Black Gotham: A Family History of African Americans in Nineteenth-Century New York City (47 page)

I remembered the scrapbook page that had started me on my quest: Philip’s obituary and an assortment of poems pasted next to it. I pulled the page from my files. One poem in particular caught my eye:

REFERENCES
Suppose the Lord should say to me, when I get over there:
“Your references I want to see, I hope I’ll find them fair.
Where have you lived and worked and played? Give me the
names of those you’ve known.
Who’ll tell the record you have made?” I’d mention those I call
my own.
I should not give familiar names nor those of persons great,
Nor offer lordly sires and dames my character to state,
But I should say: “They knew me best—my wife and children
three.
To what I was they can attest, go question them of me.
“Send to the little home I tried to keep with mirth aglow.
Better than all the world outside the man I was they know:
Oh, Lord, I did not rise to fame; high worth Thou cannot find,
But I preserved my home from shame, and there they’ll call me
kind.”
When at the last the Lord demands my references from me,
Where all men stand with empty hands to face eternity,
This I would have as final proof of how my life was spent:
My own to say “beneath our roof lived laughter and content.”

Whatever its source, the poem was obviously placed here in allusion to Philip and his family. Disregarding his business associates, his customers, his fellow vestrymen at St. Philip’s, my great-grandfather chose his “wife and children three” as references to testify about what he cared about most: home life.

Outside their home, Philip and his family reigned supreme over elite society. They socialized with the Guignons, the Rays, who had one daughter, and other families. For each girl, the parents gave an elaborate debutante party recorded in exquisite detail in the society pages of T. Thomas Fortune’s
New York Freeman
(earlier named the
Globe
, later the
Age
), the area’s most important black newspaper of the period. While the minutiae of entertainment varied slightly, the parties were equally remarkable for their lavishness.

Coming first in March of 1886, Ellie’s debutante party was deemed “the most brilliant social event for many years” and served as the model for future occasions. It took place in the Whites’ “splendid home,” which for the occasion was made “odorous with beautiful natural flowers, while all the arrangements were rich in their appointments.” Dancing began
at ten in the evening, when the young “buds,” as the girls were called, “were introduced into the festivities of social life.” A “supper luxuriant in all its details” was served at midnight, after which dancing resumed. The ladies wore “rich and elaborate costumes.” Ellie was decked out in “white surah, Oriental lace front, hyacinths, diamonds.” Coming from Newport, Mena Downing wore “cream cashmere, lace trimmings, natural flowers,” while Georgie Downing was dressed in “blue satin, old gold trimming, diamonds,” and Rebecca in “pink satin, natural flowers.” The older women wore more conservative attire; Elizabeth was in black surah and natural flowers, and Cornelia Guignon in black silk. Ellie received many “beautiful and valuable presents, among them two silk dresses from her parents and a diamond ring from Mrs. Guignon.”
⁴

The following year, family friends gave a party in honor of Cornelia. Although it was labeled a “calico ball,” the newspaper columnist noted that “calico, pure and simple, was conspicuously absent; but the many beautiful combinations of sateens and other materials formed a scintillation of moving colors that dazzled the beholder.” Striving perhaps for novelty, the writer chose to focus on the attire of the men present as well as on the food served.

Some of the gentlemen also availed themselves of the chance to vary the monotony of evening dress, by displacing the usual expanse of white above the low-cut vests with figured or colored patterns, and wearing the colors of the lady of their choice in a necktie or in a broad ribbon passing diagonally across the breast. The supper consisted of a tempting and toothsome menu, including oysters, salad, terrapin, tongue, creams, charlottes, fruits, sauterne, champagne, etc.
⁵

There were many other social occasions as well: the Nemo Club reception, where “dudes” and “buds” danced the night away; the Second Assembly Dance; the Charles Ball, which featured a cakewalk contest; and others. In each report, the newspaper editors pronounced the food more elaborate, the attire more elegant, the company more brilliant than the last. During the summer months, the partying simply moved out of town to Newport or closer to home to Sea Cliff on Long Island.
The “summer birds of passage” stayed with friends who owned vacation homes or settled into black-owned establishments, such as the Foblers’ Woodbine Cottage in Sea Cliff, and amused themselves with “fine surf bathing, driving over good roads, boating, sailing, fishing, clambakes, picnics, hops, concerts,
ad infinitum.
”
⁶

