Houses of the Presidents Childhood Homes, Fand Grand Estates

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During his first term, President Cleveland maintained a policy barring special favors to any economic group and repeatedly vetoed private bills and pork-barrel legislation. In he angered voters by vetoing the Dependent Pension Bill of , which would have granted pensions for disabilities not caused by military service. Calling on Congress to reduce high protective tariffs, he was told that he had given Republicans an issue for the next campaign. He retorted, "What is the use of being elected or reelected unless you stand for something? The early Cleveland White House was a bachelor's household; the president worked long hours and rarely entertained.

Rose Cleveland, the president's sister, acted as first lady, managed the affairs of the residence, and spent much of her time studying. No sooner did the public become accustomed to the image of a lonely White House, than did the picture change. President Cleveland had been secretly courting Frances "Frank" Folsom, the daughter of Oscar Folsom, his late law partner. When Folsom was killed in a carriage accident, Cleveland became the administrator of his estate and the ward of then year old Frances, devoting himself to the welfare of the girl and her mother.

Intimates of the Clevelands and Folsoms knew that the attachment between the president and Frank was more than friendship.

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A year before he went to the White House, he obtained permission from Mrs. Folsom to correspond with her daughter. A graduate of Wells College at Aurora, New York, Frances was bright, had an animated wit, unaffected nature, and natural beauty that left the president smitten. Their courtship was conducted largely by mail and the president included his proposal of marriage in a letter.

On May 28, , after Frances and her mother returned from a nine-month tour of Europe, the formal announcement of the engagement was made; five days later, the year old bachelor married year old Frances Folsom in a small White House ceremony. The public was captivated.

On Wednesday, June 2, , at in the evening, cabinet members and their wives, selected government officials and close family friends were ushered into the Blue Room. The state floor was decorated with a profusion of palms, ferns, and flowers from the White House greenhouses. Cleveland and his bride, with no attendants, descended the stairs, crossed the hall and stood beneath the flower-laden chandelier in the Blue Room.

Presbyterian minister, Reverend Byron Sunderlund performed a specially written rite of marriage. The couple then led their guests through the Green Room into the East Room, where they promenaded in the shimmering light of the gas chandeliers. The new Mrs. Cleveland wore an elegant wedding gown of heavy corded satin draped in frail, pearl white, India silk, edged in real orange blossoms.

A pair of silk scarves criss-crossed the front of the dress covering the low Parisian neckline. Her long silk veil was held in place with orange blossoms and seed pearls; attached to the bodice was a foot silk train. After about a half an hour had passed in promenade, the doors of the Cross Hall were opened and the bride and groom led the guests to the State Dining Room for a seated, candlelit dinner.

A three-masted ship made of flowers and christened the Hymen dominated the table. After dinner the bride and groom disappeared to change into street clothes for traveling and left the White House by way of the Blue Room where a coach awaited at the foot of the South Portico stairs. Canvas screens blocked the public's view. Escorted by mounted police, coachman Albert Hawkins drove the carriage through a cheering crowd down Pennsylvania Avenue. The Clevelands traveled by private railroad car to Deer Park Resort in the mountains of western Maryland for their honeymoon.

On the same day that the president's engagement was announced, he signed the closing papers on an old stone house in northwest Washington. He hired Washington architect William Poindexter to remodel the place into a picturesque modern Queen Anne villa, with porches on two levels, dark green woodwork, and a vast roof of wood shingles stained red.

Cleveland fondly called the house "Oak View," but it came to be known as "Red Top" by the press.

From the vantage point of the many reporters who staked out the house, all that could be seen was the red roof nestled among old growth trees. The Clevelands summered at Red Top and used it year-round for short retreats from the White House as well. Folsom, Frank's mother.

The white share of the Queens population had fallen to Jamaica Estates , ZIP code , where Trump spent his childhood and youth, underwent an even greater transformation. By , the residents were And by , Queens was no longer Trump turf. He won The explosion of immigration and the racial change in the makeup of Queens might have left an especially deep imprint, because his constant references to making America great again evoke an earlier time that was considerably less diverse.

Craig, and Julian M. Rucker, psychologists at N.

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Whites for whom the changing national diversity is salient express a more support for conservative policies, including those relevant to race; b less support for diversity; c more racial resentment and support for the Tea Party; and d more support for Donald Trump and anti-immigrant policies. Trump has long since departed Queens, along with more than , other whites, many of whom became recruits for his presidential campaign. His administration is in many respects an attempt to restore the Queens of his early childhood.

That tweet is for the guy in the flyover states, at the steel plant. If I lose some of the effete Republican elite, what difference does it make?

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There were clothes from the Netherlands and women had money to buy them. Some needed big bags to carry all the money each time they were paid. Most teachers had their own means of transport but now it is not the case. Coca-Cola employed 7, people but now they are unemployed. Although Mobutu died, he left it for us. This palace and two others in Gbadolite — one designed as a cluster of Chinese pagodas, the other for state business and now occupied by the military — are in terminal decline, but the town itself survives with a population of ,, a bustling marketplace and a sprinkling of bars and restaurants.

It has more night-time brightness than many remote parts of Africa thanks to a hydro-electric dam that Mobutu built on the Ubangui river in Without presidential patronage, however, Gbadolite too has seen better days. The Coca-Cola bottling plant shut down and was turned into a UN logistics base. Concrete multi-storey municipal buildings were halted mid-construction and became improvised schools, breaking every health-and-safety rule in the book as they throng with children in blue and white uniforms.

The once pristine Boulevard Mobutu has lost its lustre. The compound that oversaw industry during the boom years now has a fading, almost unreadable sign and a deathly hush. He was like my father. I loved and worshipped him. He was not a dictator — he was a good man who wanted to unify people. It was exciting.

He would joke with me: when I was eating, he would take my spoon and eat with it. At that time we thought Mobutu would never die.

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We thought he was eternal. The five-star Motel Nzekele, opened in with decor to match, still has an image of Mobutu at the front gate but can only offer ghosts in its shabby reception, arid fountains and pools, red-walled bar and nightclub with exotic paintings of bare-breasted women.

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The empty cinema has ripped seats and holes where the projector used to be. It was a great centre of development. Remember this was once a jungle, a forest, with nothing here. But Mobutu was born here and when he became president he decided to build this and settle his people. He was like the father of the family. Gbadolite airport enabled him to charter Concorde, the fastest passenger plane in the world, for extravagant trips to Europe.

In the vast runway, bordered by wild growing grass, welcomes only two or three tiny aircraft a week from the UN and one commercial operator. Most of the portable staircases lie idle and broken near the remnant of a helicopter engine and a row of flagless poles while, at the top of the defunct control tower, two windows lie shattered on the floor.

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At the check-in desk a luggage conveyor belt appears long dead, while wall paintings of topless women and muscle-bound men are peeling away. Up a stairway that lacks bannister or handrail, year-old mosaics of African villages are surrounded by graffiti.

At the nearby VIP arrivals lounge, uniformed soldiers camp out with music pounding from a stereo. The paperwork was lost for ever when the town fell and, like so much else in Gbadolite, that moment in the sun is fading into mythology. The painting depicts him in crisp white military tunic with cap, spectacles and green sash, his hands gripping a rail as if surveying an adoring public.

Egide Nyikpingo, who has been mayor for seven years, says industry died out with Mobutu. When I drove from the airport to downtown, I felt very sick. We destroyed our most beautiful town. I still feel sad about it. Everybody knows that.

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