Posterity (27 page)

To sum up: what you have done to please me or make me proud is practically negligible since the time you made yourself a good diver at camp (and now you are softer than you have ever been.) In your career as a “wild society girl,” vintage 1925, I'm not interested. I don't want any of it—it would bore me, like dining with the Ritz Brothers. When I do not feel you are “going somewhere,” your company tends to depress me for the silly waste and triviality involved. On the other hand, when occasionally I see signs of life and intention in you, there is no company in the world I prefer. For there is no doubt you have something in your belly, some real gusto for life—a real dream of your own—and my idea was to wed it to something solid before it was too late—as it was too late for your mother to learn anything when she got around to it. Once when you spoke French as a child it was enchanting with your odd bits of knowledge—now your conversation is as commonplace as if you'd spent the last two years in the Corn Hollow High School—what you saw in
Life
and read in
Sexy Romances
.

I shall come East in September to meet your boat—but this letter is a declaration that I am no longer interested in your promissory notes but only in what I see. I love you always but I am only interested by people who think and work as I do and it isn't likely that
I
shall change at my age. Whether you will—or want to—remains to be seen.

Daddy

P.S. If you keep the diary, please don't let it be the dry stuff I could buy in a ten-franc guide book. I'm not interested in dates and places, even the Battle of New Orleans, unless you have some unusual reaction to them. Don't try to be witty in the writing, unless it's natural—just true and real.

P.P.S. Will you please read this letter a second time—I wrote it over twice.

E
LEANOR
R
OOSEVELT TO
J
AMES
R
OOSEVELT

“This is the kind of high-handed, pompous action
which loosens family ties . . .”

Likely the most influential woman of the twentieth century, Eleanor Roosevelt was a first lady like no other. She was kind, independent, tough, self-confident, and a sympathetic and effective advocate for those with no voice. After her husband's death in 1945, she remained an active force both nationally and internationally as a columnist and a delegate to the young United Nations. During these years she became known as the First Lady of the World.

As the mother of five and a steadfast and devoted friend, she loved a house to be filled with family and comrades. “The people I love mean more to me than all the public things . . .” she wrote. She held fast to family traditions, admonished her children “never to say anything derogatory about each other,” and nothing depressed her emotions more than the troubles of her children, or quarrels among them.

In September 1949, James Roosevelt and his wife, Rommie, sent out a letter asking to be taken off Christmas gift lists as they felt the holiday spirit could “better be fulfilled in other ways.” Mrs. Roosevelt was incensed. Here the United States delegate to the United Nations, Eleanor Roosevelt, responds sharply to her eldest son, a forty-two-year-old man preparing to make a run for the governorship of California.

Sept. 22, 1949

Dearest Jimmy:

I am deeply hurt by your letter of the 16th and also frankly I was very angry. Through all the years Christmas at home was a joy to me and I hoped I had given to you all the feeling that it was a time for thinking of others even if we were far apart. It is never a burden to me. If you and Rommie find the expense too great or the burden too great of thinking beyond each other and the children, I shall accept your decision. In fact now no presents from you would be acceptable but I think it strange that you want to deprive me and others of the pleasure of thinking and showing our thought of you and your children in a tangible way.

This is the kind of high-handed, pompous action which loosens family ties and does not bind them closer. When I was young and could only give little, I made things for family and friends but I gave and if I leave you and yours out of my Christmas thought and giving then I don't want to talk to you on Christmas Day.

Your letter does not sound like you. How could you have dictated it?

Also, how could you have sent it without mention of Sis when you know my deep anxiety and I hope are sharing it.

I have decided to send Rommie a copy of this letter. One must do things for people one loves or love dies and you are moving in the direction of narrowing your affections, one has less to give that way.

My love to you, dear
Mother

In November Jimmy Roosevelt acquiesced and asked the family to “forget we ever mentioned the subject.”d

The first page of President Harry Truman's letter
from Potsdam to his daughter Margaret

A Place in Time

G
EORGE
W
ASHINGTON TO
J
OHN
“J
ACK
” P
ARKE
C
USTIS

“I have been called upon by unanimous voice
of the Colonies to take the command of the Continental Army . . .”

