Unfortunate son. (Flashback).

To know nothing of what happened before you were born is to remain ever a child--Cicero

If exasperated sons of nutty mothers need a patron saint, why not call on poor reviled Robert T. Lincoln, son of Abraham and Mary?

The wild Bush girls, balletic Ron Reagan, awkward Chelsea: Posterity will little note nor long remember their foibles. Yet, as the sympathetic biographer of Robert T. Lincoln complains, "It seems to be an article of faith among those who admire Abraham Lincoln that his eldest son is to be criticized at every possible point."

Not that he didn't deserve it. He was a cold, snobbish lad grown into a money-grubbing corporate lawyer. "Robert T. Lincoln," sneered a contemporary, "was a man of mediocre attainments, puffed up with pride almost to the exploding point by the brilliance of his parentage, who, left to his own devices, never would have risen above the ranks of the commonplace."

The Lincoln home was famous for its lack of discipline. The children were uncontrollable, but Father Abraham "never reproved them or gave them a frown," said his law partner William Herndon. In the Lincoln Legend, Willie and Tad are lovably mischievous imps, while Robert is off at school, absorbing the worst traits of the upper class.

The "Prince of Rails," as Robert was dubbed, was the classic product of a twisted American tale. The father, wanting his son to have "everything that I never had," removed the boy from those healthy and earthy influences that had given the old man his hardihood.

Robert was hopelessly pompous. When the Lincolns entertained the newlywed Tom Thumb and his miniature bride at the White House, Robert stayed upstairs in his room, spitting, "No, mother, I do not propose to assist in entertaining Tom Thumb. My notions of duty, perhaps, are somewhat different from yours."