Introduction
Summary of the Book Becoming FDR by Jonathan Darman. Before moving forward, let’s take a quick look at the book. Imagine opening a door to a world where leadership is not born of ease, but forged in trial. In Becoming FDR, we witness how Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s life shifted from gilded privilege to a profound struggle that forever reshaped him. Once a tall, confident golden boy, he found himself humbled by polio’s crippling grasp, forced to redefine greatness. Pain taught him empathy; discomfort awakened compassion. Eleanor Roosevelt, once overshadowed, evolved into a beacon of influence, guiding him with her insight and courage. Together, they faced a nation in crisis, forging bonds with everyday Americans through simple words broadcast over radio waves. Through quiet retreats in Warm Springs and bold steps on public stages, FDR discovered that leaders who understand suffering can inspire hope. Step into this story and see how adversity transformed a man into a guiding light.
Chapter 1: The Golden Boy with a Privileged Upbringing, Boundless Confidence, and Hidden Longings.
Long before he became the figure guiding America through economic storms and global wars, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was a boy born into extraordinary privilege. Imagine a grand estate in upstate New York, where sprawling lawns and carefully groomed gardens reflected the grace and wealth of a well-established family name. Franklin’s childhood overflowed with opportunities most could never imagine: private tutors, trips abroad, and lessons in social graces that positioned him as a young aristocrat. There was always a sense that the world would bend to his will, as if the very air around him recognized his distinguished family legacy. He received praise so frequently it might as well have been the air he breathed. Taught to sail, ride horses, and even dabble in politics from a young age, he believed he could do no wrong. His life felt so charmed that any destiny seemed possible.
Growing up, Franklin was a tall, handsome figure, admired by relatives, neighbors, and schoolmates who saw in him not just a promising young man, but a sort of prince destined for greatness. He never needed to work hard for admiration. His mother’s lavish love and constant attention nurtured a confidence so strong that it sometimes shaded into arrogance. He embraced society’s well-dressed gatherings, glided gracefully through formal dances, and created an image of a naturally gifted winner. Instead of grappling with doubts, he pushed forward with a smile that suggested all doors would open at his approach. As he matured, he developed a polished way of speaking, shaking hands, and presenting himself. He was clever, always knowing how to charm those around him. Yet behind this polished façade lingered an untested character that had never faced true hardship.
Despite the sunshine-filled days of sailing off the coast and leisurely sporting afternoons, Franklin’s early life lacked the crucible that shapes inner strength. While he might have encountered mild setbacks—like losing a school election or facing the mild criticism of a family acquaintance—he had never truly been tested. Safe within the cushion of wealth, his heart never learned to ache in ways that forged empathy. He considered himself understanding, but he had never stood face-to-face with genuine suffering. Real hardship remained an unfamiliar concept, something that happened elsewhere, to other people. His youthful political ambitions were informed more by vanity and inherited influence than by any deep moral calling. He cared deeply about being admired but lacked the humility that comes from facing the world’s raw edges. This would all change dramatically in the coming years.
In those days, Franklin’s confidence was as solid as the old family name he carried. Many who knew him admired his energy and enthusiasm. He made politics seem effortless, treating it like a game of pleasant handshakes and polite dinners. If someone had told him he would someday shoulder the weight of a nation’s despair, he might have laughed, considering it an unnecessary worry. After all, he seemed destined to follow the path of his famous relative, President Theodore Roosevelt. With such a shining background and optimistic stride, what could possibly stand in his way? But life has a way of delivering unexpected tests. Beneath all his charm and privilege, Franklin lacked a crucial ingredient: understanding the pain and struggles of everyday Americans. That understanding would only come after fate struck him down in a way he never saw coming.
Chapter 2: A Summer Morning’s Feverish Crisis That Forever Transformed Franklin’s Physical Destiny.
It was a warm August morning in 1921, a day when the sea breeze should have brought relief and joy. Franklin had arrived at Campobello, his family’s cherished summer retreat near the coast of Maine. He intended to spend the vacation swimming, sailing, and basking in the glow of family leisure. Instead, he woke up drenched in sweat, his body shaking with fever, his mind clouded by strange chills. This abrupt health crisis seemed out of place in his world of comfort. When he tried to stand, his legs refused to hold him. He collapsed, stunned by this sudden betrayal of his body. The family, once used to Franklin’s boundless energy, now had to rally around a sickbed. There were no grand political events or elegant dinners here—only worried whispers, hurried trips to find a doctor, and a creeping sense of dread.
