It's April 30, 1889 in New York City.

It's Centennial Day, the 100th anniversary of President George Washington's first inauguration.

President Benjamin Harrison, the Centennial President, rides in an open carriage from

St. Paul's Chapel on Broadway to the Federal Sub-Treserie Building on Wall Street, but instead

of enjoying the cheering crowds, Harrison is frustrated.

He just attended a church service to honor President Washington, but the main speaker,

Bishop Henry Potter, filled his sermon with thinly veiled criticisms of Harrison.

He sat in silence during the sermon, but now in the carriage, Harrison vents to his secretary,

Elijah Helford.

What sort of Bishop uses a sermon as an occasion for a political attack?

I can't imagine, sir.

Potter implied I use favoritism to run the country, called my administration a huge machine

existing mainly for the purpose of rewarding partisan service.

Those were his exact words.

I know, sir.

He romanticized the past at the expense of the factual historical record.

I just hope the public will realize that if he were knowledgeable, he would find abundant

reason, not for praising the past at the expense of the present, but rather thankfulness

that the past has passed, never to return.

The people revere you, sir.

Look how many have come to see you live in the flesh.

Harrison is stewing as he looks outside the carriage, but life in the public eye dictates

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