Smithsonian has a fun article on America's top second-banana—the vice presidency—a job that John Adams, the first vice-president, described as "the most insignificant office that ever the invention of man contrived."
Lest you think Dan Quayle was the first VP mocked in the press, or that The Onion's superb (if fictional) coverage of Joe Biden was some uniquely inventive portrayal of what vice presidents do with their time, Tony Horwitz is here to set you straight. The truth is that the vice presidency has a very long history of mediocrity, wackiness, and lack of purpose.
The Constitution also failed to specify the powers and status of vice presidents who assumed the top office. In fact, the second job was such an afterthought that no provision was made for replacing VPs who died or departed before finishing their terms. As a result, the office has been vacant for almost 38 years in the nation's history.
Until recently, no one much cared. When William R.D. King died in 1853, just 25 days after his swearing-in (last words: "Take the pillow from under my head"), President Pierce gave a speech addressing other matters before concluding "with a brief allusion" to the vice president's death. Other number-twos were alive but absentee, preferring their own homes or pursuits to an inconsequential role in Washington, where most VPs lived in boardinghouses (they had no official residence until the 1970s). Thomas Jefferson regarded his vice presidency as a "tranquil and unoffending station," and spent much of it at Monticello. George Dallas (who called his wife "Mrs. Vice") maintained a lucrative law practice, writing of his official post: "Where is he to go? What has he to do?—no where, nothing." Daniel Tompkins, a drunken embezzler described as a "degraded sot," paid so little heed to his duties that Congress docked his salary.