Introducing: History Daily

you're anxious for more real dictators, you're in luck.

Season 3 will launch on November 17th, but you can listen to more history right now, today, and every day.

Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, host of History Daily, the newest podcast from Noiser.

Every weekday, we'll bring you a slice of the history that happened on that day.

To give you a taste, here's the very first episode.

While it's playing, be sure to search for and follow History Daily.

It's November 1st, 1800.

Construction is underway in a small, bustling town on the banks of the Potomac River.

The sound of industry echoes through the surrounding woodland, sending a flock of startled birds spiraling up into the bright autumn sky.

This 10-square-mile patch of land has been chosen as the site of the nation's capital and named after its first president, Washington.

Nine years ago, when city planners first surveyed this site, it was a mosquito-infested swamp.

Now, it is the epicenter of the Great American Experiment.

Among the scaffolding and empty plots, one building catches the eye.

It's a large and imposing mansion built out of a distinctive pale sandstone.

Until this morning, it too has been under construction, but now it's ready to serve its intended purpose.

A portly, red-faced man in a double-breasted tailcoat wheezes as he climbs the front steps.

He rubs his lower back and scowls.

Since June, this man has been staying in a nearby tavern, awaiting the completion of this, his new home.

He is glad to be finally rid of the lumpy cotton tavern mattress, not to mention the noise and smoke.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, a man servant hands him a wrought iron key.

He nods in thanks and approaches the imposing double doors.

He turns the key in the lock and for the first time in history, the President of the United States, John Adams, steps inside the White House.

From Noiser and Airship, I'm Lindsey Grant and this is History Daily.

History is made every day.

So on this podcast, every day, we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Every weekday, we'll bring you a slice of the history that happened on that day.

Today is November 1st, the first day of the White House.

It's November 1st, 1800.

President Adams stands alone in the cavernous lobby of the White House.

He straightens his powdered wig with shaky hands, a symptom of palsy, not nerves.

Adams gazes around the room.

It's cold, damp, and unfurnished, with heavy velvet curtains drawn.

The only light comes from candles flickering in bronze chandeliers.

It takes a moment for the president's eyes to adjust, but when they do, he's impressed by the solemn grandeur of his new home.

For the last 10 years, during the construction of the White House, the presidential residence had been located in the nation's temporary capital, Philadelphia.

Plans to establish a new and permanent capital city, complete with its own executive mansion, have long been in the making.

But the road to Washington has been rocky, beginning in New York City a decade earlier.

It's January 1790.

10 years before John Adams first steps foot inside the White House.

A freezing wind buffets New York City, but inside Federal Hall, temperatures are rising.

Congress has gathered to hear the young Treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton, give his first report on public debt.

Immediately following the Revolutionary War, the individual states owed large sums of money to both foreign and domestic creditors.

In the years since, certain states have paid back more than others, with the North lagging behind the South.

In total, national debt stands at around $22 million.

Fortunately, the earnest and headstrong Hamilton has a plan.

He wants the U.S.

government to assume the combined debt of all 13 states to be repaid through taxes and trade tariffs.

This, Hamilton insists, will centralize government authority and strengthen the union.

But fiery opposition comes from the southern representatives, who don't see why they should have to bail out their northern counterparts, whose states owe far more money.

Most notable among the opposition is a 39-year-old representative from Virginia named James Madison.

Madison is deeply concerned by discussions surrounding proposed sites for the new capital city, most of which are in the north, with New York at the top of many people's lists.

Madison fears that a northern capital will result in a loss of influence for his beloved state of Virginia.

Usually considered a shy man, Madison speaks out vociferously against Hamilton's proposed debt assumption bill, which he sees as yet another act of anti-Southern bias in Congress.

Hamilton, exasperated by what he sees as Madison's intransigence, is forced to drop his proposals, but just for the moment.

Six months later, in June 1790, with Hamilton and Madison still at loggerheads, another founding father steps in to broker a compromise.

Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson invites the two men to a dinner party at his home.

Over a hearty squirrel stew, Jefferson suggests that in exchange for Madison agreeing to the Assumption Bill, Hamilton must support proposals for the new capital to be built in Virginia, on the banks of the Potomac River.

This midpoint location between the north and south removes the issue of unequal influence for either side.

It's also strategically located close to two major ports, Georgetown and Alexandria.

It doesn't take long for the two men to seal it with a handshake, a deal that will become known as the Compromise of 1790, or the Dinner Table Bargain.

Soon, President George Washington signs off on the plan, and the future of the American Republic is decided.

They will create a new federal enclave from territory ceded by Virginia and Maryland and name it after the great explorer Christopher Columbus.

Thus, the city of Washington in the District of Columbia is born.

Ten years later, in November of 1800, John Adams walks down a long, empty corridor in the White House.

However greatly anticipated the opening of the White House was, there is no pomp or ceremony to mark the occasion.

There's little time for pageantry, because there's work to be done.

As As the president turns a corner and strides purposefully toward a door at the far end, he begins to doubt himself.

He wonders if he hasn't already come this way, so he turns on his heels and takes a left.

It's no surprise that Adams is confused.

The building is a labyrinth of identical hallways.

The First Lady, Abigail Adams, will soon arrive from their family home in Quincy, Massachusetts, bringing with her many of the furnishings that the couple acquired overseas, where John served as envoy to France.

Until then, the myriad of rooms and corridors of the White House remain mostly bare and indistinguishable.

Eventually, though, the president finds what he's looking for, a room with a writing surface.

It's a distinctive, oval-shaped room on the first floor of the White House with large windows overlooking the sweeping lawn.

Over 100 years later, in 1909, President William Howard Taft will be inspired by this room's oval design when adding a permanent executive office to the West Wing.