Doctors came slowly, their journey from the mainland requiring significant effort. Franklin’s condition puzzled them; was it a blood clot, exhaustion, or something else entirely? As the fever raged, he drifted in and out of a hazy world filled with painful stiffness and strange, dream-like visions. This man who once took pride in his physical vigor now struggled with the simplest movements. Concerned family members, led by his wife Eleanor and his loyal advisor Louis Howe, did their best to soothe him. They brought water, wiped his forehead, and gently moved his legs to prevent stiffness. Yet as the days slipped by, Franklin’s legs offered no improvement. What had started as a mysterious fever now began to look like something more serious. No one dared mention the growing suspicion of a dreaded disease—polio—a word that struck fear into every family’s heart.
Polio, also known as infantile paralysis, had haunted communities and parents for years. It struck unexpectedly, sometimes sparing one child while crippling another. When it invaded muscles and nerves, it could leave a once-healthy person unable to walk or even breathe without assistance. For Franklin, who relied so much on his image of confident ease, this was a cruel twist. Now, confined to his bed, he realized that no amount of money or family name could instantly fix what was happening inside him. Each day brought new attempts at gentle exercises and hopeful smiles, but his legs remained lifeless. Franklin’s world narrowed to the four walls of his room, the faces of Eleanor and Howe, and the sound of distant waves. He began to understand that real suffering, the kind he’d never known, was now his constant companion.
As the fever subsided and the weeks passed, Franklin’s diagnosis became clearer: polio had claimed his lower body’s strength. This meant no easy remedy, no quick path back to the sporting, energetic life he once enjoyed. This young politician who strutted confidently across stages, shaking hands and charming crowds, now struggled to sit upright. The future he had mapped out—one of smooth political ascents and continued admiration—had shattered like fragile glass. Yet hidden within this hardship, a slow, quiet transformation began. Stripped of superficial comforts, Franklin discovered that pain forces a re-examination of who we are. He had never truly understood what hardship felt like, and now it was teaching him lessons about patience, resilience, and empathy. If he could not rely on physical strength, he would have to forge a new inner strength. His life’s story was now divided into a before and an after.
Chapter 3: Eleanor’s Emergence from Shadows into a Powerful Figure of Support.
Eleanor Roosevelt was no stranger to feeling overlooked and underappreciated. Though she had grown up in wealth, her childhood was marked by the emotional absences of her parents. She understood longing and disappointment, experiences that had molded her into a thoughtful, observant soul. Marrying Franklin seemed to blend two remarkable families, uniting her ties to Theodore Roosevelt’s legacy with Franklin’s aristocratic lineage. Yet as Franklin rose in politics, traveling and charming crowds, Eleanor often felt cast into a background role—expected to smile, nod, and manage the household. Their marriage had faced strains even before polio struck. Franklin’s publicized affair with her social secretary had wounded Eleanor deeply. She had dreamed of carving her own identity, stepping out from her husband’s shadow, perhaps even living separately. But fate, in the form of Franklin’s illness, demanded a different path.
When polio knocked Franklin off his feet, Eleanor found herself abruptly placed at the center of action. She became his caretaker, nurse, and shield. Day and night, she cared for him with unwavering dedication, even though the pain in her heart still lingered. While Franklin lay in bed struggling with fever and numbness, Eleanor managed practical tasks and navigated the curious world outside their home. Reporters inquired about Franklin’s condition, party insiders worried about his political future, and friends sent anxious messages. Eleanor fielded these with a steady hand. She positioned herself as a calm, protective figure who refused to let his reputation shatter. In these trials, Eleanor discovered new strengths: courage, patience, and an unshakeable drive to support not just Franklin, but also the ideals they both believed in—fairness, democracy, and the possibility of progress.
