In 1876, the most powerful politician in America was about to be exposed by a stack of letters, so he talked the man holding them into letting him read them, and then simply refused to give them back. His name was James G. Blaine. He was a congressman from Maine and former Speaker of the House, a magnetic speaker who people either worshipped or despised. In 1876 he was the frontrunner for the Republican presidential nomination. Years earlier, while serving as Speaker, Blaine had helped an Arkansas railroad, the Little Rock and Fort Smith, hold onto a valuable federal land grant. Not long after, he got a sweet deal selling that same railroad's bonds and earned a large commission. The bonds turned out to be close to worthless. But somehow, Blaine's investments didn't take the loss. Rumors spread that another railroad, the Union Pacific, had bought Blaine's bonds at a price far higher than they were worth. The kind of thing a railroad might do to stay friendly with a powerful congressman. Congress opened an investigation. And it found a witness. James Mulligan was a bookkeeper for a Boston businessman who'd been involved in the deals. He had a bundle of letters Blaine had written about them. Mulligan came to Washington to testify. Before he could hand the letters over, Blaine went to see him privately at his hotel. He asked to look at them. Mulligan let him. Blaine took the letters and never gave them back. Then he did something even bolder. On June 5, 1876, Blaine stood up on the floor of the House of Representatives, held up the letters, and announced he would read them to the country himself. He read them in his own order, skipped what he wanted to skip, explained each one in the best possible light, and then turned on his accusers and attacked them. The galleries went wild. His supporters called it one of the greatest performances in congressional history. A few days later, Blaine collapsed on the steps of a church in Washington. His enemies said he faked it. His friends said it was the heat and the stress. At the convention, he was nominated in a famous speech that called him a "plumed knight." He led for several ballots but lost the nomination to Rutherford B. Hayes. He didn't go away. Eight years later, in 1884, Blaine finally won the Republican nomination. Then more letters appeared. In September 1884, a new batch surfaced. In one of them, Blaine had written a letter for his old business associate to sign, clearing Blaine of any wrongdoing. At the bottom of his note, Blaine had added three words: "Burn this letter." The letter had not been burned. Democrats turned it into a rallying cry. Crowds chanted it at rallies. They called Blaine the continental liar from the state of Maine. His opponent, Grover Cleveland, had his own scandal. It had come out that Cleveland had fathered a child out of wedlock. Republicans chanted "Ma, Ma, where's my Pa?" It was one of the dirtiest campaigns in American history. It came down to New York. A week before the election, Blaine attended a meeting of ministers in New York City. One of them, a Presbyterian pastor named Samuel Burchard, called the Democrats the party of "Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion." That was an insult aimed directly at Irish Catholic voters. Blaine was standing right there and didn't push back. Democrats spread it everywhere. Blaine lost New York by about 1,100 votes out of more than a million. That was the presidency. When the results came in, Democrats added a line to the chant. "Ma, Ma, where's my Pa? Gone to the White House, ha ha ha." It's called the Mulligan Letters scandal, and almost nobody learns about it.