Tipper and Al Gore are calling it quits. The quintessential political couple, who have publicly weathered some of life's most turbulent storms and boasted in a co-written book that they were 'joined at the heart,' is getting a divorce. Regardless of the reason behind the reason, which is none of our business, theirs is a cautionary tale. If the Gores, who unabashedly demonstrated tasteful public displays of affection, can say they have grown apart, what does that mean for the rest of us?
I can remember a Wise Woman telling me, shortly after I became engaged 30 years ago, that marriage was hard work. Hah! I thought. We're going to be different. It will come easy. What work? I was, after all, in the throes of a hormonal and pheromonal high, powered solely by adrenalin, considering that I neither ate nor slept.
But, in fact, my marriage has been, shall we say, a series of leaps from frying pan to fire. I've been singed around the edges a time or two, but not yet burned to a crisp. I suspect that if the singeing moves to second or third degree burns, perhaps I will consider joining the ranks of the Gores.
That is not to say, I will admit, that I have not contemplated divorce. It has been a little more to the forefront of my mind in this last year, post-leap. We moved from a little unincorporated community to a 29-acre farm in the middle of nowhere. Lest you doubt how much inside nowhere I am, consider this: 10 miles to the nearest convenience store; 11 miles to a supermarket or post office. I can't say that I was browbeaten into it; my name is at the top of the paperwork. What I can say, however, is that I was not prepared for the isolation or the distances I have to travel to get back to my version of civilization.
Yet, when I contemplate my fantasy life of a with-it middle-aged Manhattanite, I realize that I'm too old to get a job that pays me well enough to buy a half-million dollar apartment in Manhattan. And then, when I think about the numbers, I also think about what we paid for our 29 acres, and, well, Manhattan is terrific, but the real estate, comparatively speaking, is overpriced.
It is now about 6:30, and I expect my husband will come into the house in the next half an hour. We'll find "the clicker," (our term for the TV remote control) and put the TV on "Jeopardy." Dinner will be in the oven. We'll sit down and share a meal, watch the game and reconnect after our day apart. We'll probably apologize again for the silly argument we had earlier, and after 30 years of marriage, yes, we still do argue, and talk about whatever we think we need to discuss. We relish the time together because, after rearing four children (as did the Gores), we feel we have earned this special intimacy that comes from three decades of shared experiences. If we continue our conversation from last night, it may be about the Gores again. Whatever happened to them is a wake-up call to each and every married couple, regardless of how secure we feel in our respective marriages. No one is immune from the tug of individuality, and this elusive thing called marriage is a fragile thread that is too easily broken.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Writing Biography
A member of a book club that recently read "Frank: The Story of Frances Folsom Cleveland," as its monthly selection (thank you!) asked how I had managed to research and write biography. It is a good question.
Biography is, of course, the story of someone's life. Unlike fiction, in which the author must create every aspect of the novel - plot, characters, actions, motives, setting - biography offers a natural backdrop and a natural order to the organization of the material. You have a person who has been born, had a childhood, formative years, adulthood and, eventually, death. That, at least, makes the organization of the book easy - but finding material, particularly when one is researching an historic figure who was fastidious about concealing her private life, - is the heart of the challenge.
My early research was characterized by a simple timeline - key dates (birth, college years, marriage, etc.) - that was enhanced by noting the names of influential people and historical events associated with those dates. In writing about Frances, I spent untold hours in the Microfilm Division of the Davis Library at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, poring over the microfilms of the Grover Cleveland papers, the Washington Post, the New York Times and the Chicago Tribune.
A research trip to two key places in Frances' life - Wells College, her alma mater, and the Grover Cleveland Birthplace Museum, in Caldwell, New Jersey - provided access to unique archival material. Inter-library loan enabled me to access additional materials although, to this day, I regret not having found the resources that would have enabled me to spend about a week in the Library of Congress going through the papers of many of Cleveland's cabinet members.
