Mendoza Line, meet the Harrison Line: Rob DeWitt and Charlie Tercek

Depicted in this illustration, the inauguration of William Henry Harrison in Washington on March 4, 1841, when, hatless and without an overcoat he rode horseback from the White House to the Capitol on a wintry day and stood for an hour in a raw wind while delivering his inaugural address. A month later he died of pneumonia.

Depicted in this illustration is the inauguration of William Henry Harrison in Washington on March 4, 1841. Harrison was 68 when he took office. Hatless and without an overcoat, he rode horseback from the White House to the Capitol on a wintry day and stood for an hour in a raw wind while delivering his inaugural address. A month later, he died of pneumonia. Harrison, the nation's ninth president, accomplished basically nothing in his 31 days in office, but some presidents still rank below him. In a guest column today, Robert DeWitt and Charlie Tercek propose the "Harrison Line" for rating presidents. (AP Photo)ASSOCIATED PRESS

ATLANTA -- If you follow baseball, you’ve probably heard of “The Mendoza Line,” a term inspired by the career of 1970s-era shortstop Mario Mendoza. Though blessed with superlative defensive skills (as a child in Mexico, he was known as “Manos de Seda,” or “Silk Hands”), Mendoza, when he played for the Pittsburgh Pirates, Seattle Mariners and Texas Rangers, was infamous for his light hitting: His batting average never rose above a paltry .215. These days, when a Major League Baseball player’s average falls under Mendoza’s woeful career mark, he is considered to be batting below “The Mendoza Line.”

We propose that a similar barometer be established for U.S. presidents. We call it “The Harrison Line.”

President William Henry Harrison, as you may recall, opted not to wear a hat or coat while delivering his inauguration speech on a wet day in 1841 and caught a cold which subsequently turned into pneumonia. Just 31 days later, Harrison became the first U.S. president to die in office. During his brief tenure -- the briefest in American history -- his administration accomplished literally nothing. As a result, today Harrison is regarded as the most obscure and forgettable of all our presidents.

Rob Dewitt

Rob DeWitt of Atlanta proposes the Harrison Line for rating U.S. presidents with his Western Reserve Academy friend Charlie Tercek.

Nevertheless, according to “Presidential Historians Survey 2021,” C-SPAN’s recent ranking of all of our nation’s commanders-in-chief, Harrison comes in 40th place. That’s ahead of Donald Trump, Andrew Johnson, Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan.

In other words, according to the panel of distinguished historians who compiled the C-SPAN rankings, four of our presidents performed worse than one who didn’t do anything at all. Each of these four, we contend, falls below The Harrison Line.

For context, consider Presidents Richard Nixon and Herbert Hoover.

Nixon, who was the first president to resign his office, and Hoover, who presided during the Great Depression, are generally considered to be two of the most disreputable occupants of the Oval Office. In the current C-SPAN poll, however, both rank comfortably above The Harrison Line. (Nixon comes in 31st place and Hoover comes in 36th.) So falling below it, as Donald Trump did, is an ignominious achievement, indeed.

Charlie Tercek

Guest columnist Charlie Tercek of Los Angeles joins with his Western Reserve Academy friend Rob DeWitt in proposing the "Harrison Line" for rating U.S. presidents.

What, you may be wondering, ever became of Mario Mendoza? Though his career in the American major leagues was short, he went on to enjoy a very fruitful career as a manager in the Liga Mexicana de Beisbol and today is a member of the Salón de la Fama, the Mexican baseball hall of fame.

What about presidents who fall below The Harrison Line? Their ranking needs to be recognized in some official way. Here’s a suggestion: Let’s move the presidential portraits of the ignominious four from Washington, D.C.’s National Portrait Gallery to the Salón de la Fama. As Trump would probably say, they’ll pay for it.

Lifelong friends Rob DeWitt, now of Atlanta, and Charlie Tercek, now living in Los Angeles, discovered their passion for politics in U.S. history class at Hudson’s Western Reserve Academy in 1978.

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