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Public Library
Kansas City, Mo.
TItilS IS JVX^T
Eleanor Roosevelt
I X. I. TT S T * AT B I>
HARPER & BROTHERS Publishers
193 7
THIS IS
To
the memory of my father
who fired a child's imagination,
and to the few other people
who have meant the same inspiration
throughout my life
CONTENTS
I. Memories of My Childhood I
II. Adolescence 48
HI. Europe 53
IV, Home Again 89
V. Owr Wedding, March 17, 1905 124
VI. ^1 Woman 139
VII. My Mother-in-law and a New Home 152,
VEIL 77*e Mbve fo Albany 170
IX. My Brother's Wedding 186
X. Washington 195
XI. My Brother Goes to the Yukon
XII. Growing Independence
Xm. Our Youngest Child Is Born 239
XIV. War Preparations 2,44.
XV. A Changing Existence 253
XVI. Abroad Together 2,73
XVH. Readjustment 294
XVHL Tragedy 307
XIX. Nomination for Vice-president 310
Contents
XX. Back to Work in New York 322
XXI. Trial by Fire 328
XXII. Franklin 5 Return to Politics 353
XXIII. The End of a Period 357
[ viii ]
ILLUSTRATIONS
These illustrations, printed as a separate
section, will be found following page 18
MRS. FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
ANNA ELEANOR. HALL
ELLIOTT AND ELEANOR ROOSEVELT, JULY, 1889
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT, MAY, 1889
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AND HER Two BROTHERS WITH THEIR FATHER, ELLIOTT
ROOSEVELT
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT'S GRANDFATHER, VALENTINE G. HALL
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT'S GRANDMOTHER, MRS. V. G. HALL
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT'S GREAT-GRANDMOTHER LUDLOW
MRS. JAMES KING GRAGIE AND HER GREATNEPHEW, THEODORE DOUGLAS
ROBINSON
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AND HER BROTHER ELLIOTT, 1891
These illustrations, printed as a separate
section, will be found following page 130
GROUP PICTURE TAKEN AT CAIRO, EGYPT
THEODORE AND ELLIOTT ROOSEVELT ON THE NORTH DAKOTA RANCH, ABOUT
18812
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT SIXTEEN MONTHS WITH His FATHER, JUNE, 1883
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT THREE, FEBRUARY, 1885
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT SDC, FEBRUARY, 1888
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT HYDE PARK, APRIL, 1889
JAMES AND SARA ROOSEVELT WITH THEIR SON FRANKLIN, ABOUT 1897
MLLE. SOUVESTRE
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AT FIFTEEN, WITH HER BROTHER HALL
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AT FIFTEEN
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AS MANAGER or THE BASEBALL TEAM AT GROTON,
1900
These illustrations, printed as a separate
section, will be found following page 242
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT EIGHTEEN
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT ABOUT THE TIME OF His ENGAGEMENT
[ix ]
Illustrations
MRS. FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
THE PRESIDENT AND MRS. ROOSEVELT ON THEIR HONEYMOON
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AT TWENTY ON BOARD THE "HALF
Miss SPRING WITH THE FIRST BABY FRANKLIN AND ANNA
FOUR GENERATIONS, 1913
ANNA, JAMES, AND ELLIOTT ROOSEVELT
MRS. FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AND FRANKLIN, JR., 1915
These illustrations, printed as a separate
section, will be found following page 354
THE ROOSEVELT FAMILY, INCLUDING MRS. ROOSEVELT, SR., AT HYDE PARK,
AUTUMN, 1916
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT IN THE NEW YORK STATE SENATE, 1912
FRANKLIN D, ROOSEVELT, JR., ABOUT 1924
JOHN ROOSEVELT, ABOUT 1924
ANNA, JAMES, AND ELUOTT ROOSEVELT, 1916
THE ROOSEVELT FAMILY, INCLUDING MRS. ROOSEVELT, SR., 1919
THE ROOSEVELT FAMILY, 1919
FOURTH OF JULY AT EASTPORT, MAINE, ABOUT 1916
MRS. ROOSEVELT'S FIRST SCOTTIE
MARVIN MC!NTYRE, FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT, TOM LYNCH, AND Louis HOWE,
1920
GOVERNOR SMITH AT HYDE PARK, 1928
IS
CHAPTER ONE
MEMORIES OF MY CHILDHOOD
BACKGROUND
MY MOTHER 'was one of the most beautiful women I have ever
seen. The Halls were noted for their beauty and charm in the
days when New York City was small enough to have a so-
ciety spelled with a capital S! She had been largely brought
up by her father, who died when she 'was seventeen. It must
have been a curious household, for my Grandfather Hall
never engaged in business. He lived on what his father and
mother gave him.