But for now, and in the decades before the installation of the oval office, presidents will use many other rooms in the White House as their office space.

But it's President Adams who first sits at a desk in the White House.

By the window's light, he removes some paper, a silver pen, and ink from the drawer.

After a moment's pause for thought, he dips the nib and begins writing a letter to his wife, Abigail.

It reads, My dearest friend, We arrived here last night, or rather yesterday, one o'clock, and here we dined and slept.

The building is in a state to be habitable, and now we wish for your company.

The letter continues in a similar, matter-of-fact vein.

The president is not a man for unnecessary embellishment.

However, nearing the end, he stops.

In the distance, he can hear the sound of men still at work, building the capital city of a nation that he himself helped to construct.

Pride swells in the president's chest.

The White House represents a key juncture in the great American experiment.

It is a fortress of democracy, a buttress of reason against old Europe with its prejudice and wars and stale ideas.

Adams returns to the letter, writing, Before I end my letter, I pray heaven to bestow the best blessings on this house and all that shall hereafter inhabit it.

May none but honest and wise men ever rule under this roof.

I am with unbated confidence and affection, your John Adams.

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It's the early 1780s, nearly 20 years before John Adams steps into the White House.

A ship cuts through the choppy waves of the western Atlantic.

The passengers are mostly Irish laborers fleeing poverty and seeking work in the newly created United States.

Not everyone has survived the grueling 12-week journey across the Atlantic, and the faces of those who have are haggard and drawn.

But suddenly, someone cries out, Look!

There in the distance, still just a blue-gray smudge on the horizon, is America.

The celebrations on deck are muted.

Any sense of relief is fleeting.

They all know that their difficulties are only just beginning, and the sight of land is mostly greeted with a stony acknowledgement of the hard times to come.

Among those on board is a man in his late 20s named James Hoban.

The son of a tenant farmer from County Kilkenny, Hoban moved to Dublin as a teenager to study architecture.

Endowed Endowed with a raw ability, Hoban quickly made a name for himself in Dublin's architectural circles, but he recognized that his fortunes lay further afield.

After disembarking the ship that took him to this new country, it only takes a few years for Hoban to establish himself as one of the most sought-after architects in the United States.

It's while living and designing buildings in Charleston, South Carolina, that Hoban comes to the attention of President George Washington.

During his tour of the South in 1791, Washington admires Charleston's elegant courthouse, so he inquires after the name of the architect.

The president has been looking for somebody to design an executive mansion in the new capital, something suitably grand but not ostentatious.

James Hoban might be just the man he needs.

Later that same year, Washington invites Hoban to the president's house in Philadelphia.

He informs him of the scale of the project and asks Hoban if he's up to the task.

The plucky Irishman assures him that yes, he is.

But the president isn't going to just hand Hoban the job.

Washington holds a competition, inviting a number of architects to submit proposals for the White House.

Whichever design he prefers wins.

The young architect from Kilkenny has come too far to fall at the final hurdle.

He gets to work immediately, spending long nights sketching his blueprints by candlelight.

After countless tweaks and revisions, he is happy, but by no means confident.

At least six other architects also submit proposals.

Among them is a design by somebody called Abraham Fawes, but in fact this is a pseudonym chosen by Secretary of State and architecture enthusiast Thomas Jefferson.

Featuring a White House with a large domed roof reminiscent of St.

Peter's Basilica in Rome, Jefferson's designs are rejected.

Other submitted proposals include ornate Renaissance-style facades and decorative spiral staircases.

But Washington chooses a simpler design, neoclassical, with four floors and four pillars in the center balcony.

James Hoban has bested the competition.

The site for the new presidential palace has been included in the plans for the city, drawn up by French engineer Pierre-Charles L'Enfant.

Construction is set to begin right away.

It's October 13, 1792, less than a decade before John Adams steps into the White House.

George Washington is holding a ceremony for the laying of the White House cornerstone.

Washington is a Freemason, a member of that exclusive fraternity fond of arcane rituals.

Based on eyewitness reports, one can imagine the scene at the White House that October morning.

President Washington leads a procession across the plot.

He places a ceremonial circular plaque on the ground where the foundations of the house will be built.

Two laborers lower the cornerstone while the president consecrates it with corn, wine, and oil.

A 16-gun salute is fired.

Construction of the White House is officially underway.

The president and his fellow Freemasons retire to a nearby tavern and drink many toasts to the commencement of the project.

But when they return to the construction site later that day, they are all too drunk to remember where they laid the cornerstone.

They search and search, but it seems to have vanished.

Presidents since have attempted to locate this cornerstone and its ceremonial plaque.

None have been successful.

Their true location will remain a mystery.

Perhaps only those whose labor built the White House know where the cornerstone lies, but little is known about these individuals.

Many of them are enslaved persons from Africa.

and only their first names are listed on worker rolls.

It's the shameful reality behind the construction not only of the White House, but of the many American landmarks that have become paradoxically symbols of liberty.

Building the White House is slow and laborious work.

Construction takes eight years and costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, but by November 1st, 1800, it's finished.

On that same day, President John Adams moves in.

It won't be referred to as the White House until around 1812.

So for now, this iconic structure is simply known as the President's Hall.

Next, on History Daily, November 2nd, 1947, American aviator Howard Hughes risks his life and reputation by taking to the skies in the largest aircraft ever built, the Spruce Goose.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily.

Hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham.

Audio editing by Molly Pott.

Sound design by Derek Barrens.

Music by Lindsey Graham.

This episode is written and researched by Joe Viner.

Executive producers are Stephen Walters for Airship and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.

That was the first episode of the new Noiser podcast History Daily, hosted by me, Lindsey Graham.

To get more History Daily daily, search for and follow the show in your podcast app now.