though the movement makes your side scream in pain. They bring you towards the couch, and from the corner of your swollen eye, you see Joel move out of the way, heading in the direction of your bedroom. You’re in too much pain for it to really sting.

You cry out as they lower you onto the couch. Tommy looks frantic, and Tess disappears for a moment, coming back with a wet cloth. She drags it over your cheek and you whimper.

“She’s messed up,” she says, you assume to Tommy. “They have a clinic here, right? Like in Baltimore.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “saw it when I first got here. I can go—”

You flail an arm out, your hand landing on Tommy’s leg. “Get Deanna.”

You think he nods — you hope he nods — and you hear the door bang shut a moment later. Tess wipes at your face more; guess you didn’t get as much blood off as you thought.

“Tess,” you call softly, and her eyes snap to yours. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up,” she tells you, her voice almost stern. You want to laugh. “Who did this to you? FEDRA? Cowan?”

“Not Cowan. Pissed off the wrong girl, I guess.” You actually scoff out a laugh, but it makes your ribs sing with pain. “Can’t fight back in lockup.”

Tess’s brow wrinkles. “Good to know it’s the same shit all over in some way, at least.”

You go quiet, for a long moment. Tess holds the cloth against your cheek, and you revel in the cool feeling, letting your eyes flutter shut. The pain throbs with every beat of your heart, every breath you take, but her hands are gentle, almost soft.

“Joel told me,” she says, breaking the silence that’s been filled only with your shaking breaths. “About the two of you, about…before.”

Tears fill behind your closed eyelids, and you feel them slip down your cheeks. “Doesn’t matter now,” you say, trying to shake your head but failing miserably. “He doesn’t…”

“Don’t worry about what he does or doesn’t. He’s a stubborn ass.”

“You two—”

She puts a finger on your lips, shushing you. “I said, don’t worry about it, Liv.” She shakes her head, brow pinched, moving the cloth to dab at the corner of your mouth. “Not right now.”

You hear the door open, and a moment later, Deanna’s face comes into view, hovering over you. “What the hell did you do, girl?”

“Made a deal,” you say, “but it was worth it.”

Through the thin wall, you think you hear Joel sigh, the noise long and deep.

PREV | NEXT

[deadpresidents]

The Elegant Mr. Arthur

It was about two hours after midnight on September 20, 1881, and not unusual for the resident of 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City to be awake at such a late hour or to have plenty of guests. In fact, he preferred to keep late hours, entertaining friends deep into the night with late-night dinner, drinks, and endless conversation. Yet, on this night, 123 Lexington Avenue was somber and the mood was grave. Just a few hours earlier -- at 11:30 PM -- a messenger knocked on the door of Vice President Chester Alan Arthur's Manhattan brownstone and handed Arthur a telegram. Surrounded by a few friends and colleagues, Arthur read that President James Garfield, just 49 years old and in office for almost exactly 200 days, had died at a beach cottage rough 60 miles away, in Elberon, New Jersey. Turning to his friends in his sitting room, Arthur said, "I hope -- my God, I do hope it is a mistake."

On July 2nd, President Garfield was shot twice and seriously wounded by Charles Guiteau as he walked through the Baltimore & Potomac Railroad Station in Washington, D.C. with Secretary of State James G. Blaine and Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln (son of Abraham Lincoln), en route to a speaking engagement at his alma mater, Williams College in Massachusetts. Guiteau was a disgruntled, disturbed, and delusional office-seeker who had been pleading for an appointment as consul to Paris despite an absence of diplomatic or political experience and a complete lack of qualifications. Hounding Garfield throughout the early months of an Administration that had just begun on March 4, 1881, Guiteau's constant harassment of the new President finally resulted in Secretary Blaine ordering Guiteau to never return to the White House again. Guiteau felt that he had been entitled to some office, particularly a high-profile ambassadorship, and was terribly upset that Garfield and his Cabinet members refused to consider his requests. Blaine's order to stay away drove Guiteau to purchase an ivory-handled .44 British Bulldog revolver (specifically chosen because Guiteau felt that particular firearm would look good in a museum) and he began stalking Garfield throughout Washington before finally shooting him in the rail station two days before Independence Day 1881. As police arrested him, Guiteau shouted, "I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts...Arthur is President now!"