On June 16, 1775, at the Second Continental Congress, when George Washington accepted the appointment to command the Continental Army, it was not with false modesty that he said, “I do not think myself equal to the Command I am honored with.” He didn't think he was up to the extraordinary task, but he also knew he was the best man for the job. He was forty-three years old, tall, dignified, and both patient and calm by nature. As the master of an eight-thousand-acre plantation he was accustomed to commanding a large enterprise and to making the most of what resources were available to him. In 1775 he was still remembered for his heroism twenty years before in the French and Indian War, but Washington's military experience was comparatively small and he plainly knew that the task now before him was enormous. Armed citizens were fighting the British in Massachusetts, but a Continental Army, as such, did not exist. There were few supplies, no staff, little powder, no money, and it was now Washington's duty to take charge of it all—and fight the most formidable army in the world.

It was several days before he could bring himself to write home to tell of his new position. From Philadelphia on June 19, he wrote three letters, one to his wife, Martha; one to his brother, John Augustine; and one to his twenty-one-year-old stepson, John Parke Custis. Unbeknownst to those in Philadelphia, the first major battle of the American Revolution had just been fought at Bunker Hill and by the twenty-third of June General Washington was on his way to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to take command.

Philadelphia June 19th 1775.

Dear Jack,

I have been called upon by unanimous voice of the Colonies to take the command of the Continental Army—It was an honour I neither sought after, or was by any means fond of accepting, from a consciousness of my own inexperience, and inability to discharge the duties of so important a Trust. However, as the partiality of the Congress have placed me in this distinguished point of view, I can make them no other return but what will flow from close attention, and an upright Intention. For the rest I can say nothing—my great concern on this occasion, is the thoughts of leaving your Mother under the uneasiness which I know this affair will throw her into; I therefore hope, expect, & indeed have no doubt, of your using every means in your power to keep up her Spirits, by doing everything in your power, to promote her quiet—I have I must confess very uneasy feelings on her acct, but as it has been a kind of unavoidable necessity which has led me into this appointment, I shall more readily hope, that success will attend it, & crown our Meetings with happiness.

At any time, I hope it is unnecessary for me to say, that I am always pleased with yours & Nelly's abidance at Mount Vernon, much less upon this occasion, when I think it absolutely necessary for the peace & satisfaction of your Mother; a consideration which I have no doubt will have due weight with you both, & require no arguments to inforce.

As the publick Gazettes will convey every article of Intelligence that I could communicate in this Letter, I shall not repeat them, but with love to Nelly, & sincere regard for yourself I remain Yr Most Affecte

Go: Washington

P.S. Since writing the foregoing I have receiv'd your Letter of the 15th Instt—I am obliged to you for the Intelligence therein containd—and am glad you directed about the Tobacco, for I had really forgot it. You must now take upon yourself the entire management of your own Estate, it will no longer be in my power to assist you, nor is there any occasion for it as you have never discover'd a disposition to put it to a bad use.

During the war Jack Parke Custis and his wife, Nelly, continued to reside at their own Virginia home, but visited Mount Vernon often. Martha Washington periodically joined her husband at Continental Army headquarters. From 1764 to 1785 Mount Vernon was managed by the general's cousin, Lund Washington.

B
ENJAMIN
F
RANKLIN TO
W
ILLIAM
F
RANKLIN

“. . . nothing has ever hurt me so much and affected me with such keen Sensations, as to find myself
deserted in my old Age by my only Son; and not
only deserted, but to find him taking up Arms
against me, in a Cause, wherein my good Fame, Fortune and Life were all at Stake.”

Benjamin Franklin's oldest child, William, was illegitimate, but was raised in his father's household. William was at his father's side assisting with the kite experiment that led to the invention of the lightning rod, and he was the only relative to accompany Benjamin Franklin to London while he served as the American agent to Great Britain. During his years in London, Benjamin Franklin grew to hold genuine affection for England, and in this he was joined by William.