Then there is the pure serendipity of finding interesting little tidbits - a name, a reference, a quote that pops up that makes sense because I've been looking at the larger picture. Those are the gems that are the researcher's equivalent of panning for gold and finding the sought-after nuggets.
"Frank" is the product of many rewrites. The first set of rewrites occurred to prepare the manuscript for initial review; the second rewrite was the result of an honest, and much needed, critique. The challenge, to address the observations of a demanding reviewer (who was on target with the comments), was to demonstrate in the telling of Frances' life that she was not just another Gilded Age matron who did good works because it was expected of one in her social class. The message was clear: if I thought Frances was interesting enough to research and write about, convey to readers that she is worth reading about.
If the feedback I have received from readers is any indication, I succeeded in my task.
Biography is, of course, the story of someone's life. Unlike fiction, in which the author must create every aspect of the novel - plot, characters, actions, motives, setting - biography offers a natural backdrop and a natural order to the organization of the material. You have a person who has been born, had a childhood, formative years, adulthood and, eventually, death. That, at least, makes the organization of the book easy - but finding material, particularly when one is researching an historic figure who was fastidious about concealing her private life, - is the heart of the challenge.
My early research was characterized by a simple timeline - key dates (birth, college years, marriage, etc.) - that was enhanced by noting the names of influential people and historical events associated with those dates. In writing about Frances, I spent untold hours in the Microfilm Division of the Davis Library at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, poring over the microfilms of the Grover Cleveland papers, the Washington Post, the New York Times and the Chicago Tribune.
A research trip to two key places in Frances' life - Wells College, her alma mater, and the Grover Cleveland Birthplace Museum, in Caldwell, New Jersey - provided access to unique archival material. Inter-library loan enabled me to access additional materials although, to this day, I regret not having found the resources that would have enabled me to spend about a week in the Library of Congress going through the papers of many of Cleveland's cabinet members.
Then there is the pure serendipity of finding interesting little tidbits - a name, a reference, a quote that pops up that makes sense because I've been looking at the larger picture. Those are the gems that are the researcher's equivalent of panning for gold and finding the sought-after nuggets.
"Frank" is the product of many rewrites. The first set of rewrites occurred to prepare the manuscript for initial review; the second rewrite was the result of an honest, and much needed, critique. The challenge, to address the observations of a demanding reviewer (who was on target with the comments), was to demonstrate in the telling of Frances' life that she was not just another Gilded Age matron who did good works because it was expected of one in her social class. The message was clear: if I thought Frances was interesting enough to research and write about, convey to readers that she is worth reading about.
If the feedback I have received from readers is any indication, I succeeded in my task.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Remembering The Ladies
(Top image: Lucinda Frailly, a/k/a Frances Cleveland, and the author of "Frank: The Story of Frances Folsom Cleveland";Bottom image: "Frances" describes the details of her wedding gown to the audience at the National First Ladies Library event, "White House Weddings.")
The National First Ladies Library, located in Canton, Ohio, has chosen to remember the nation's first ladies - those women whose warmth, style, intelligence and subtle political maneuvering helped their husbands attain the presidency of the United States.
Last weekend, May 7-8, was my second trip to this relatively new national treasure. I was hosted for a book signing of my biography of Frances Folsom Cleveland, in conjunction with the Library's program called "White House Weddings."
The event, which showcased all of the nation's White House brides, which included presidential wives and daughters, adopted the decorations used by the Clevelands for their White House nuptials. The NFLL's attention to detail even included the ribbon-tied white gift boxes with a piece of wedding cake inside - a memento the Clevelands gave to their wedding guests.
Frances became First Lady at the same moment she said "I do" to Grover Cleveland in the Blue Room of the White House. This is where the wedding ceremony of the 49-year old portly bachelor and the 21-year old comely Miss Folsom took place. Frances had returned just five days before from her seven-month trip to Europe. She and Cleveland had initially planned a quiet and private ceremony at the farm of Frances's paternal grandfather, Colonel John Folsom, but Folsom's sudden death as Frances, her mother and cousin were aboard ship returning to America changed those plans.
