The Man Who Died Facing West

For thirty years, John Randolph of Roanoke was the most terrifying voice in Congress. He delivered three-hour speeches that left grown legislators pale and silent. He described one colleague as shining and stinking "like rotten mackerel by moonlight." He once shot a classmate at William & Mary over which syllable to stress in the word "omnipotent."

He delivered all of this in a high, piping soprano — a prepubescent voice he never outgrew, the result of a genetic condition that also left him beardless his entire life. The terror was entirely in the words.

He arrived at the House floor in riding boots and spurs, whip in hand, hunting dogs trotting behind him. When Henry Clay became Speaker and banned his dogs from the chamber, Randolph began a feud that would outlast them both. He called Clay a "blackleg." Clay challenged him to a duel. Randolph's pistol discharged accidentally before the count. Clay's bullet tore through his coat. Randolph lowered his weapon and said, "You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay."

His will freed 383 enslaved people and bought them land in Ohio. He heartily regretted, he wrote, ever having owned a single one.

He died in Philadelphia on May 24, 1833. His last audible words, according to court testimony, were "Remorse. Remorse."

He was buried, per his own instructions, facing west — so he could keep an eye on Henry Clay.