In 1762 King George III appointed thirty-year-old William Franklin to be the Royal Governor of New Jersey and when the young man took the oath of office, Benjamin Franklin was delighted. But as the revolution mounted and the father's commitment to the people of America remained steadfast, a rift developed between them over William's devotion to the crown of England. Their divided loyalties caused an estrangement that lasted for nearly ten years.

In 1784, William made the first overture, writing to his father that he wished to “revive that affectionate intercourse and connexion which till the commencement of the late troubles had been the pride and happiness of my life.” He acknowledged that his actions during the war had disappointed his father, yet he did not explicitly apologize for remaining loyal to Great Britian. The following letter is Benjamin Franklin's reply, written from France where he was America's Minister Plenipotentiary.

Passy, Aug. 16, 1784.

Dear Son,

I received your Letter of the 22d past, and am glad to find that you desire to revive the affectionate Intercourse, that formerly existed between us. It will be very agreeable to me; indeed nothing has ever hurt me so much and affected me with such keen Sensations, as to find myself deserted in my old Age by my only Son; and not only deserted, but to find him taking up Arms against me, in a Cause, wherein my good Fame, Fortune and Life were all at Stake. You conceived, you say, that your Duty to your King and Regard for your Country requir'd this. I ought not to blame you for differing in Sentiment with me in Public Affairs. We are Men, all subject to Errors. Our Opinions are not in our own Power; they are form'd and govern'd much by Circumstances, that are often as inexplicable as they are irresistible. Your Situation was such that few would have censured your remaining Neuter,
tho' there are Natural Duties which precede political ones, and cannot be extinguish'd by them
.

This is a disagreable Subject. I drop it. And we will endeavour, as you propose mutually to forget what has happened relating to it, as well as we can. I send your Son over to pay his Duty to you. You will find him much improv'd. He is greatly esteem'd and belov'd in this Country, and will make his Way anywhere. It is my Desire, that he should study the Law, as a necessary Part of Knowledge for a public Man, and profitable if he should have occasion to practise it. I would have you therefore put into his hands those Law-books you have, viz. Blackstone, Coke, Bacon, Viner, & c. He will inform you, that he received the Letter sent him by Mr. Galloway, and the Paper it enclosed, safe.

On my leaving America, I deposited with that Friend for you, a Chest of Papers, among which was a Manuscript of nine or ten Volumes, relating to Manufactures, Agriculture, Commerce, Finance, etc., which cost me in England about 70 Guineas; eight Quire Books, containing the Rough Drafts of all my Letters while I liv'd in London. These are missing. I hope you have got them, if not, they are lost. Mr. Vaughan has publish'd in London a Volume of what he calls my Political Works. He proposes a second Edition; but, as the first was very incompleat, and you had many Things that were omitted, (for I used to send you sometimes the Rough Drafts, and sometimes the printed Pieces I wrote in London,) I have directed him to apply to you for what may be in your Power to furnish him with, or to delay his Publication till I can be at home again, if that may ever happen.

I did intend returning this year; but the Congress, instead of giving me Leave to do so, have sent me another Commission, which will keep me here at least a Year longer; and perhaps I may then be too old and feeble to bear the Voyage. I am here among a People that love and respect me, a most amiable Nation to live with; and perhaps I may conclude to die among them; for my Friends in America are dying off, one after another, and I have been so long abroad, that I should now be almost a Stranger in my own Country.

I shall be glad to see you when convenient, but would not have you come here at present. You may confide to your son the Family Affairs you wished to confer upon with me, for he is discreet. And I trust, that you will prudently avoid introducing him to Company, that it may be improper for him to be seen with. I shall hear from you by him and any letters to me afterward, will come safe under Cover directed to Mr. Ferdinand Grand, Banker at Paris. Wishing you Health, and more Happiness than it seems you have lately experienced, I remain your affectionate father,

B. Franklin.

H
ERMAN
M
ELVILLE TO
M
ALCOLM
M
ELVILLE

“. . . the sailors who held the plank tipped it up, and immediately the body slipped into
the stormy ocean . . .”