The Cleveland wedding was as small and private as one could make it, considering the parties involved and the venue. Cleveland's cabinet members and their wives, a few close friends of the couple and family members made up the party of 30 attendees. The Clevelands left for their honeymoon location under cover of darkness and boarded a private rail car, but newspaper reporters found them out and followed. Even in the days before paparazzi and telephoto lenses, the media managed to intrude on what should have been an intensely private occasion. It was the beginning of a long and antagonistic relationship between the presidential couple and newspaper reporters.
The honeymoon literally didn't last long, and the couple returned to Washington within a week of the ceremony - Cleveland to resume his presidential duties; Frances to embark on an entirely new life in the public eye.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Frances Folsom Cleveland - "The Missing Years"
One of the challenges in writing biography is the ability to confirm your sources. What that means "in translation" is that some information that a writer uncovers during research may not make it into the final draft, because there is no way to verify the material.
This is the case with some of the information that I learned about Frances Cleveland - most of which came from family members who were willing to talk with me about her, with the understanding that it would be off the record.
My daughter wrote a kind and fair assessment of the book, Frank, and she echoed observations that I have heard from others and that a blogger from England noted in her review of the book. What else did Frances do following her marriage to Thomas Preston? Did she do more than engage in a variety of volunteer work?
Well, the answer to that question is 'yes and no.' Frances' volunteer activities framed the basis for her entire life. She was driven by an internal sense of duty that drove most of her activities. I believe that sense of duty was initially planted by her commitment to the Presbyterian church, of which she was a lifelong member, reinforced by the tutelage of Wells College's "lady principal" (i.e., dean), Helen Fairchild Smith, and supported by Grover Cleveland, who had the same type of internal compass (Cleveland's last words are reported to have been: "I tried so hard to do right.").
Duty also dictated her role as a matriarch in the lives of her four surviving children, and she stayed engaged in their lives, and in the lives of her grandchildren, until her death. Here's a snapshot of some vignettes that were not included in the book:
Son, Richard, divorced his first wife, Ellen, because her alcoholism had become more than he could cope with. Frances, concerned about the maternal influence of the three children from that marriage, made a point of having them spend time with her during the summer months at her home in Tamworth, New Hampshire. Ann Cleveland, the eldest of Richard's children, was close friends with her cousin, Marion Cleveland, the daughter of the youngest of Frances and Grover's offspring, Francis Grover Cleveland. Throughout her life, Frances insisted on strict observance of the Sabbath. However, one Sunday evening, Ann decided that she would go bowling with Marion. The next morning, "Granny," as Frances was affectionately called, summoned Ann to her office. "Where did you go last night?" Frances demanded of her granddaughter. Ann replied that she had gone bowling with her cousin, Marion. "What am I supposed to say to Mrs. Findley?" (Frances' close friend who also had a home in Tamworth). Ann wanted to know why her going bowling with Marion would be a problem; after all, 'Granny' wasn't chastising Marion. "Marion's allowed to go bowling on Sundays," Frances explained. "She's in the theater."
Frances loved the theater, and she was once quoted as saying she could spend every night there, if she had the chance. During the latter years of her life, she sold tickets for her son Francis Grover's summer theater, located in Tamworth, and Thomas Preston served as the usher. By the 1930s, very few people recognized the white haired woman who cheerfully sold tickets as a former first lady, and she said that she liked the anonymity, because it allowed her to listen to honest comments about the performance, that she would then pass on to her son.
One of the unresolved questions of Frances' life was the sexuality of her second husband, Thomas Preston. A bachelor until he married Frances when he was 52 years old, there are some hints that Preston may have been a homosexual. Some of his behaviors point to the possibility: his manner of dress and his interests; the frequency with which the couple went their separate ways for extended periods of time; his extended bachelorhood.
The other side of the relationship is that it is very clear that there was companionship between the couple. As pointed out in the book, Preston traveled all over the world with Frances, something Grover Cleveland never would have done. He played the piano at their Tamworth home on Sunday evenings for an in-home worship service and hymn-singing (Frances was reported to have had a beautiful soprano voice), and, as noted above, he served as an usher for Francis Grover's summer theater. The "jury is out" on his sexual orientation, but the commitment the two had to each other appears to be real.