As Eleanor gained confidence, she also began to explore the world of political activism. She stepped out into public life, engaging with social issues that mattered to her. Before long, she found herself involved in projects that challenged the status quo. Women had recently won the right to vote, and Eleanor seized this moment to become a voice for women’s political participation. She made connections with progressive thinkers, educators, and reformers who opened her eyes to the struggles of immigrants, factory workers, and the poorest neighborhoods. While Franklin recuperated, Eleanor sharpened her political instincts and learned how to communicate effectively. She was no longer just the wife of a politician; she was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Her newfound influence would prove invaluable when Franklin eventually returned to the public stage, shaped by polio and guided by Eleanor’s evolving vision.
Eleanor’s evolution benefited from timing: the political landscape was shifting, and she understood the moment’s importance. After the 19th Amendment granted women voting rights, the doors of politics had opened a bit wider. Eleanor saw how women’s voices could influence policy and culture. She gave speeches, wrote articles, and connected with journalists on her own terms. When reporters insisted on asking about hats and hemlines, she slipped in discussions of labor rights, education, and public health. The more she spoke, the more seriously people took her. Instead of remaining trapped in a spouse’s supporting role, Eleanor became a leader in her own right. Her voice would echo through the upcoming struggles, helping Franklin understand the breadth of American suffering. Together, they would become a remarkable team—he from his wheelchair, and she from her growing public platform.
Chapter 4: The Quiet Recovery Journeys, Secret Strength-Building, and Unseen Determination Within.
By the mid-1920s, Franklin’s body still struggled to recover. Hope flickered faintly, yet he refused to accept permanent defeat. He searched for treatments that might restore his mobility. He spent time on a barge in warmer climates, sunbathing and swimming in calm waters. Away from the public eye, he tried exercises, stretching routines, and contraptions designed to strengthen weakened muscles. He learned to swing his hips, to use his upper body to compensate for his unresponsive legs. Every small improvement was a victory. He had never needed to work this hard for anything before. Each slight gain in flexibility or endurance felt like conquering a tiny mountain. It was during these quiet months, far from political spotlights, that Franklin began to understand the value of persistence and patience. This quiet determination would become a hallmark of his leadership style.
While Franklin struggled with physical therapy and unconventional treatments, he also struggled with his ego. No longer could he rely on a charming walk across a political stage to win hearts. He had to rediscover himself. This meant reflecting on life beyond his own desires. He realized that many Americans, those without fortunes or famous family names, lived daily with pain, struggle, and heartbreak. If he wanted to lead them one day, he needed to understand their battles. Through his own suffering, he found a rare gift: empathy. It did not come easily. At first, he resisted feeling vulnerable. But as he lived through days of relentless effort just to stand upright, he finally grasped that the world was full of silent fighters who never received applause. This understanding would later shape policies and approaches that truly served the public.
During these years, Franklin maintained contact with political allies, old family friends, and especially with Eleanor and Louis Howe. Letters and visits kept him linked to the political world, even as he practiced wading exercises in warm water. This careful balance—quiet personal healing on one hand, careful political navigation on the other—was delicate. It revealed a man forging a new identity. Gone was the shallow politician who relied only on heritage and good looks. In his place emerged someone wiser, patient, and more introspective. If he returned to politics, he wanted to do so as a leader who could speak to the hearts of ordinary people. That meant understanding their fears and dreams. Pain had a way of sanding away the rough edges of arrogance and pride, leaving behind a smoother surface on which compassion could rest.
As months turned into years, Franklin’s daily routines settled into a determined rhythm: exercise, rest, study, and steady rebuilding of inner strength. He began to imagine a future that, while not free of struggle, could still hold greatness. Whispers circulated about whether Franklin Roosevelt would ever return to public office. Some doubted he could stand before crowds again, let alone lead them. Others believed that his powerful name and well-connected friends would pave an inevitable path back. But Franklin himself knew the truth: if he was to stand and speak, he would have to be more than he had ever been before. He would need to become a man whose courage came not from ease, but from overcoming hardship. And so he trudged forward, day by day, forging resilience in the quiet shadows far from the public spotlight.
Chapter 5: Stepping onto Public Stages Again, Redefining Courage and Political Image.
Opportunity knocked sooner than Franklin expected. In 1924, the Democratic Party was boiling with internal conflicts. A major political convention loomed in New York City, filled with tension over issues like Prohibition and racial intolerance. Franklin received an invitation to speak, to lend his famous family name and rhetorical charm to support Governor Al Smith’s nomination. Physically, he was not ready—he relied on wheelchairs, braces, and strong arms for support. But politically, this might be his chance to reenter the arena. His decision to accept said much about his evolving character. He knew he would be judged not just by his words, but by the sight of a man grappling with disability on a public stage. Still, he went forward, aware that radio technology would carry his voice across the nation, and he hoped Americans would sense the strength born from adversity.
