Death
Wendell Willkie chose to travel from Indianapolis to New York City by train. While crossing Ohio, he experienced the first of an estimated 20+ heart attacks. Other passengers implored him to get off the train at Pittsburgh and go to a hospital, he refused. He wanted to reach home and see his own doctor. He arrived safely at New York, but he died after two days in a hospital, on October 8, 1944, aged 52.
Willkie's 1940 running mate, Charles L. McNary, had died six months earlier. This is the only time that both members of a major party Presidential ticket have died during the term they sought election for.
Eleanor Roosevelt, in her My Day column for October 12, 1944, eulogized Willkie as a "man of courage... outspoken opinions on race relations were among his great contributions to the thinking of the world... Americans tend to forget the names of the men who lost their bid for the presidency. Willkie proved the exception to this rule."
Wendell Willkie is buried in East Hill Cemetery, Rushville, Indiana. In his honor, the Bar of the Summit County Courthouse erected a brass bas relief which is prominently displayed in its main hall.
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Famous quotes containing the word death:
“To die, to sleep—
No more, and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.”
—Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)
“So he with difficulty and labour hard
Moved on, with difficulty and labour he;
But he once passed, soon after when man fell,
Strange alteration! Sin and Death amain
Following his track, such was the will of Heaven,
Paved after him a broad and beaten way
Over the dark abyss, whose boiling gulf
Tamely endured a bridge of wondrous length
From hell continued reaching th’ utmost orb
Of this frail world;”
—John Milton (1608–1674)