The Attack Upon Mr. Roosevelt.

New York Times 100 years ago today, October 16, 1912:
    Only the exceptional man, the extraordinary man, can offer to the world euch an exhibition of fortitude as Theodore Roosevelt gave when, suffering from a serious hurt — no one knew how serious it might be — and against the protests of his physicians and the entreaties of his friends, he insisted upon making his speech at Milwaukee Monday evening. But it was characteristic. Mr. Roosevelt showed the indomitable courage, or to use the word that he would be almost certain to use, the grit, that is ingrained in his being. Upon most men the effect of a bullet wound, even of a wound much slighter than that received by Mr. Roosevelt, is immediate disablement. We must look to the field of battle, where in mad excitement men fight on unaware of severe injuries, for a parallel to what Mr. Roosevelt did at Milwaukee. Instances of personal and physical heroism are common upon the battlefield, but probably the history of politics affords no example of it worthy to be compared with this. It was rash, it was an act of hardihood, we may say even that it was an act of folly, but it was characteristic, and the judgment of the country will be that it was magnificent. Certainly it would have been more prudent for Mr. Roosevelt to abandon all idea of addressing an audience, and to put himself in the hands of a surgeon. That, however, would not have been like Mr. Roosevelt. Peril does not suggest prudence to him, it arouses all his unflinching courage.
    The country's admiration for his bravery will be mingled with heartfelt rejoicing that, as now appears, the wound is one from which his recovery should be prompt. It was the narrowest of escapes. The merest accident of aim, giving the bullet another direction, would have at once ended the great career of this distinguished man. The country has reason for profound gratitude that another illustrious name has not been added to the number of our public men who have fallen by the assassin's hand. The prayers and the sympathy of his countrymen will attend ex-President Roosevelt in his days of enforced retirement from the activities of his campaign, and their rejoicing at his complete recovery will be profound.
    The man who attempted Mr. Roosevelt's life was insane. The letter found upon his person, containing a maniac's statement of the motive for the crime, is evidence enough of that. To know that he was insane makes unnecessary an attempts to establish any relation whatever between the crime and the events of this or any other political campaign, or with politics at all. The mind of the paranoiac supplies its own impelling motive to homicide, it begets within itself the suggestion that some human life must be taken. If in the course of his address after the assault Mr. Roosevelt, in words which his judicious friends will be sorry that he uttered, attempted to account for the crime by another line of suggestion, it must be remembered that a man who has come from the instant presence of death, and who is actually suffering from a grievous hurt, does not pursue that logical course of reasoning which would be natural in calmer moments. Physicians are familiar with that exaltation of mind which follows upon serious physical injuries, whether of accident, of assault, or of surgery. We may be sure that it was in such a mental state that Mr. Roosevelt spoke of his assailant, and charitable allowance must be made for what he said.
    With every recurrence of these appalling outbreaks of mania taking the form of homicidal assaults upon men of great prominence, the question of safeguards and preventives comes up for fresh discussion. It is always a fruitless discussion. It does not appear that any effective safeguards can be devised. There are many crazed minds, and the homicidal impulse is often associated with that derangement. Booth's crime may possibly be accounted for as growing out of the passions of civil war, as an assault upon the public enemy of the cause he favored. Guiteau was manifestly a paranoiac, cherishing a delusion that he and those with whom he persuaded himself that he was in political sympathy were being persecuted by the Administration. Czolgosz was almost a simpleton, half fool, half maniac. It is told of Schrank, Mr. Roosevelt's assailant, that he was a Socialist. That has nothing to do with the matter. He was insane, that explains all. It may be that men whose mental balance has been impaired or destroyed are inclined to attach themselves to what they suppose to be revolutionary causes, but Schrank's acceptance of the principles of Socialism was a matter quite unrelated to his crime. Assassination is not a part of the Socialist creed, although many Anarchists have looked upon and have used assassination as a means of promoting their cause. The impulse that led to Schrank's crime must be sought in his mania, not in his social or political beliefs.
    The lesson is plain enough, though. It is that a paranoiac is dangerous. We are altogether too much in the habit of considering cranks and persons of ill-balanced minds as unfortunates who are to be pitied and coddled, instead of being restrained as the safety of society demands that they should be. It is a dangerous mistake to look upon a paranoiac as a harmless unfortunate. Whether he be harmless or not depends upon the workings of his disordered mind, and they are usually inscrutable.