On the day of the convention, the crowd roared with passion. Delegates yelled, argued, and applauded their respective candidates. Then came the moment Franklin was to speak. Slowly, aided by others, he was lifted onto the stage. The hall fell silent. To listeners at home, it seemed like an extraordinary wave of admiration. To those present, it was partly shock and partly awe at the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. Franklin, his face composed and confident, made his way to the podium using canes and carefully placed iron bars for support. He stood there, a living symbol of struggle and persistence. His presence alone was a powerful statement: he had not vanished from public life; he had returned changed, determined, and ready to face both cheers and doubts. At that moment, Franklin transformed from a privileged politician into a figure of inspiration.
Radio brought this dramatic scene into American homes. Millions who knew little about Franklin Roosevelt heard the cheers and sensed that something heroic had occurred. On air, they could not see his braces or watch the struggle as he balanced himself. They only heard the applause, the hush, and the thunderous support. This made Franklin Roosevelt instantly more familiar to the public ear. His message resonated beyond party lines, capturing the imagination of those who wanted a leader with courage. The courage he displayed that night was not the daring leap of an athlete, but the steady resolve of a person who refuses to quit. By the end of the convention, people talked about him as if he were the beating heart of American hope. In truth, he was still finding his own way forward—but the public’s perception had changed forever.
The success of his public return gave Franklin something valuable: a renewed sense of purpose. He realized that his voice mattered, that his words could inspire unity or reflect divisions. He began thinking more deeply about the issues confronting the nation. He wanted to understand hardship not just as a personal struggle, but as a social reality facing farmers, factory workers, struggling families, and anyone crushed by economic hardship. These insights were seedlings in his mind, not yet fully formed policies. But the stage had shown him that Americans yearned for hope, for leaders who understood suffering and fought to ease it. Over time, he would cultivate these seedlings into a grand vision that would become known as the New Deal. The man who once relied on charm and family prestige was now building the foundation of true statesmanship.
Chapter 6: Radio Waves, National Crises, and the Unlikely Growth of Empathy.
As the 1920s progressed and moved into the early 1930s, America faced daunting challenges. Economic uncertainties spread like wildfire, culminating in the Great Depression. Millions of ordinary Americans lost their jobs, homes, and savings. Franklin, guided by his evolving empathy, sensed that people needed not just policies, but reassurance and understanding. Radio, the technology that had helped him reconnect with the public, became his chosen medium to speak directly to citizens. While he was still finding his footing in politics—serving as Governor of New York and testing out social programs—he recognized the power of a friendly, understanding voice beamed into countless living rooms. In these early experiments, he learned how to make complex matters simple and approachable. He discovered that gentleness, sincerity, and compassion could travel over the airwaves and help people feel less alone in their struggles.
This approach was radical for the time. Politicians usually delivered speeches to crowds or printed statements for newspapers. Franklin’s decision to talk directly through the radio seemed personal and intimate. He invited listeners to imagine that he was speaking to them as individuals, not as distant subjects. He discussed problems plainly, explaining complicated policies without pompous jargon. Like someone chatting with a neighbor over a fence, he made fears seem understandable and solutions feel possible. Americans, frightened by the collapse of banks, the disappearance of jobs, and the uncertainty ahead, found comfort in his voice. It was as if he was saying, I know you are scared, I hear you, and I’m working to help. This personal connection fostered trust. Slowly, listeners began believing that maybe this man, who had overcome his own struggles, could help them overcome theirs too.
By the time Franklin stood on the brink of the presidency, he had honed his ability to connect. He used radio not just to announce policies, but to share the feeling that he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with every listener. The threat of polio had taught him that life can strike anyone, regardless of status. Now, as the nation teetered on the edge of despair, he called upon that hard-won empathy. He understood that strength does not always roar; sometimes it whispers reassurance. As the Great Depression deepened, Franklin’s carefully chosen words and tone hinted that he would not abandon the average American. Instead, he would use his position to create change, address suffering, and restore hope. His mastery of radio would later serve as a lifeline, guiding anxious citizens through bank panics, unemployment crises, and even the terror of World War II.