But, Arthur wasn't President; not yet at least. Garfield was a physically robust man and relatively young in comparison to most Presidents. Although one bullet had lodged in Garfield's spine, the other bullet grazed his arm and caused no significant damage. While it appeared that he was gravely immediately following the shooting, Garfield's vital signs soon started to improve and the American people began to get their hopes up about a full recovery. A vigil of sorts was underway as President Garfield convalesced in the White House, and his doctors issued regular bulletins updating his condition. Garfield's doctors also poked and prodded with unsterilized instruments and dirty fingers to attempt to locate the bullet still inside of the President's body. Had they left it alone, Garfield almost certainly would have survived; his wounds were significantly less dangerous than those survived by Ronald Reagan 100 years later. However, the unnecessary poking and prodding resulted in a serious infection that ravaged Garfield's body, weakened his heart, and left the muscular, 215-pound President emaciated and weighing less than 135 pounds. After fighting for his life in the sweltering summer heat of Washington, on September 6th it was finally decided to transport Garfield to a cottage on the Jersey Shore in hopes that he could benefit from the fresh ocean air. Sadly, it was too late. The infections were accompanied by blood poisoning and pneumonia, among other ailments. On September 19th, at 10:35 PM, Garfield suffered a massive heart attack and was pronounced dead. In the 79 days since he had been shot, Garfield had lost over 80 pounds and the 49-year-old President's dark brown hair and beard had turned a ghastly white color. An hour later, the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue.

•••

The Vice Presidency was a stretch. Chet Arthur of New York as Vice President? When offered the Republican Vice Presidential nomination by James Garfield in 1880, Chester Arthur was urged by his political mentor, the leader of the Stalwart branch of the Republican Party, Senator Roscoe Conkling of New York, to decline the appointment. Arthur, a man who had never spent a day in Congress or been elected to any office at any level, couldn't turn down such an unexpected opportunity. He accepted the nomination and was elected alongside Garfield in November 1880, but most of the country (rightfully) saw Arthur as the poster boy for a machine politician elevated by the spoils system. The Vice Presidency was certainly a stretch for Chester Arthur, but President of the United States? That was an almost frightening thought to a nation still recovering from Civil War and desperately seeking civil service reform, especially now that a disgruntled office-seeker has assassinated the President. The idea of Arthur as President left a lot of Americans worried -- some because Arthur's political background was as the powerful and somewhat shady Collector of the Port of New York, appointed during the controversial Administration of President Ulysses S. Grant and eventually fired by President Rutherford B. Hayes during a housecleaning of corrupt institutions; and some because James Garfield's murderer had claimed to be a Stalwart and, by his own words, insinuated that Garfield's shooting might be a conspiracy on behalf of Arthur's faction of the divided Republican Party.

Chester Arthur was a creature of the era known as the "Gilded Age" and was the symbolic mascot for the widespread corruption of the 1870's due to his position at the Port of New York. Born in Vermont in 1829, Arthur was the son of a preacher and grew up mostly in upstate New York, graduated from Schenectady's Union College in 1848, briefly taught school was studying law, and was admitted to the bar in 1854. As his law practice grew in the 1850's, Arthur immersed himself in New York Republican politics yet never ran for office. A political appointee to the New York State Militia, he found himself serving during the Civil War and his superb organizational skills led to quick promotions all the way to quartermaster general in 1862, a position which carried the rank of brigadier. As a political appointee to the militia, however, Arthur served at the pleasure of the Governor of New York and was forced to resign in 1862 when a Democratic Governor took office. Returning to New York City, Arthur resumed his law practice and political gamesmanship. More appointments came his way as he supported Republican candidates throughout the state and worked on national campaigns such as President Lincoln's 1864 bid for re-election and Ulysses S. Grant's 1868 Presidential campaign.

