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At "The Beeches," his Northampton home. Calvin Coolidge had gotten up that morning as usual at 7 a. m. At the breakfast table he grumbled over the lack of news in the papers. At 8 130 he was at his office (Coolidge & Hemenway) on Main Street, reading his mail, attending to minor personal business. What he thought was another attack of indigestion—he had been doctoring himself for it with soda for three weeks (see n. 30)—made him feel uncomfortable. So about 10 o'clock he said to Harry Ross, his Secretary: "Well, I guess we'll go up to the house.
As they entered, Mrs. Coolidge was just going out shopping. Said her husband: "Don't you want the car?" "No," she replied, "it's such a nice day I'd rather walk." She left. Mr. Coolidge sat talking with Secretary Ross—about the Plymouth place, last year's partridge shooting, hay fever. He strolled to the kitchen to get a drink of water. He put a stray book neatly back into the case. He evened up pens on the desk. He idly fingered a jigsaw puzzle with his name on it. He went "down cellar," watched the furnace man shovel coal. About noon he disappeared upstairs, presumably to shave, as so many New Englanders do about midday.
Returning a few minutes later, Mrs. Coolidge went upstairs to summon him for luncheon. In his dressing room she found him lying on the floor on his back in his shirtsleeves. To him Death had come 15 minutes before, swiftly, easily, without pain. For "cause" the official death certificate said: "coronary thrombosis"-
That night the body of Calvin Coolidge lay on its own bed in its own room. Outside the window a half moon played tricks with night mists rising from the Mount Tom Meadows. Beyond the mist and the moonlight a people mourned the loss of its greatest private citizen, its only ex-President. . . . Smith College girls, just back from holidays, went to the Calvin Theatre as usual, saw Under-Cover Man on the screen. Northampton's Mayor Bliss announced that the city's merchants would draw their shades but keep their doors open during the funeral. Said he: "I'm not going to ask them to close because I don't think Calvin Coolidge would want that. He knew what they've been through. Every nickel counts with them. He wouldn't want them to lose a sale."
Next night a plain bronze casket stood before the fireplace of "The Beeches" living room. On it was engraved: "Calvin Coolidge—1872-1933." Above it hung an oil painting of the onetime Presidential yacht Mayflower, one of Calvin Coolidge's few genuine diversions in office. Harry Ross stood close by. The only sound in the stillness of the house was the pitter-patter of Tiny Tim's claws as the Coolidge chow came & went on the hardwood floors. Far away through the same night with many a long whistle there roared a 13-car special bearing the great of Washington to Northampton.