This is the case with some of the information that I learned about Frances Cleveland - most of which came from family members who were willing to talk with me about her, with the understanding that it would be off the record.
My daughter wrote a kind and fair assessment of the book, Frank, and she echoed observations that I have heard from others and that a blogger from England noted in her review of the book. What else did Frances do following her marriage to Thomas Preston? Did she do more than engage in a variety of volunteer work?
Well, the answer to that question is 'yes and no.' Frances' volunteer activities framed the basis for her entire life. She was driven by an internal sense of duty that drove most of her activities. I believe that sense of duty was initially planted by her commitment to the Presbyterian church, of which she was a lifelong member, reinforced by the tutelage of Wells College's "lady principal" (i.e., dean), Helen Fairchild Smith, and supported by Grover Cleveland, who had the same type of internal compass (Cleveland's last words are reported to have been: "I tried so hard to do right.").
Duty also dictated her role as a matriarch in the lives of her four surviving children, and she stayed engaged in their lives, and in the lives of her grandchildren, until her death. Here's a snapshot of some vignettes that were not included in the book:
Son, Richard, divorced his first wife, Ellen, because her alcoholism had become more than he could cope with. Frances, concerned about the maternal influence of the three children from that marriage, made a point of having them spend time with her during the summer months at her home in Tamworth, New Hampshire. Ann Cleveland, the eldest of Richard's children, was close friends with her cousin, Marion Cleveland, the daughter of the youngest of Frances and Grover's offspring, Francis Grover Cleveland. Throughout her life, Frances insisted on strict observance of the Sabbath. However, one Sunday evening, Ann decided that she would go bowling with Marion. The next morning, "Granny," as Frances was affectionately called, summoned Ann to her office. "Where did you go last night?" Frances demanded of her granddaughter. Ann replied that she had gone bowling with her cousin, Marion. "What am I supposed to say to Mrs. Findley?" (Frances' close friend who also had a home in Tamworth). Ann wanted to know why her going bowling with Marion would be a problem; after all, 'Granny' wasn't chastising Marion. "Marion's allowed to go bowling on Sundays," Frances explained. "She's in the theater."
Frances loved the theater, and she was once quoted as saying she could spend every night there, if she had the chance. During the latter years of her life, she sold tickets for her son Francis Grover's summer theater, located in Tamworth, and Thomas Preston served as the usher. By the 1930s, very few people recognized the white haired woman who cheerfully sold tickets as a former first lady, and she said that she liked the anonymity, because it allowed her to listen to honest comments about the performance, that she would then pass on to her son.
One of the unresolved questions of Frances' life was the sexuality of her second husband, Thomas Preston. A bachelor until he married Frances when he was 52 years old, there are some hints that Preston may have been a homosexual. Some of his behaviors point to the possibility: his manner of dress and his interests; the frequency with which the couple went their separate ways for extended periods of time; his extended bachelorhood.
The other side of the relationship is that it is very clear that there was companionship between the couple. As pointed out in the book, Preston traveled all over the world with Frances, something Grover Cleveland never would have done. He played the piano at their Tamworth home on Sunday evenings for an in-home worship service and hymn-singing (Frances was reported to have had a beautiful soprano voice), and, as noted above, he served as an usher for Francis Grover's summer theater. The "jury is out" on his sexual orientation, but the commitment the two had to each other appears to be real.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Mines, Memories and Disasters
The sad and tragic story of the explosion and deaths at the Massey mine in West Virginia this week ignited powerful memories of my growing-up years in southwestern Pennsylvania in the 1960s, when mining accidents were a routine occurrence.
The Washington Post has characterized the deaths of the 29 miners as "the worst U.S. mining disaster in a generation." In one sense, the paper's observation is an unspoken statement to the improvement in mine safety. In another sense, it is also a reminder that some things really have not changed in over 50 years.