The same names appear over and over again on the guest lists in almost tiresome iteration. They included the remaining members of New York’s old social circle—the widowed Charles Reason from Manhattan, the Downings from Newport, Albro and Mary Joseph Lyons who had come to Brooklyn to live out the rest of their years near their children. Joining them was a younger set. Some were native New Yorkers, among them the municipal employee Charles Lansing, and Jerome B. Peterson, Fortune’s co-editor at the
Age
(and later my grandfather). Two sisters, the schoolteacher Sarah Garnet (Henry’s widow) and Susan McKinney, one of the first African American women doctors, were daughters of prosperous Long Island farmers. Still relatively close to home, caterer James W. Mars hailed from Connecticut and businessman Samuel Scottron from Philadelphia. But others had southern origins: lawyer T. McCants Stewart was born in Charleston, South Carolina, and newspaper editor T. Thomas Fortune in rural Florida. These men and their wives formed a tight-knit, socially exclusive group bound by time-honored friendships, close associations, and mutual interests.

The elite’s exclusivity defined more than private guest lists. It also shaped club activities that were mere extensions of home entertainment. Postwar clubs were a new phenomenon, private and by invitation only. Bringing together both black New Yorkers and black Brooklynites, they emphasized class (social standing in the community, professionalism, money, leisure time), patriarchy (the bonding of men of business), and exclusivity (restriction to a privileged few).

Not even Philip could gain admission to the Society of the Sons
of New York. His place of birth, Hoboken, automatically disbarred him. The club was organized in 1884 when, according to the
Globe
, “about twenty New Yorkers met together for the purpose of organizing an association to be composed solely of natives of this city and their descendants, for beneficial purposes.”
⁷
It held strictly to its membership requirement of birth in New York, welcoming Charles Reason, Peter Williams Ray, George Downing, Charles Lansing, and Jerome B. Peterson. Others, like T. McCants Stewart or T. Thomas Fortune, were admitted as honorary members, but could not participate in club deliberations. I’m not sure there was much to deliberate, since the Sons of New York never seemed to have fulfilled their beneficial mission. Reading through accounts of the society’s activities in the
Globe
and
Freeman
, it appears that its one and only purpose was socializing. The Sons of New York threw receptions—lots of them—similar to the private parties given by families. The one difference was the number of invited guests, which could reach as high as five thousand.

I don’t know whether Philip cared that he was not a Son of New York. He had the satisfaction of being a member—indeed a leader—of an even more exclusive group, the New York and Newport Ugly Fishing Club. Founded in 1865 by a group of men “for the object of cultivating a love of piscatorial pleasure,” the club eventually abandoned its fishing pursuits in favor of social activities. Its membership included many men who later joined the Society of the Sons of New York. The Ugly Fishing Club differed from the latter in several respects, however: birthplace was not a criterion for membership; events were held in private homes rather than public venues, lending them an even more exclusive air; activities carried a more serious tone.

Let’s travel back in time. We’re invited as guests to attend the club’s nineteenth annual dinner. Decked out in our best finery, we take a carriage to the residence of Mr. George E. Greene at 113 West Twenty-eighth Street. The other guests are gentlemen of high repute, both locally and nationally. We proceed to the dining room where “magnificent tropical plants adorn the table, the sweet perfume lulling the sense while heavy silver candelabra diffuse a soft mellow light upon the surroundings.” The dinner itself is “a masterpiece of the caterer’s art.” I’ll reprint the menu for those of you who weren’t able to join us:

Oysters on half shell
Soup:
Mock Turtle, Greene’s style
Fish:
Bass, with Lobster sauce, cucumbers à la Commodore
Entrée:
Chicken croquette à la Victoria
Roasts:
Bone Turkey, mushroom sauce, petit pies and potatoes,
Sweet Bread Patties à la Reine
Roman Punch
Cigarettes and olives à la P. A. W.
Game:
Canvas Backs and Quail, Dressed celery and Jelly
Sweets:
Ice cream, Fancy cakes
Fruits:
Bananas, Oranges, Grapes
Coffee, Liquors, Cigars

We note with amusement that many of the dishes are named in honor of club members: Greene is our host; the Commodore is the current president of the club, James W. Mars; and P.A.W. are the initials of my great-grandfather.

