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In America, every generation has its own parade of celebrities — the politicians, entertainers, criminals, and others whose names and faces the people of the time know from the news.

Eventually, the most notable and influential of them will be remembered by history. Years from now, the public will still remember Washington, Lincoln, Edison, Einstein, Marilyn Monroe.

The rest of our celebrities du jour — all those cookie-cutter politicians, sports figures, actors, socialites, and others — will fade from the national memory. In 30 years, few in this country will remember Snooki, Fonzie, Madonna, or Michele Bachmann.

However, there are occasional celebrities who are prominent and widely-known in their own time, and whose fame you would expect to carry over to future generations, but who, inexplicably, are soon forgotten.

I was reminded of this phenomenon recently when I ran across this quote by a renowned free spirit from a previous generation:

I have a simple philosophy: Fill what’s empty; empty what’s full; scratch where it itches.

— Alice Roosevelt Longworth

Alice Roosevelt Longworth (1884-1980), was the daughter of Theodore Roosevelt, the wife of House Speaker Nicholas Longworth, the cousin of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and for 80 years a powerful force in Washington society and politics. Yet, oddly, few people today know much about her.

“Princess Alice,” or “Mrs. L.,” as the press called her, was in the public spotlight from the day she was born until the day she died.

The circumstances of her birth were tragic. Two days after Alice was born, her mother, 23, died of kidney failure. The symptoms of the ailment had been masked by her pregnancy.

Earlier that same day, in the same house, Alice’s grandmother died of typhoid fever.

Theodore Roosevelt, then a prominent New York Assemblyman, was devastated. In his diary, he wrote a large “X” and the words, “The light has gone out of my life.” He retreated to his ranch in North Dakota and left infant Alice to be raised by his sister in New York City.

When Alice was three, Roosevelt remarried and at last brought his daughter into his home. Soon, she had siblings. Her stepmother reported that Alice was good at mothering the younger children, but herself was “allergic to discipline.”

Young Alice (top center) and the Teddy Roosevelt family.

Growing up, Alice was intelligent, cool, confident, strong-willed, quick-witted, high-spirited, and stubborn. She had a driving curiosity and was a voracious reader, well-versed on a wide range of subjects.

When Roosevelt became President in 1901, 17-year-old Alice assumed the role of celebrity First Daughter, national fashion icon, and idol of  millions.

In an era that demanded propriety, Alice was a rule-breaker. During her years in the White House, she smoked in public, shamelessly rode around in cars with men, stayed out late partying, and was known to place bets with bookies.

She had a pet garter snake named Emily Spinach — “because it was as green as spinach and as thin as my Aunt Emily.”

Her father and stepmother chafed at Alice’s antics, but rarely reined her in, largely because the public adored her. “I can either run the country, or I can attend to Alice,” Roosevelt once said. “I cannot possibly do both.”

In 1906, Alice married Republican Congressman Nicholas Longworth of Ohio, a man 14 years her senior. Longworth was a wealthy playboy given to carrying a gold-headed cane and wearing spats. They were an instant Washington power couple.

Nick and Alice on their wedding day, 1906, with Teddy.

Although the marriage endured, it soon soured due to Nick’s heavy drinking and infidelity on both their parts. The couple also drifted apart politically. In the 1912 presidential election, to Nick’s great chagrin, Alice supported her father and the Bull Moose Party, not President Taft, the Republican incumbent.

In 1925, Longworth became Speaker of the House. That same year, Alice gave birth to a daughter she admitted was fathered by Idaho Senator William Borah.

In 1931, Nicholas died of pneumonia. Alice remained in Washington and continued to hold court on the national stage. She wrote books, articles, and a syndicated newspaper column.

For half a century, she hosted meetings in her home where politicians, diplomats, authors, and scientists exchanged views and struck deals.

A strong isolationist, she was a member of the board of directors of America First, an organization devoted to maintaining U.S. neutrality in World War II.

Through it all, Alice was characteristically tart-tongued.

Of her father, she declared that he “wants to be the corpse at every funeral, the bride at every wedding, and the baby at every christening.”

She said of Calvin Coolidge, “He looks as if he were weaned on a pickle.”

Of Herbert Hoover, she said, “The Hoover Vacuum Cleaner is more exciting than the president. But, of course, it’s electric.”

She remarked that President Franklin D. Roosevelt was “one-third sap and two-thirds Eleanor.”

She compared Governor Thomas Dewey to “the little man on the wedding cake.”

Senator Joseph McCarthy once took the liberty of calling her by her first name at a public event. Alice looked at him icily and declared, “Senator McCarthy, you are not going to call me Alice. The trash man and the policeman on my block call me Alice, but you may not.”

When Lyndon Johnson famously showed off his scar after gall bladder surgery, she commented, “Thank God it wasn’t his prostate.”

She also told Johnson that she wore wide-brimmed hats so he couldn’t kiss her.

In her later years, Alice twice endured breast cancer and had two mastectomies. Thereafter, she referred to herself as “Washington’s only topless octogenarian.”

One of her famous quotes was stitched on a pillow in her reading room: “If you can’t say something good about someone, sit right here by me.”

In the 1960s, Alice became close to the Kennedy family. She confessed to voting for Lyndon Johnson over Barry Goldwater because she thought Goldwater was “too mean.”

In 1974, when Richard Nixon went on television to resign the presidency, he quoted an entry from Theodore Roosevelt’s diary: “Only if you’ve been to the lowest valley can you know how great it is to be on the highest mountain top.”

Alice was furious. Her father made that comment after the deaths of his wife and his mother on the same day. When Nixon used the quote in connection with leaving office under threat of impeachment, Alice reportedly cursed at the TV screen.

In 1980, after years of slowly declining health, suffering from emphysema and pneumonia, Alice died at age 96.

President Carter, whom she openly disliked and refused to meet, said of her, “She had style, she had grace, and she had a sense of humor that kept generations of political newcomers to Washington wondering which was worse — to be skewered by her wit or to be ignored by her.”

Alice Longworth never ran for political office herself. She said public speaking and pressing the flesh did not suit her.

And, for all her celebrity and reputation, she was flawed in a tragic personal way.

Her acerbic nature often is attributed to her complex relationship with her father, who was emotionally distant and frequently absent owing to his political duties. Sadly, Alice treated her daughter Paulina much as Teddy had treated her.

Paulina, who also lived a starkly public existence, was melancholy throughout her life. Even after Paulina married, Alice remained overbearing and critical, rarely loving and understanding.

The man Paulina married, Alexander Sturm, was a wealthy, no-nonsense industrialist who was confident enough to stand up to the imposing figure of Alice Longworth. Many believed Paulina married him for that reason.

In 1951, at age 28, Sturm died of hepatitis. Paulina was plunged deeper into depression. In 1957, at age 31, she died of an overdose of sleeping pills.

Paulina’s death was a terrible blow to Alice — made more so when Paulina’s 11-year-old daughter Joanna, who understood the family dynamic, balked at going to live with her famous grandmother.

But Alice gained custody of Joanna, and she soon blossomed into a doting grandmother. Eventually, the two became very close. Joanna was said to be “a notable contributor to Mrs. Longworth’s youthfulness.”

Today, Joanna Sturm is a philanthropist and historian. Alice and Paulina are buried side by side in Rock Creek Cemetery in Washington, D.C.

The life of Alice Roosevelt Longworth was grand, dramatic, and historic. The fact that she faded so soon from the public consciousness is a pity — and our loss.