He had a house in New York City at n West syth Street,
and he built a house on the Hudson River about five miles
above the village of Tivoli, on land which was part of the old
Chancellor Livingston estate. My grandmother's mother was
a Miss Livingston, and so we were related to the Livingstons,
the Clarksons, the DePeysters, who lived in the various ho vises
up and down the River Road.
This Is My Story
My Grandfather Hall's great interest was in the study of
theology, and in his library were immense books dealing with
religion. Most of them were of little interest to me as a child,
but the Bible illustrated by Dor6 occupied many hours and
I think, probably gave me many nightmares!
A clergyman, Mr. W. C. P. Rhoades, lived with my grand-
father in order that he might have some one with whom to
talk on equal terms ! My Grandmother Hall who had been
a Miss Ludlow a beauty and a belle, was treated like a cher-
ished but somewhat spoiled child. She was expected to bring
children into the world and seven children were born, but
she was not expected to bring them up. My grandfather
bought her clothes and adornments of every kind, but he told
her nothing about business, never even taught her to draw a
check, and died without a will, leaving her with six children
under seventeen years of age, a responsibility for which she
was totally unprepared.
The two eldest children, my mother and Tissie whose real
name was Elizabeth and who later became Mrs. Stanley
Mortimer bore the marks of their upbringing by their fa-
ther. They were deeply religious; they had been taught to use
their minds in the ways that my grandfather thought suitable
for girls. He disciplined them well. For instance, in die country
they walked from the house to the main road with a stick
across their backs in the crook of their elbows, to improve
their carriage and that was done not only once, but several
times a day! He was a severe judge of what they read and
wrote and how they expressed themselves, and held them to
Memories of My Childhood
the highest standards of conduct. The result, as far as my
mother was concerned and I think the same holds good of
Tissie was strength of character, with very definite ideas of
right and wrong, and a certain rigidity in conforming to a
conventional pattern which had been put before diem as the
only proper existence for a lady.
Suddenly the strong hand was removed, and the two boys
and two younger girls knew no discipline, for how could a
woman who had never been treated as anything but a grown-
up child suddenly assume the burden of training a family?
I have been told that my mother, for the first year or so
after my grandfather died, was the guiding spirit of the house-
hold, but girls were married young in those days, and at nine-
teen she was married to my father.
My mother belonged to that New York City Society
which thought itself all-important. Old Mr. Peter Marie, who
gave choice parties and whose approval stamped young girls
and young matrons a success, called my mother a queen, and.
bowed before her charm and beauty, and to her this was im-
portant.
In that Society you were kind to the poor, you did not neg-
lect your philanthropic duties in whatever community you
lived, you assisted the hospitals and did something for the
needy. You accepted invitations to dine and to dance with the
right people only, you lived where you would be in their
midst. You thought seriously about your children's educa-
tion, you read the books that everybody read, you were fa-
[3]
This Is My Story
miliar with good literature. In short, you conformed to the
conventional pattern.
My father, Elliott Roosevelt, charming, good looking,
loved by all who came in contact with him, high or low, had
a background and upbringing which were a bit alien to her
pattern. He had a physical weakness which he himself prob-
ably never quite understood. As a boy of about fifteen he left
St. Paul's School after one year because of illness, and went
out with Dr. Metcalf, a friend of the family, to what was then
the "wild and woolly west" of Texas. He made friends with
the officers of Fort McKavit, a frontier fort, and stayed with
them, hunting wild turkeys and game of every sort, and
scouting in search of hostile Indians. He loved the life and was
a natural sportsman, a good shot and a good rider. I think the
life left an indelible impression on him. The illness left its
mark on him, too, on those inner reserves of strength which
we all have to call on at times in our lives. He returned to his
family in New York apparently well and strong.
My Grandfather Roosevelt died before my father was
twenty-one and while his older brother, Theodore later to
be President of the United States fought his way to health
from an asthmatic childhood, and went to Harvard College.