This unlikely path to greatness—shaped by sickness, nurtured by quiet recovery, and broadcast through radio waves—set Franklin apart. Many leaders before him had wealth, connections, or brilliant minds, but few had a personal journey that taught them empathy so deeply. He now knew the pain of losing physical freedom, the frustration of slow healing, and the value of caring allies. This knowledge made him unique. The voice on the radio was not just a politician reciting rehearsed lines; it was a person who knew hardship personally and wanted to lift others from despair. This authenticity became his strongest weapon against hopelessness. Even before stepping into the White House, Franklin Roosevelt was forging a bond with Americans that would define the next decade. They would trust him not because he was perfect, but because he understood their fears as if they were his own.
Chapter 7: Eleanor’s Independent Rise, Subtle Influence, and Strategic Broad Public Engagement.
While Franklin developed empathy and honed his communication style, Eleanor Roosevelt continued her own remarkable evolution. Freed from the narrow expectations of a politician’s spouse, she reached into communities, listened to people’s problems, and brought their concerns back into the halls of power. Eleanor had friendships with educators, activists, and reformers. She visited overcrowded tenement neighborhoods, met with immigrant families, and understood the daily struggles of ordinary women and men. She tested the limits of what a First Lady could do—long before she carried that title. Her eloquence and willingness to engage with the press turned traditionally women’s reporting niches into platforms for discussing social issues. She introduced readers to the challenges of working mothers, underpaid laborers, and segregated communities. Though she never upstaged Franklin publicly, her work influenced his thinking, nudging him toward policies that recognized people’s real needs.
In an era still marked by strict gender roles, Eleanor’s quiet but determined approach to political engagement was revolutionary. She taught reporters that beneath fine dresses and official receptions lay deeper questions about fairness, justice, and humanity. By the time Franklin was ready to run for higher office, Eleanor had woven a network of politically conscious women who understood the power of collective action. She guided them to support Franklin’s candidacies, not simply because he was her husband, but because they believed in the values he would eventually champion. In subtle ways, Eleanor shaped the Democratic Party’s stance on social issues. She spoke about workers’ rights, juvenile justice, education reforms, and sometimes even challenged her own husband to consider bolder action. Eleanor showed that a leader’s success often depends on a partner who can reflect the voices of those unheard.
As Americans faced uncertainty, Eleanor’s presence offered stability. Her newspaper columns, lectures, and public appearances helped people feel that someone in power cared about their everyday lives. She softened the gap between the White House and the public, acting as a bridge that carried stories of hardship and hope both ways. In a sense, she showed Franklin how to be a better, more engaged leader. Her activism was not flashy; it was steady, reliable, and anchored in real relationships with real people. By listening intently, she learned which policies mattered on the ground. She passed this knowledge along, ensuring that Franklin’s decisions were not made in a vacuum. This collaboration would become a central feature of their partnership, helping shape programs to relieve poverty, boost employment, and eventually guide the nation through turbulent times.
Eleanor’s transformation paralleled Franklin’s own journey. While he found humility and empathy through his physical struggles, she found her voice and influence through exposure to social injustices. Together, they formed a pair unlike any previous White House couple. He would stand tall in spirit, even if not always in body, while she would roam freely through communities, gathering the wisdom they needed. The critics who dismissed her at first gradually recognized her undeniable impact. She had become a figure larger than the quiet wife who once hovered in the background. Eleanor’s name began to stand for moral courage, curiosity, and a willingness to challenge the old rules of politics. Her steady hand and thoughtful perspective would remain crucial as Franklin prepared to lead the nation through unprecedented challenges. In this way, their individual paths to self-discovery intertwined for the common good.
Chapter 8: Warm Springs, Healing Communities, and Forging a Leader for Turbulent Times.
One place that came to define Franklin’s approach to healing—both personal and societal—was Warm Springs, Georgia. He first discovered it as a remote spa where the mineral-rich waters seemed to soothe his aching legs. Surrounded by nature, sunshine, and gentle breezes, he felt a renewed hope for improved mobility. But Warm Springs became something more than a treatment center. Franklin envisioned it as a community where polio survivors could learn to function again, not just physically, but socially and emotionally. He invested in transforming the run-down resort into a center that welcomed patients of all backgrounds. Wheelchairs rolled across wooden ramps, conversations sparked over shared exercises, and laughter replaced isolation. It was a living experiment in empathy: a place where people reclaimed dignity and learned to navigate a world that had often ignored their needs.
