George Washington died on December 14, 1799, and the dispute over his remains began almost immediately. The federal government announced its intention to transfer the body to the United States Capitol, where a crypt was being built in the basement, connecting to a glass-enclosed vault designed to entomb the nation's founder in perpetuity. Washington's own will specified burial at Mount Vernon, but Martha Washington consented to the Capitol plan. Then nothing happened. Arguments over the details of the committal arrangements dragged on for years, and Washington's body remained in a separate crypt on the Mount Vernon estate. Over the next three decades, that crypt fell into shocking disrepair. Pilgrims traveled to the grave in such numbers that they stripped every tree and bush around the tomb bare, taking leaves, twigs, and branches as souvenirs. The Russian ambassador to the United States snapped off an entire branch and shipped it home as a gift for Tsar Alexander I.

In 1830, John Augustine Washington II, then proprietor of Mount Vernon, fired one of the estate's gardeners. The man's name has been lost to history, but his grudge has not. Out of revenge, the former gardener forced open the crypt door and entered the vault intent on stealing Washington's skull. What he found inside was a scene from a gothic novel. Some twenty coffins had been placed in the crypt over the years, but many had rotted through entirely, leaving skeletal remains scattered across the stone floor. In the dim light, the gardener selected a skull and fled. He was apprehended the following day in nearby Alexandria, still in possession of his prize. It was not Washington's skull. George and Martha Washington's bodies had been encased in lead coffins before burial, sparing them what one account called 'this indignity.' The skull belonged to one of the Blackburns, relatives by marriage of Judge Bushrod Washington, George's nephew and heir.

The attempted theft reignited a decades-old battle. Congress immediately reissued its call to take possession of Washington's body and move it to the Capitol crypt that had been waiting since 1799. John Augustine Washington II refused, reportedly saying he could not disturb Washington's 'perfect tranquility.' The family prevailed, but the incident made one thing clear: the old crypt was indefensible. In 1831, the Washingtons commissioned a new, more secure burial vault on the Mount Vernon grounds. The original lead coffins were transferred to the new location, and in 1837, a more elaborate sarcophagus was constructed from Pennsylvania marble. During the transfer, John Washington insisted on unsealing the coffin for the first and last time. Whether he wanted to confirm the skull was still attached or simply satisfy morbid curiosity remains debated. According to a report in Harper's New Monthly Magazine, the corpse appeared to have 'suffered little from the effects of time' and was notable for its 'large dimensions.' In life, Washington had stood over six feet tall, unusually large for the eighteenth century, with a 'massive' head, 'tremendously' large hands, and size 13 feet.

The fascination with Washington's physical remains did not end with the new tomb. Claims surfaced that locks of hair had been removed from the body during the 1837 unsealing. Attempts to auction these supposed relics in recent years have proved unsuccessful, and doubts about their authenticity persist. But the trade in Washington memorabilia has deeper roots. In 1824, the Marquis de Lafayette visited the United States and received a ring from one of Washington's step-grandchildren containing hair from both George and Martha Washington. The gift came with a wish that it be passed down through successive generations of the Lafayette family. Jules Germain Cloquet documented the exchange in an 1835 biography. The current tomb at Mount Vernon, the one the gardener's fumbled theft made necessary, remains one of the most visited sites in America. The marble sarcophagus sits behind an iron gate, the crypt's brick walls solid and sealed. The pilgrims still come, but they no longer strip the trees.