The Post's columnist, E.J. Dionne, wrote earlier this week that there is a "heartbreaking sameness to how we respond to mining disasters." Indeed, yes, there is a heartbreaking sameness to how we respond...to any disaster.
The explosion at Massey's Upper Big Branch mine is considered by most who have examined the company's practices and safety record to have been avoidable. The company was cited multiple times for safety violations by the board that oversees miner safety for the industry. The sad fact is that that same board, although it had the authority to do so, did not suspend mining operations until the violations were corrected.
Now, of course, the requisite finger-pointing has begun, and it will be followed by the requisite congressional hearings and concomitant outrage, which will result in either more regulations on the books or some piece of legislation to be fought over by the lobbyists for the mining industry. More likely, the end result will be nothing but that sameness that Dionne refers to: inertia.
We tend to react most strongly when human life is needlessly lost, as in the case of this mining disaster. We react somewhat similarly when family's finances are needlessly lost, as has been the case in this last year and a half during the severe economic downturn that has cost many families their homes and retirees their pensions.
Like mining, there is an oversight board for the financial industry. In fact, there are multiple oversight boards: the SEC that exists to regulate activities in the stock market; the Federal Reserve that oversees banking activity; the FDIC that insures bank customers' deposits. And yet, just as is the case with Massey, there were signs of violations of regulations and evidence that the rules were stretched beyond their normal elasticity. Little, if anything, in the way of suspicious activity in the financial sector was brought to a halt by regulators before disaster struck.
And, so, we reacted with heartbreaking sameness. Finger-pointing. Blame. Congressional hearings. Proposed legislation. New regulations. And...wait for it...yes, as signs of economic improvement emerge, we can fully expect the resumption of inertia.
In early 2009, reports surfaced about the possibility of salmonella occurring in peanut paste being produced by Peanut Corporation of America, and shipped from its facility in Georgia. The company had been cited previously for various violations, including sanitation and rodent control issues. Regulators failed to shut the Georgia plant down until the conditions were corrected.
And, so, salmonella entered the food supply through the paste, a common ingredient in a variety of foods, including snack crackers, granola bars and cereals. We reacted with heartbreaking sameness as news of disease caused by the contamination was made public. Finger-pointing. Blame. Congressional hearings. New regulations. Proposed legislation.
There is a point at which this sameness, which is heartbreaking because it does not lead to real and lasting change, needs to stop. We need to take a holistic look at how we respond to disasters, regardless of their origin. The knee-jerk reaction is to heap regulation upon regulation as each new permutation of human behavior is revealed at the expense of innocent people.
But, as the adage says, rules are made to be broken. It is in the nature of human beings to find ways around those things which constrict their desired outcomes. New regulations on the books, be it for mines or for banks or for food, may assuage an anxious public. It might make good stump speech fodder for legislators, but it won't change basic motivation. Just as soon as a new regulation is on the books, business owners who find the rule too restrictive for their tastes, or for their profitability, will pay lawyers to find a way to bend the law without breaking it.
How, then, do we create a society which reduces needless and senseless loss? Consumer demand for more transparency in how companies conduct their businesses is one approach - let consumers vote with their dollars. Removal of government contracts for chronic violators is another step. Why use taxpayer money to reward companies that don't play by the rules?
Perhaps the simplest, and easiest, approach is to examine the rules already in place and address the reasons enforcement is spotty, and in many cases, just plain lax. That means beefing up the investigative staffs of the regulatory agencies, putting teeth into the enforcement side and rewarding inspectors who actually do their jobs.
More rules only creates more burden - on the law-abiding businesses that play by the rules, and on the regulators who are overwhelmed by their workloads. Scaling back would be a step in the right direction. In fact,, scaling back would be a nice change from reacting with mind-numbing sameness to a disaster.
The Washington Post has characterized the deaths of the 29 miners as "the worst U.S. mining disaster in a generation." In one sense, the paper's observation is an unspoken statement to the improvement in mine safety. In another sense, it is also a reminder that some things really have not changed in over 50 years.
