Gentlemen, Cock Your Pistols

Former Nebraska Senator Bob Kerrey endorsed Hillary Clinton yesterday but spent a good deal of time talking about Barack Obama's supposed Muslim religion, pointing out that his middle name is Hussein and that he has Muslim ancestors. This was supposed to be compliment to Barack and may actually have been--Kerry tends to march to the beat of a different drummer--but coupled with another bit of news coming out of Nashville leads me to wonder why Barack doesn't just challenge all those making such sweet comments about his drug use and supposed religion to a duel?
Duels have long ago disappeared from American politics, but the threat of them once continually hung over political discourse in the late 18th, early 19th centuries. In Nashville, they are looking for the body of Charles Dickinson, who was killed by Andrew Jackson in a duel. This in 1806, in a dispute over horse racing, well before Jackson first became president in 1828, but in the 1828 contest against John Quincy Adams Jackson was charged with having fought literally hundreds of duels--in reality, Jackson fought at least two, killing only one man, Dickinson, whose own bullet nearly pierced Jackson's heart. Jackson also carried a bullet in his shoulder from a shoot-out with Senator Thomas Hart Benton in a Nashville hotel in 1813, but that was less an official duel than spur-of-the-moment bang-bang.
But having the reputation of being willing to challenge someone to a duel was certainly a valuable thing for Jackson or any politician. Actually, one of the funnier dueling moments stemming from a presidential election took place in 1826. In April of that year, the hot-tempered Virginian Senator John Randolph made a speech on the Senate floor accusing Henry Clay of throwing the contentious 1824 presidential contest (so close it was decided in the House of Representatives) to John Quincy Adams—specifically, he called him a “blackleg,” slang for a cheating gambler. This was too much for Clay, who challenged Randolph to a duel.
The two met early in the morning at a deserted spot along the Potomac. They took their positions, backed up by seconds who included the aforementioned Senator Thomas Hart Benton, but a comedy of errors ensued. First, Randolph accidentally discharged his gun and had to be given another one. Then both men shot, and missed. They reloaded and Clay fired. His bullet pierced Randolph’s coat without hurting him. Randolph paused a moment, then turned – and deliberately fired his pistol straight up in the air.
“I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay,” he said, and the two men shook hands and were thereafter friendly acquaintances. Senator Benton dryly remarked that it was “about the last high-toned duel” he ever saw.