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The next thing Beniski knew, the three of them shook hands on it and were out the door, headed straight for a swearing-in ceremony. Perhaps Grover did not want to risk Beniski changing his mind if he had time to think things over. After Beniski took the oath of allegiance, Grover gave him the $150. Then it was off to Fort Porter, a military encampment overlooking the Niagara River; but first Grover suggested they stop for a beer. That was fine with Beniski. When Grover paid for the drinks, he showed Beniski what was in his wallet.

“There, George, do you see how little you’ve left me?”

That was true, Beniski thought, but at least this Grover Cleveland got to stay home while he went to war in his stead. He kept these sentiments to himself.

Fort Porter was a scene of frenetic activity, with raw recruits on the parade grounds drilling and training and adjusting to army discipline. Beniski went before a three-man enlistment board, which certified that he was able-bodied and sober. The conscript was presented with a Substitute Volunteer Enlistment form, on which he committed to three years’ military service as a proxy for Grover Cleveland. He signed his mark, X.

Cleveland always held to the belief that Beniski was entirely aware of what he was getting into, and he never expressed regret for dodging the draft. Almost twenty-five years later, Cleveland was still arguing that Beniski had made out well. After all, plenty of substitutes were being hired at “even less” than the $150 he had paid out. Cleveland also insisted that he had never struck a side deal with Beniski promising the man a bonus should he survive the war.

“The terms . . . were distinctly repeated by me and perfectly understood. There was no hint or suggestion of anything more being paid or of any additional obligation on my part.”

Cleveland put forward a curious defense. “Being then the assistant district attorney of Erie County, I had abundant opportunity to secure without expense a substitute from discharged convicts and from friendless persons accused of crime if I had wished to do so.” Certainly, such a deed would have been a gross ethical, and perhaps criminal, violation, even by slipshod 19th-century standards. But Grover Cleveland never saw it that way. And neither have his biographers, who sought to excuse the hiring of Beniski as an act of altruism, namely Cleveland’s commitment to his mother and sisters. Allan Nevins, who won a Pulitzer Prize in 1933 for his biography of Grover Cleveland, spun Cleveland’s war record from the most benevolent perspective imaginable. As for the Polish immigrant, Nevins wrote that Beniski had an “uneventful” history in the war.

“He served briefly . . . injured his back, was then detailed to orderly duty in the military hospitals of Washington, and was never in any important battle as a combatant.” In other words, there was not much more to say about the hapless George Beniski.

The truth was, George Beniski’s Civil War experience ruined him.

Beniski served as a private in F Company, 76th New York Regiment. Less than a week after he enlisted, he was shipped out by rail and found himself in Virginia, on the shores of the Rappahannock River, the natural barrier that divided Union and Confederate forces. Eight months earlier, the Rappahannock had been the scene of the ferocious Battle of Fredericksburg, a big victory for the South.

Beniski was ordered to unload a wagon filled with fresh supplies for the troops. What happened next was one of those stupid little accidents that can happen in war. It may even have seemed unimportant at the time, but it changed a man’s life in a flash. As Beniski was lifting a carton of provisions, he apparently made too abrupt a motion to the left and felt something pull. He knew immediately that it was a serious injury. Writhing in agony, he had to be lifted into an ambulance and transported to a military hospital in Washington, where he remained for two weeks. Then he was transferred to DeCamp General Hospital, on David