The Post's columnist, E.J. Dionne, wrote earlier this week that there is a "heartbreaking sameness to how we respond to mining disasters." Indeed, yes, there is a heartbreaking sameness to how we respond...to any disaster.
The explosion at Massey's Upper Big Branch mine is considered by most who have examined the company's practices and safety record to have been avoidable. The company was cited multiple times for safety violations by the board that oversees miner safety for the industry. The sad fact is that that same board, although it had the authority to do so, did not suspend mining operations until the violations were corrected.
Now, of course, the requisite finger-pointing has begun, and it will be followed by the requisite congressional hearings and concomitant outrage, which will result in either more regulations on the books or some piece of legislation to be fought over by the lobbyists for the mining industry. More likely, the end result will be nothing but that sameness that Dionne refers to: inertia.
We tend to react most strongly when human life is needlessly lost, as in the case of this mining disaster. We react somewhat similarly when family's finances are needlessly lost, as has been the case in this last year and a half during the severe economic downturn that has cost many families their homes and retirees their pensions.
Like mining, there is an oversight board for the financial industry. In fact, there are multiple oversight boards: the SEC that exists to regulate activities in the stock market; the Federal Reserve that oversees banking activity; the FDIC that insures bank customers' deposits. And yet, just as is the case with Massey, there were signs of violations of regulations and evidence that the rules were stretched beyond their normal elasticity. Little, if anything, in the way of suspicious activity in the financial sector was brought to a halt by regulators before disaster struck.
And, so, we reacted with heartbreaking sameness. Finger-pointing. Blame. Congressional hearings. Proposed legislation. New regulations. And...wait for it...yes, as signs of economic improvement emerge, we can fully expect the resumption of inertia.
In early 2009, reports surfaced about the possibility of salmonella occurring in peanut paste being produced by Peanut Corporation of America, and shipped from its facility in Georgia. The company had been cited previously for various violations, including sanitation and rodent control issues. Regulators failed to shut the Georgia plant down until the conditions were corrected.
And, so, salmonella entered the food supply through the paste, a common ingredient in a variety of foods, including snack crackers, granola bars and cereals. We reacted with heartbreaking sameness as news of disease caused by the contamination was made public. Finger-pointing. Blame. Congressional hearings. New regulations. Proposed legislation.
There is a point at which this sameness, which is heartbreaking because it does not lead to real and lasting change, needs to stop. We need to take a holistic look at how we respond to disasters, regardless of their origin. The knee-jerk reaction is to heap regulation upon regulation as each new permutation of human behavior is revealed at the expense of innocent people.
But, as the adage says, rules are made to be broken. It is in the nature of human beings to find ways around those things which constrict their desired outcomes. New regulations on the books, be it for mines or for banks or for food, may assuage an anxious public. It might make good stump speech fodder for legislators, but it won't change basic motivation. Just as soon as a new regulation is on the books, business owners who find the rule too restrictive for their tastes, or for their profitability, will pay lawyers to find a way to bend the law without breaking it.
How, then, do we create a society which reduces needless and senseless loss? Consumer demand for more transparency in how companies conduct their businesses is one approach - let consumers vote with their dollars. Removal of government contracts for chronic violators is another step. Why use taxpayer money to reward companies that don't play by the rules?
Perhaps the simplest, and easiest, approach is to examine the rules already in place and address the reasons enforcement is spotty, and in many cases, just plain lax. That means beefing up the investigative staffs of the regulatory agencies, putting teeth into the enforcement side and rewarding inspectors who actually do their jobs.
More rules only creates more burden - on the law-abiding businesses that play by the rules, and on the regulators who are overwhelmed by their workloads. Scaling back would be a step in the right direction. In fact,, scaling back would be a nice change from reacting with mind-numbing sameness to a disaster.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Presidents and their Secrets
It was late spring 1893, and Congress was getting ready to wind down and leave Washington before the city's miserable heat, humidity and mosquitoes arrived in full force. The Washington papers, ever curious about the plans of its recently re-elected president (to his second, albeit non-consecutive, term), reported that the Clevelands would spend the summer at their rented home in the cooler farming section of the city (yes, there once was such a place - now known as the Cleveland Park section because the Clevelands had lived there).
