I originally posted this in 2024 and there have been major, relevant study publications since then. I hate seeing my material out of date, so I’ve added the findings into this new updated version, and tried to polish things. It’s a big piece to take in, more like a chapter than my bite-size weekly, so be prepared. Also, apologies if it’s a repeat for you, I’ll be back with new material next week. Enjoy! At his 1933 presidential inauguration Franklin Delano Roosevelt was a picture of fortitude. Americans, he thundered, had nothing to fear but fear itself. And he proved it, leading a crippled and wary nation to victory in history’s deadliest war. But during a 12-year presidency, increasingly flea-bitten by a failing heart, FDR and his doctors should have been afraid. In the early twentieth century high blood pressure, or hypertension, was seen as a clever trick of nature. Increasing the heart’s force and tightening blood vessels, the theory went, were evolutionary workarounds to push blood through stiff, aging arteries. Lowering a person’s blood pressure, it was thought, could leave blood trickling like water in an outsized drainpipe. Vessels needed high pressure to force oxygen and nutrients through capillary walls into hungry tissues. Today’s term for most high blood pressure, ‘essential’ hypertension is a vestige of this flawed thinking. High BP, we now know, is not essential. It’s bad. In 1932, during Roosevelt’s first presidential campaign, his blood pressure was 140/100. The 50-year old statesman was in excellent health and his physicians were delighted. But five years later in 1937, Roosevelt’s health had begun to fail and Surgeon General Ross T. McIntire recorded FDR’s pressure at 162/98. Then, in 1940 it was 178/88, and a year later 188/105. Dr. McIntire, a believer in essential hypertension, called this “normal for a man of his age.” In March 1944 after years of conspicuously declining vigor and a blood pressure at 200/108, Roosevelt saw one of America’s first heart specialists, Howard Bruenn. From Bruenn’s notes: “He appeared to be very tired and his face was very gray. Moving caused considerable breathlessness.” Bruenn also described FDR as “in good humor, a testament to the president’s disposition and stoicism.” The cardiologist correctly surmised high blood pressure was the problem, and diagnosed FDR with hypertensive cardiac failure. But he prescribed reduced salt and digitalis, a drug that increases cardiac force. While the president’s lungs cleared slightly, improving his fatigue and shortness of breath, his blood pressure rose to 226/118. Bruenn then began FDR on a trial of phenobarbital, a powerful soporific used today only as a last resort for uncontrollable seizures and general anesthesia. This did little for his blood pressure, but he was certainly sleeping well. Through the fall of 1944 despite increasing his medicines, Bruenn routinely noted pressures up to 240/130. Then, in late November, 260/150. By January 1945 at his fourth, much quieter inauguration FDR was a feeble man. Drawn and short of breath with a bluish hue, his blood pressure was 280/130. His heart was enlarged and inefficient, his lungs full of the backwash from a failing pump. At the Yalta Conference in February Winston Churchill’s physician, Lord Charles Moran, was aghast. “The Americans here cannot bring themselves to believe that he is finished” Moran said, then predicted FDR had two months to live. Two months later, on April 12th at his Little White House in Warm Springs, Georgia, the 64-year old president clutched his head, lost consciousness, and died from a massive cerebral hemorrhage. The stroke was caused by a decade of runaway hypertension. Bruenn, a dedicated and respected clinician, was at the president’s side throughout. He recorded blood pressures “well over 300.” Research Translation is 100% reader-supported. Become a paid subscriber, please, so I can keep it going. Framingham FDR’s death sent shivers down the spine of American medicine and spawned a movement. In 1948 President Harry S. Truman signed into law the National Heart Act, which did not equivocate: “The Nation’s health is seriously threatened by diseases of the heart and circulation, including high blood pressure.” The law created the National Heart Institute, soon to be the most funded National Institute of Health. Recognizing the chicken-egg questions that plague heart disease, the Institute generated an ambitious project aiming to enroll and follow more than five thousand healthy American men and women. The Framingham Heart Study, unprecedented in scope, would become the most important research of the 20th century—for better and for worse. Originally conceived as a trial comparing treatments, experts realized there were none to compare. With not one pill, tincture, or procedure ever proven to cure or even improve heart disease, they had no control group. There were abundant theories (like essential hypertension) but no data. The plan therefore shifted from treatment to observation. The ‘trial’ became a cohort study observing a group for decades, while patiently recording blood pressure, lifestyle, cholesterol, and other characteristics. The goal was to find the predictors and seeds of heart disease. For participants, the researchers chose Framingham, Massachusetts, a blue-collar community a short drive from Harvard, the project’s nerve center. Despite how mundane the research sounds compared to today’s high speed, high tech, profit-driven palette, the Framingham Study was revolutionary. Before it, research was focused almost exclusively on illness. New antibiotics fought infection, insulin treated diabetes, and surgery could cure or mitigate common emergencies. The Framingham Heart Study was different, moving upriver to prevent disease—pulling people out before the rapids. It was risky, expensive, and long-term, bucking norms. In a culture of staunch traditionalism the Framingham researchers were epidemiological activists, charting a new path for public health. And it worked. The researchers soon identified characteristics that emerged, intuitively and statistically, as powerful harbingers. In a famous 1961 paper the investigators dubbed these ‘factors of risk’, coining a term for the ages. Some of the most powerful risk factors were immutable: age, sex, and family history. ‘Heart disease’ is a misnomer since the condition is foremost an affliction of blood vessels. Just as skin wrinkles, vessels age. The loss of elasticity in artery walls makes them vulnerable to nicks and tears. These blemishes become the building blocks of arterial plaque and fibrosis, the sine qua non of heart disease. Thus the chance of heart problems increases with age and often hews closely to family history. And for reasons that are foggy even today, men have twice the risk as women. But some risk factors held promise as targets. The most powerful was a habit. Regardless of age or sex, smoking cigarettes was associated with two to eight times the risk of heart attacks, strokes, and death. There was also a strong dose-response relationship: the more cigarettes, the more heart problems. Diabetes, a condition with its own path to blood vessel damage, also doubled the chance of heart attack or stroke. The condition was less common in the 1950s but when present it was no less ominous. Next up was FDR’s demon, hypertension. At almost the same levels as smoking and diabetes, high blood pressure was a strong predictor of disease and death. And like smoking, higher pressure meant greater risk. FDR’s blood pressure, the research showed, was a time bomb. Randomized trials soon followed, showing blood pressure control prevented heart attacks, strokes, and deaths. Antihypertensive treatment, which continues to extend and improve the lives of hundreds of millions, is a direct outgrowth of the Framingham project. But to the surprise of many, at the lowest rung on the ladder was cholesterol. In the early publications cholesterol was mathematically linkable to heart attacks and deaths, but compared to sex, age, smoking, diabetes, and blood pressure, the association was tenuous at best. And it waned with time. As the study wore on, a clear picture took shape for smoking, diabetes, and hypertension. But not for cholesterol. In the study’s 1993 final report on cholesterol, a paper with more than three decades of data, the investigators were forced to concede cholesterol had no association with mortality. After early reports in which cholesterol seemed to be a risk factor (albeit the weakest) this conclusion was a stunning reversal. There simply was no statistical relationship between early death and elevated cholesterol. When broken down into narrow age ranges, the youngest men in the study, particularly those in their thirties and forties, saw a weakly elevated risk for mortality with very high cholesterol (>300 total). But between ages 50 and 70, when most major heart problems occur, the two were unrelated. Then, beyond age 70 low cholesterol became a risk factor for death. The researchers strongly cautioned against lowering cholesterol in people over 65. Of the four big, modifiable risk factors touted in the early stages of the data—smoking, hypertension, diabetes, and cholesterol—three had stood the test of time, but one did not. Incredibly, however, in a presumptuous and ill-fated leap, ten years before the final Framingham report the American Heart Association and the NIH began collaborating to develop a consensus on cholesterol. Conferences were held and papers published extolling the Lipid Hypothesis, a theory asserting cholesterol is the primary cause of heart disease, and lowering cholesterol prevents it. This, the experts declared—before the data were in—was proven “beyond a reasonable doubt.” The Cholesterol Zeitgeist It is ironic that cholesterol, always the weake