In late May of 1860, in Boston Harbor, Herman Melville boarded the clipper ship
Meteor
bound for a trip around the world. His younger brother, Thomas, was the captain; and he himself a passenger, aboard to regain his health and improve his outlook. Fortune had not been good to Melville. He was the author of the once-popular autobiographical adventure books
Typee
and
Omoo
, but his epic novel,
Moby-Dick
, had not been given the attention it deserved, and his subsequent work was savagely reviewed. He was forty-one years old and it now seemed he was unable to make a living at all. Encouraged by his family and financially supported by his understanding and generous father-in-law, Lemuel Shaw, Melville, seasick at first, departed New England leaving behind his wife and four children.

He wrote that he was bringing along on the voyage “plenty of old periodicals—lazy reading for lazy latitudes,” but he also carried with him volumes of poetry for serious study. He had begun, two years earlier, writing poetry in secret and before he sailed, he left with his brother Allan poems and explicit instructions for getting them published. He expected that a fresh volume of
Poems by Herman Melville
would be waiting for him when he arrived in San Francisco.

On September 1, 1860, headed north through the Pacific, Melville wrote to his eldest child, eleven-year-old Malcolm. He had been at sea for ninety-five days.

Pacific Ocean
(Off the coast of South America
On the Tropic of Capricorn)
Saturday September 1st 1860

My Dear Malcolm:

It is now three months exactly since the ship “Meteor” sailed from Boston—a quarter of a year. During this long period, she has been continually moving, and has only seen land on two days. I suppose you have followed out on the map (or my
globe
were better—so you get Mama to clean it off for you) the route from Boston to San Francisco. The distance, by the straight track, is about 16000 miles; but the ship will have sailed before she gets there nearer 18 or 20000 miles. So you see it is further than from the apple-tree to the big rock. When we crossed the Line in the Atlantic Ocean it was very warm; & we had warm weather for some weeks; but as we kept getting to the Southward it began to grow less warm, and then coolish, and cold and colder, till at last it was winter. I wore two flannel shirts, and big mittens & overcoat, and a great Russia cap, a very thick leather cap, so called by sailors. At last we came in sight of land all covered with snow—uninhabited land, where no one ever lived, and no one ever will live—it is so barren, cold and desolate. This was Staten Land—an island. Near it, is the big island of Terra del Fuego. We passed through between these islands, and had a good view of both. There are some “wild people” living on Terra del Fuego; but it being the depth of winter there, I suppose they kept in their caves. At any rate we saw none of them. The next day we were off Cape Horn, the Southernmost point of all America. Now it was very bad weather, and was dark at about three o'clock in the afternoon. The wind blew terribly. We had hailstorms, and snow and sleet, and often the spray froze as it touched the deck. The ship rolled, and sometimes took in so much water on the deck as to wash people off their legs. Several sailors were washed along the deck this way, and came near getting washed overboard. And this reminds me of a very sad thing that happened on the very morning we were off the Cape—I mean the very
pitch
of the Cape. —It was just about day-light; it was blowing a gale of wind, and Uncle Tom ordered the topsails (big sails) to be furled. Whilst the sailors were aloft on one of the yards, the ship rolled and plunged terribly; and it blew with sleet and hail, and was very cold & biting. Well, all at once, Uncle Tom saw something falling through the air, and then heard a thump, and then,—looking before him, saw a poor sailor lying dead on the deck. He had fallen from the yard, and was killed instantly.—His shipmates picked him up, and carried him under cover. By and by, when time could be spared, the sailmaker sewed up the body in a piece of sail-cloth, putting some iron balls—cannon balls—at the foot of it. And, when all was ready, the body was put on a plank and carried to the ship's side in the prescence of all hands. Then Uncle Tom, as Captain, read a prayer out of the prayer-book, and at a given word, the sailors who held the plank tipped it up, and immediately the body slipped into the stormy ocean, and we saw it no more.—Such is the way a poor sailor is buried at sea. This sailor's name was Ray. He had a friend among the crew; and they were both going to California, and thought of living there; but you see what happened.