Then, just a few weeks after the First Family's plans were announced, a new report came forward - Mrs. Cleveland would prefer to take her daughter, Ruth, to the family's summer home at Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts, to keep her away from Washington's oppressive heat. And, by the way, the portly president was now on a new diet, the Banting program, to lose weight.
Such was the start of a presidential cover-up that remained a secret until 1917. The truth was this: President Cleveland had a cancerous growth in his mouth and required immediate surgery. Cleveland insisted upon complete secrecy because the country was on the verge of economic collapse (not unlike what we have recently experienced financially these past two years - although it was the man, J.P. Morgan, who literally bailed out the U.S. Treasury back then, not the other way around as happened in 2008 when the U.S. Treasury bailed out the company founded by Morgan). Cleveland feared that the country would collapse completely if the true state of his health were revealed to the public and to possible financiers abroad.
Mrs. Cleveland's departure to Massachusetts was the start of the ruse. The cover-up continued with Cleveland leaving Washington, ostensibly to go on a fishing trip, on the yacht of his close friend, Commodore Benedict. The surgery was performed on the yacht as it lay anchored off of New York City, and Cleveland convalesced there until he could be safely deposited at Buzzards Bay.
Newspaper reporters became suspicious when the president remained out of contact for as long as he did, but a cool and unflappable Frances Cleveland assured the reporters that her husband was enjoying some time away from Washington. The seriousness of the growth found in Cleveland's mouth necessitated a second surgery, again performed secretly, as well as the fitting of a rubber jaw so that the president could speak clearly.
A diligent reporter for the Philadelphia Eagle actually uncovered the full story in late August, but the White House successfully prevailed with the paper's editor to have a retraction printed before the information became widespread. The public never fully knew the truth about their very, very sick president until one of the dental surgeons, Dr. W.W. Keen, published his account of the events in a 1917 issue of the Saturday Evening Post (ostensibly with the approval of Mrs. Cleveland).
Many of us routinely question the veracity of reports coming from the White House - regardless of the occupant - because time has shown that not all information from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is completely truthful. Modern presidents could learn a thing or two from the second Cleveland administration - their tactics of concealment would rival anything a modern day politician might contrive to prevent a story from becoming known to the public.
Then, just a few weeks after the First Family's plans were announced, a new report came forward - Mrs. Cleveland would prefer to take her daughter, Ruth, to the family's summer home at Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts, to keep her away from Washington's oppressive heat. And, by the way, the portly president was now on a new diet, the Banting program, to lose weight.
Such was the start of a presidential cover-up that remained a secret until 1917. The truth was this: President Cleveland had a cancerous growth in his mouth and required immediate surgery. Cleveland insisted upon complete secrecy because the country was on the verge of economic collapse (not unlike what we have recently experienced financially these past two years - although it was the man, J.P. Morgan, who literally bailed out the U.S. Treasury back then, not the other way around as happened in 2008 when the U.S. Treasury bailed out the company founded by Morgan). Cleveland feared that the country would collapse completely if the true state of his health were revealed to the public and to possible financiers abroad.
Mrs. Cleveland's departure to Massachusetts was the start of the ruse. The cover-up continued with Cleveland leaving Washington, ostensibly to go on a fishing trip, on the yacht of his close friend, Commodore Benedict. The surgery was performed on the yacht as it lay anchored off of New York City, and Cleveland convalesced there until he could be safely deposited at Buzzards Bay.
Newspaper reporters became suspicious when the president remained out of contact for as long as he did, but a cool and unflappable Frances Cleveland assured the reporters that her husband was enjoying some time away from Washington. The seriousness of the growth found in Cleveland's mouth necessitated a second surgery, again performed secretly, as well as the fitting of a rubber jaw so that the president could speak clearly.