In 1871, President Grant appointed Arthur as Collector of customs at the Port of New York, which gave Arthur responsibility for about 75% of the nation's customs duties and was one of the most powerful patronage positions available in the United States government. Arthur used his office to efficiently raise money for Republican campaigns and candidates, supporting President Grant's 1872 re-election campaign by seeking contributions from his employees at the customhouse. In 1876, Arthur championed his political mentor, Roscoe Conkling, for the Republican Presidential nomination, but supported Rutherford B. Hayes in the general election, once again using the employees at the customhouse to help raise money to finance the successful Republican campaign. However, once Hayes was elected, the new President made it clear that he was serious about civil service reform and that meant reforming Arthur's customhouse, too. In 1877, Arthur testified before the Jay Commission, which was formed to investigate charges of corruption and eventually recommended that President Hayes reduce the workforce of the customhouse and eliminate the corrupt elements that had worked there for so long. Due to Arthur's longtime support of the Republican Party, President Hayes offered him an appointment as consul in Paris in order to quietly remove him from the Port of New York. When Arthur refused the appointment, the President fired him and Arthur resumed his law practice in New York City (Hayes intended to replace Arthur with Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. -- father of the future President -- but Conkling felt insulted by Hayes's termination of Arthur and worked to kill Roosevelt's appointment during his Senate confirmation ).

When Arthur headed to the 1880 Republican National Convention at the Interstate Exposition Building in Chicago, it was as a New York delegate supporting the aspirations of former President Ulysses S. Grant who was coming out of retirement to seek an unprecedented third term. However, neither of the front-runners for the nomination -- Grant and Senator James G. Blaine of Maine -- could capture enough votes from delegates to clinch the nomination. After thirty-five ballots, Blaine and another prospective candidate, John Sherman of Ohio, threw their support behind a dark horse candidate -- Ohio Congressman James A. Garfield. On the next ballot, Garfield clinched the nomination and reached out to the opposing wing of the Republican Party for his Vice Presidential choice. The first choice, Levi P. Morton of New York (who would later serve as President Benjamin Harrison's Vice President) declined Garfield's offer, and Arthur -- who had never previously held an elective office -- excitedly accepted, much to the chagrin of his angry political mentor, Roscoe Conkling. Not confident in Garfield's chances for election, Conkling told Arthur, "You should drop it as you would a red hot shot from the forge." Arthur replied, "There is something else to be said," and Conkling asked in disbelief, "What, sir, you think of accepting?" Despite the complaints and anger of Conkling, Arthur told him, "The office of Vice President is a greater honor than I have ever dreamed of attaining. I shall accept. In a calmer moment you will look at this differently."

Following the election, Arthur prepared to settle into the quiet role of Vice President during the 19th Century. The Vice President of the United States has only one real Constitutional responsibility -- to preside over the Senate, and even that responsibility is normally delegated to Senators who rotate as presiding officer almost daily. The powerful or even influential American Vice Presidency is a fairly recent evolution, not even 50 years old. While some Vice Presidents were relied upon for advice or counsel or given larger duties than others, most Vice Presidents were so far removed from the Executive Branch that they were not only kept out of the decision-making process but also kept in the dark about certain information. For example, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died towards the end of World War II in April 1945 and was succeeded by his Vice President, Harry S. Truman, the new President Truman had to be quickly briefed about the existence of the Manhattan Project to develop atomic weaponry. The first Vice President to have an office in the White House was Walter Mondale and that didn't occur until 1977, so in 1881, a Vice President was expected to preside over the Senate on special occasions, cast a tie-breaking vote when necessary, and be available to take the oath of office if the President happened to die or resign.

Like most 19th Century Vice Presidents, Chester Arthur didn't even spend much time in Washington, and he was returning to his regular home in New York City on July 2, 1881 when he stepped off a steamship with Roscoe Conkling and was told that President Garfield had been shot. In fact, the first message that Arthur received erroneously reported that Garfield was already dead and at the request of Garfield's Cabinet, the stunned Vice President immediately returned to Washington, D.C. to proceed with the next steps necessary for maintaining the continuity of government. When Arthur arrived in Washington, President Garfield's condition had improved and his recovery continued to show signs of promise as the Vice President and the nation prayed for him and held vigil throughout the summer. Shaken by rumors that he and his "Stalwart" wing of the Republican Party conspired to assassinate Garfield, Arthur returned home to New York City, hesitant to invite criticism that his continued presence in Washington was merely an eager deathwatch so that he could grab power.

Garfield clung to life for eighty excruciating days with doctors probing him in an effort to remove the bullet in his body, causing infections and leaving the President suffering from blood poisoning which led him to hallucinate at times. The Navy helped rig together an early form of air conditioning in Garfield's White House sickroom in order to give him relief from Washington's stifling summer conditions. When Garfield was taken by train to New Jersey in early-September, it was clear to many that the long vigil was nearly over. More infections set in, along with pneumonia and painful spasms of angina. When the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue just before midnight on September 20, 1881 to inform Arthur that President Garfield had died just 60 miles away, the new President wasn't surprised, but he also wasn't quite prepared. The nation worried about the lifetime political operative stepping into the position vacated by the promising President assassinated before he could enact the civil service reforms promised in his Inaugural Address. What would Arthur -- the quintessential patronage politician -- do as President? Nobody knew, but Chester Alan Arthur had an idea.