By fostering a supportive environment in Warm Springs, Franklin showed that solutions to suffering could be shaped by understanding and cooperation. The patients were not mere charity cases; they were partners in a journey of discovery. Their input guided the treatments, therapies, and even architectural designs, ensuring that future guests would find it easier to move around. This inclusive approach echoed Franklin’s growing political philosophy. He increasingly believed that the government could, and should, help citizens improve their lives. Just as Warm Springs offered ramps, braces, and friendship to restore independence, he imagined public policies as tools to lift Americans from the crushing weight of the Great Depression. Warm Springs taught him that change requires not just money or programs, but also genuine care for the people these programs serve.
As Franklin prepared to launch himself onto the national stage, Warm Springs remained a grounding place. He returned often, seeking not only therapy but also inspiration. There, he could speak candidly with others who knew the pain of limitations. He learned how a supportive community, rather than pity, could fuel personal growth. This understanding shaped how he would later connect with the entire nation. When he became president, he would offer Americans something akin to Warm Springs on a grand scale—policies that cared about human dignity, laws that brought relief, and leadership that treated suffering not as weakness, but as a call to action. In essence, Warm Springs foreshadowed the spirit of the New Deal: uplifting those in need, restoring confidence, and reminding people that they were not alone in their struggles.
This path from a privileged boy to a resourceful, empathetic leader was far from straightforward. Franklin’s transformation required him to face down personal demons, physical pain, and public skepticism. But with Eleanor at his side and Warm Springs as a model of community-based healing, he forged a new identity. He learned to wield his name, wealth, and connections not for personal vanity, but for the greater good. By the time he stood on the threshold of the presidency, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was no longer the carefree aristocrat he once was. He had become a leader attuned to the heartbeat of a struggling nation, ready to steer through the storms of economic collapse and eventually global war. His journey taught him that genuine leadership is earned, not inherited, and that true strength arises from understanding the pains of others.
All about the Book
Explore the transformative journey of Franklin D. Roosevelt in ‘Becoming FDR’ by Jonathan Darman, which delves into how personal trials shaped his leadership during America’s greatest crisis—the Great Depression. Discover resilience and political metamorphosis.
Jonathan Darman is a distinguished writer and historian known for his insightful analysis of American political history and leaders, captivating readers with his engaging narratives and deep research.
Historians, Political Scientists, Journalists, Educators, University Students
Reading Political Biographies, Studying History, Participating in Book Clubs, Visiting Historical Sites, Engaging in Political Discussions
Economic Inequality, Political Leadership, The Role of Government, Crisis Management
In adversity, we find our capacity to lead and transform not just ourselves, but the world around us.
Doris Kearns Goodwin, David McCullough, Jon Meacham
George Washington Prize, Pulitzer Prize Nominee, New York Times Best Seller
1. How did childhood shape FDR’s future decisions? #2. What key influences shaped FDR’s political beliefs? #3. How did polio redefine FDR’s approach to leadership? #4. What role did family legacy play in FDR’s ambition? #5. How can adversity drive personal and political growth? #6. What strategies did FDR use to connect with voters? #7. How did FDR’s education influence his presidency? #8. What personal values guided FDR during crises? #9. How did FDR navigate party politics effectively? #10. In what ways did FDR’s experiences shape his policies? #11. How did empathy influence FDR’s leadership style? #12. What lessons can be drawn from FDR’s perseverance? #13. How did FDR adapt to changing political landscapes? #14. What impact did FDR’s communication skills have? #15. How did FDR confront economic challenges of his time? #16. What was FDR’s approach to international diplomacy? #17. How did FDR envision America’s role in the world? #18. What strategies did FDR employ to inspire hope? #19. How did FDR balance public expectations and reality? #20. What enduring principles can we learn from FDR?
Becoming FDR book review, Jonathan Darman biography, Franklin D. Roosevelt history, American political history, FDR leadership qualities, 1930s America, New Deal policies, FDR transformation, historical biographies, political leaders of America, book recommendations, biographies of influential presidents
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