We’re pleased to discover that these erstwhile fishermen are committed to mental feasting as well and that after-dinner speeches are part of the program. J. Q. Allen begins by offering a toast to “Our Invited Guests.” Then T. Thomas Fortune delivers a scholarly lecture on the press, emphasizing the importance of independent black newspapers in the “elevation of the race.” He’s followed by George L. Ruffin speaking on the judiciary. Most intriguing is Ruffin’s exposition, reminiscent of Communipaw’s earlier concept of racial mingling, of the “coming man” as one “combining the qualities of the Gallic, Teutonic, African, and Latin races.” Rev. P. A. Morgan’s subsequent remarks on the church seem somewhat out of place, but truly outrageous is James C. Matthews’s address, “The Future of the Democracy under Democratic
Rule,” in which he has the gall to defend the Democratic Party as the Negro’s “natural” political home. Fortunately, spirits are restored with the reading of a letter from George Downing that’s “full of good counsel and good cheer.”
⁸

“My privilege has been to listen to Prof. Reason, George T. Downing, Philip A. White and Dr. Crummell in an intimate exchange of thoughts and opinion,” Maritcha wrote in her memoir. “Reason, sarcastic, cynical, witty; Downing, aggressive, with a determination as inflexible as his principles; White, an alert thinker and able debater and Crummell, ready to emphasize salient points, destroy sophistries and expose fallacies. The friendship among these men was of the sort, no lapse of time, no length of distance, no external changes could weaken or attenuate.” I wondered what kind of exchanges of opinion had left such an indelible impression on Maritcha’s mind. Maybe one of them concerned a recent newspaper article accusing the black elite of being nothing more that “whitewashed” blacks.
⁹
To pick up on Frances Harper’s earlier language, they were being charged with slavishly aping the most unpalatable aspects of white society.

Philip and his friends understood these accusations. They left it to the ever eloquent Crummell, who had returned from Africa in the early 1870s and assumed the rectorship of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C., to speak for them through his public lectures and writings. Crummell’s starting point was to reaffirm the importance of education and what old William Hamilton had called “literary character” to uplift both the elite and the larger black community. Crummell, Maritcha remembered, warned the black elite of their “deeper responsibility and added duty toward the lowlier neglected brethren of your race. If our enlightened men and women,” he queried, “do not devote themselves to the noble duty of our race progress and race elevation, of what use is their enlightenment? I would call upon all our public men and women to point out the special losses of the race and to urge the means of reparation.”
¹⁰

Crummell was well aware of the difficulties ahead. With forceful logic, he itemized the attacks of scientific racists against black Americans. First, he argued, they tried to deny black intellect. Having failed, they tried to suppress it. Forced to acknowledge the recent advances in black education, they now claimed that blacks were mere imitators—or rather apes—and sneered at the Negro’s “flexibility” and “pliancy” as “simulations of a well-known and grotesque animal.” To counter these charges, Crummell built on Harper’s comments about imitation, placing them in historical perspective. Imitation, he asserted, is
the
means by which civilization progresses. All great civilizations from the Greeks and Romans on have been imitators, and it is their imitative faculties that have enabled their greatness. Picking up on James McCune Smith’s earlier argument about cultural theft, Crummell then delivered this bold statement: “These great nations laid the whole world under contribution to gain superiority. They seized upon all the spoils of time. They became cosmopolitan thieves. They stole from every quarter. They pounced, with eagle eye, upon excellence wherever discovered, and seized upon it with rapacity.”
¹¹

The American Negro operated under the same principle. “Give him time and opportunity,” Crummell insisted, “and in all imitative art he will rival them both.” Not merely a recipient of civilization, he would become one of its agents, taking his place among the “loftiest men … producing letters, literature, science, philosophy, poetry, sculpture, architecture, yea, all the arts.” Yet Crummell understood the concerns of critics of the black elite. With utter candor, he fretted that under the current circumstances imitation might result not in greatness but in dissipation, in a yielding to an “aesthetical culture” that was as materialistic as it was superficial. In an 1886 speech, he warned that such aesthetical tendencies, “while indeed they give outward adornment, and inward delicate sensibility, tend but little, in the first place, to furnish that hardy muscle and strong fibre which men need in the stern battle of life; nor, next, do they beget that tenacity, that endurance, that positive and unwavering persistence, which is the special need of a new people, running a race which they have never before entered upon; and undertaking civilizing achievements, from which their powers and capacities have been separate for long centuries.”
¹²