•••

It was fitting that Arthur was surrounded by friends when he took the oath of office at his home in Manhattan at 2:15 AM on September 20, 1881. Arthur's beautiful wife, Nell, died of pneumonia in January 1880 and he was inconsolable for months, regretting for the rest of the life the fact that she never saw his election as Vice President or ascendancy to the Presidency. People who knew Arthur stated that he clearly never fully recovered from her death, and that as a "deeply emotional...romantic person," it was no surprise that he ordered that fresh flowers were placed before her portrait in the White House every day while he was President.

Chester Arthur had a lot of friends. That's what happens when you control as many patronage positions as Arthur controlled for as long as Arthur controlled them. But it wasn't just his political position that gained him friends. Arthur was a great storyteller, a man who loved to hunt and fish, kind, easy-going, charming, graceful, and smooth. During his life he was nicknamed "Elegant Arthur" and is considered one of the most stylish of Presidents. Photographs of Presidents from the 19th Century show us men no different than statues. They dressed the same, they looked the same, and when portrayed in the black and white photos of the time, we feel no differently when we see their pictures than when we see a slab of marble carved in their image. Arthur leaps out of his photographs, however. He was a very large man for his era, standing 6'2" and weighing around 220 pounds during his Presidency. Large muttonchops connected to a bushy mustache and his close-cropped, wavy brown hair seemed to pull back his forehead and place more emphasis on expressive black eyes that easily reflected his moods. While it seems that most Presidents of the 19th Century wore the same boring black suit and black tie like a uniform, Arthur's ties are patterned, his jewelry is visible, collars are crisp, handkerchiefs are folded creatively, and his lapels shine as if they were polished along with his shoes. We see photographs of Arthur in fashionable overcoats, a wide variety of hats, and he employed a personal valet who helped the President change clothes for every occasion and multiple times a day -- he was said to have over 80 pairs of pants.

Most apparent of all is that Arthur was a gentleman -- an interesting man with superb social skills and fastidious manners. Even as one of the top operatives in New York's Republican political machine of the corrupt 1870's, he was nicknamed the "Gentleman Boss." As President, he brought entertainment back to the White House -- something that had been missing on a large scale since before the Civil War twenty years earlier. One of his recent predecessors, Rutherford B. Hayes, was one of the few critics of this development, stating that there was "nothing like it before in the Executive Mansion -- liquor, snobbery, and worse." Arthur also redecorated the White House, hiring Louis Comfort Tiffany to help with the design. To help raise money for the redecoration, Arthur basically held a White House yard sale. On the lawn of the mansion, twenty-four wagons full of history (including a pair of Abraham Lincoln's pants that were left behind in a closet) were sold to citizens. To some, the items were priceless; to President Arthur, they were ugly and a man like Chester Arthur did not live in an ugly home. Several weeks after Garfield died, Arthur got his first look at his new home and quickly stated, "I will not live in a house like this." He didn't end up moving into the White House until three months into his Presidency.

•••

After taking the oath of office at home in Manhattan in the early hours of September 20, 1881, now-President Arthur proceeded to Washington, D.C., stopping in Long Branch, New Jersey to pay respects to the late President Garfield and his grieving family. Once Arthur succeeded to the Presidency upon Garfield's death, there was no Vice President, no president pro tempore of the Senate, and no Speaker of the House because Congress had not elected its leadership yet, thus, there was no Constitutional line of succession. If something had happened to Arthur at that moment, the United States would have faced an unprecedented Constitutional crisis. As his first act as President, Arthur immediately called the Senate into session in order to select their leadership positions and place someone in the line of succession. Upon arriving in Washington, Attorney General Wayne MacVeagh suggested that Arthur take a second oath of office and he did so at the U.S. Capitol on September 22nd in the presence of Garfield's Cabinet, members of Congress, Supreme Court Justices, and former Presidents Grant and Hayes.