A diligent reporter for the Philadelphia Eagle actually uncovered the full story in late August, but the White House successfully prevailed with the paper's editor to have a retraction printed before the information became widespread. The public never fully knew the truth about their very, very sick president until one of the dental surgeons, Dr. W.W. Keen, published his account of the events in a 1917 issue of the Saturday Evening Post (ostensibly with the approval of Mrs. Cleveland).
Many of us routinely question the veracity of reports coming from the White House - regardless of the occupant - because time has shown that not all information from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is completely truthful. Modern presidents could learn a thing or two from the second Cleveland administration - their tactics of concealment would rival anything a modern day politician might contrive to prevent a story from becoming known to the public.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Frances Cleveland and her Alma Mater (Wells College)
What an absolute thrill it was to spend the better part of this week at Wells College, in Aurora, New York. This beautiful campus, founded by the same man who started Wells Fargo Company, Henry Wells, sits on the shores of Cayuga Lake, in New York's Finger Lakes region. While it is a small school, Wells is rich in heritage, and it also has a little-known history of graduating young people with a far and significant reach.
Frances graduated from Wells in 1885. In 1887, the school named her as its first alumna trustee. She was one of the first two women named to the trustee board; the other being Wells's "Lady Principal," (what we would today call a dean), Helen Fairchild Smith.
Frances took her trustee responsibilities seriously, and she attended the meetings regularly and served her alma mater for forty years. During that time, she worked with the administration in the rebuilding of the school's Main Hall, which burned in 1888. She solicited a contribution from the philanthropist, Andrew Carnegie, to build a library on the campus, completed in 1911 and named in her honor. Frances was instrumental in handling a crisis in the school's leadership, in 1912, and she headed Wells's Million Dollar Campaign, in 1922. This campaign, which asked alumnae to give or solicit donations totaling $333 each, was successfully completed in 1924.
Education was a passion of Frances's that stayed with her throughout her life. She was one of the first of Wells's "girls" (the school went co-ed five years ago) to be notably influential in American life.
Time often dims the memory of contributions that individuals have made to the greater good of a community. To see the stately and well-maintained buildings that have been on the Wells campus for over a century, and to know that this school continues to prepare young people for successful lives, is a good reminder that one person's contribution can easily outlast that individual's lifetime. Such is the case with Frances Folsom Cleveland.
To see a photo of Wells College president, Lisa Ryerson, "Frances Folsom Cleveland," and me, alongside Frances' wedding portrait, click here: http://wellscollege.wordpress.com/2010/04/01/missed-charter-day/
Frances graduated from Wells in 1885. In 1887, the school named her as its first alumna trustee. She was one of the first two women named to the trustee board; the other being Wells's "Lady Principal," (what we would today call a dean), Helen Fairchild Smith.
Frances took her trustee responsibilities seriously, and she attended the meetings regularly and served her alma mater for forty years. During that time, she worked with the administration in the rebuilding of the school's Main Hall, which burned in 1888. She solicited a contribution from the philanthropist, Andrew Carnegie, to build a library on the campus, completed in 1911 and named in her honor. Frances was instrumental in handling a crisis in the school's leadership, in 1912, and she headed Wells's Million Dollar Campaign, in 1922. This campaign, which asked alumnae to give or solicit donations totaling $333 each, was successfully completed in 1924.
Education was a passion of Frances's that stayed with her throughout her life. She was one of the first of Wells's "girls" (the school went co-ed five years ago) to be notably influential in American life.
Time often dims the memory of contributions that individuals have made to the greater good of a community. To see the stately and well-maintained buildings that have been on the Wells campus for over a century, and to know that this school continues to prepare young people for successful lives, is a good reminder that one person's contribution can easily outlast that individual's lifetime. Such is the case with Frances Folsom Cleveland.
To see a photo of Wells College president, Lisa Ryerson, "Frances Folsom Cleveland," and me, alongside Frances' wedding portrait, click here: http://wellscollege.wordpress.com/2010/04/01/missed-charter-day/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)