Americans worried about the former machine politician's integrity were transformed quickly as Chester Arthur underwent somewhat of a transformation himself. Widely considered a lapdog of New York's Roscoe Conkling, Arthur broke ranks with the party boss and pushed for the same civil service reform championed by James Garfield prior to the assassination. Arthur's former associates in the New York Republican Party were disappointed when he declined their requests for political favors. One former colleague sadly reported, "He isn't 'Chet' Arthur anymore. He's the President." Arthur found that the transformation was almost automatic and out of his control, noting that "Since I came here I have learned that Chester A. Arthur is one man and the President of the United States is another." His old benefactor, Conkling, was one critic of the new President, complaining "I have but one annoyance with the Administration of President Arthur and that is, in contrast with it, the Administration of Hayes becomes respectable, if not heroic." Arthur signed the Pendleton Act in 1883 which created a modern civil service system and eliminated the spoils system that had long dominated American politics. The reform, which Conkling called "snivel service" was the final break between the longtime friends and colleagues.

To the American people, the great surprise of the Arthur Administration was the fact that it was clean, honest, and efficient. Arthur helped lift the gloomy moods that had shadowed Washington through the Civil War, Lincoln's assassination, Andrew Johnson's Impeachment, Reconstruction, the corruption of the Gilded Age, and Garfield's assassination. His popularity rose throughout his term and most critics focused on his lavish entertainment or the fact that he was notoriously late for meetings and seemed bored or lethargic at times. He often procrastinated -- as a White House clerk once said, "President Arthur never did today what he could put off until tomorrow." Still, most Americans were happy with President Arthur and echoed the thoughts of Mark Twain who said, "I am but one in 55 million; still, in the opinion of those one-fifty-five-millionth of the country's population, it would be hard to better President Arthur's Administration."

He was bored, though. President Arthur didn't like being President. He enjoyed the entertaining dinners that he could throw and loved public events or ceremonies that allowed him to meet the people of the United States, but the desk work was tedious and he wasn't interested in policy. Arthur stayed up late and seemed to vacation often, which perplexed many people because it was said that he was constantly exhausted. What they didn't know was that from almost the time he became President, Chester Arthur was dying. In 1882, he was diagnosed with Bright's disease, a fatal kidney ailment at the time. Despite reports that he was suffering from the disease, Arthur hid it from the public, desperately protecting his privacy, as always. Arthur's distaste for the Presidency probably stemmed in part from depression triggered by the Bright's disease. At times, Arthur suffered from debilitating illness and it was always covered with a story about the President catching a cold during a fishing trip or spending too much time in the sun while hunting. In a letter to his son Alan in 1883, the President confided, "I have been so ill that I have hardly been able to dispose of the...business before me."

Despite his popularity, Republican leaders opposed Arthur's nomination as President in his own right in 1884. The man who opposed it most, however, was the President himself, who stated "I do not want to be re-elected." Not only was he disinterested in a second term, but he knew very well that there was a possibility he might not even survive to the end of his current term. He did, and after attending the inauguration of his successor, Grover Cleveland, on March 4, 1885, Arthur returned home to New York City where his health rapidly declined. The former President was aware that he was dying and made plans for a relatively quiet retirement, deciding to practice law, but doing very little work due to his health. When asked about his future, Arthur said, "There doesn't seem anything for an ex-President to do but to go out in the country and raise big pumpkins." On November 16, 1886, Arthur suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. Gravely ill, he called his son to his bedside the day before his death and had all of his public and private papers stuffed into trash cans and burned. On November 18, 1886, the 57-year-old former President died in the same place he became President just five years earlier, 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City. After a quiet funeral at the Church of Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue in New York, Arthur's remains were buried next to his beloved wife at Rural Cemetery in Albany, New York.

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When President Arthur had many of his personal papers burned prior to his death, he eliminated one of the best sources of information for future historians. With a thin resume and a fairly uneventful Presidency, there wasn't much public information about his career, either. This leaves us with very little to remember Chester Alan Arthur by. Research on his life -- particularly his personal life -- is difficult, and Arthur would have appreciated that. During his Presidency, leaders of the temperance movement called on Arthur and urged him to follow the non-alcoholic lifestyle led by President Hayes and his teetotaler wife, who was known as "Lemonade Lucy."

Arthur's response: "Madam, I may be President of the United States, but my private life is nobody's damn business."

And so it isn't.