Elliott, with the consent of an indulgent mother and two
adoring sisters, took part of his inheritance and went around
the world. He hunted in India when few people from this
country had done anything of the kind. In his letters, which
I collected and published a few years ago ("Hunting Big
[4]
Memories of My Childhood
Game in the *8oY*), the story of these early years, both in the
West and in India, is told.
My father returned from his trip around the world to be at
the wedding of his little sister, Corinne, to his friend, Douglas
Robinson. Then he married Anna Hall, and, as is so often the
case in life, tragedy and happiness came walking on each
other's heels.
He adored my mother and she was devoted to him, hut al-
ways in a more reserved and less spontaneous way. I doubt
that the background of their respective family lives could
have been more different. His family was not so much con-
cerned "with Society (spelled with a big S) as with people, and
these people included the newsboys from the streets of New
York and the cripples whom Dr. Schaefer, one of the most
noted early orthopaedic surgeons, was trying to cure.
MY AKRIVAX ON THE SCENE
My father's mother, whom he adored, and his brother The^-
odore's young wife, Alice Lee, died within a few days of each
other. The latter left only a little Alice to console the sorrow-
ing young father and the other members of the family. My
father felt these losses deeply, not only for himself but for
those whom he loved. Very soon, however, in October, 1884,
I came into the world, and from all accounts I must have been
a more wrinkled and less attractive baby than the average
but to him I was a miracle from Heaven.
I was a shy, solemn child even at the age of two, and I am
[5]
This Is My Story
sure that even when I danced, which I did frequently, I never
smiled.
My earliest recollections are of being dressed up and allowed
to come down into what must have been a dining room and
dance for a group of gentlemen who applauded and laughed
as I pirouetted before them. Finally, my father would pick me
up and hold me high in the air. All this is rather vague to me,
but my father was never vague. He dominated my life as long
as he lived, and was the love of my life for many years after
he died.
With my father I was perfectly happy. He would take me
into his dressing room in the mornings, or when he was dress-
ing for dinner, and let me watch each thing he did. There is
still a woodeny painting of a child with a straight bang across
her forehead, very solemn, with an uplifted finger and an ad-
monishing attitude, which he always enjoyed and referred to
as "Little Nell scolding Elliott."
We had a country house at Hempstead, Long Island, so
that he could hunt and play polo. He loved horses and dogs,
and we always had both. During this time he was in business,
and with this, added to the work and the sports, the gay and
popular young couple lived a busy, social life. Some of the
older members of my father's family have told me since that
they thought the strain on his health was very great, but my
mother and he himself probably never realized this. I knew
only that he was the center of my world, and that all around
him loved him.
I remember our waitress, Rebecca. She spoiled me terribly
Memories of My Childhood
as a child, and she worshiped my father, and years later, when
she had left us and was working for my husband's half-
brother, J. R. Roosevelt ("Rosy"), she loved nothing better
than to have me bring over some of my little children so that
she might tell them tales of their Grandfather Elliott.
One other thing I remember of this early period. We were
on a steamer, and a collision occurred when we "were one day
out. The story has been told me many times, but I remember
only that there was wild confusion. My father stood in a boat
below me, and I was dangling over the side to be dropped into
his arms. I -was terrified and shrieking, and dung to those who
were to drop me. Finally, I was safely in the little boat, and
we transferred to the boat which had run us down in the fog,
and were taken back to New York.
My father and mother and Tissie started out again for
Europe a few days later, but a terrified and determined little
girl refused to go near a boat again, so I was left for the sum-
mer with my father's aunt, Mrs. James King Gracie, my
Grandmother Roosevelt's sister. That summer I remember;
the pretty house and grounds at Oyster Bay, the bantam
chickens which were called mine, and the eggs I brought in
for breakfast. Occasional "Br'er Rabbit" stories, told me by
sweet and gentle Auntie Gracie, visits to Auntie Bye, my
father's older sister, who, it seems to me, had a cottage in the
woods near by.
"When the European trip was over, I returned to my family,
and one little brother must have been born about that time,
[7]
This Is My Story
Elliott Roosevelt, Junior, but of his arrival I have no recollec-
tion whatsoever.
A short time after must have come a serious accident. My
father was riding in a society circus held, I believe, on Mr.
James M. Waterbury's estate in Westchester County. His leg
was broken, and later it had to be rebroken and reset. I re-
member the day well, for we were alone in his room when he
told me about it. Litde as I was, I sensed that this was a terrible
ordeal, and when he went hobbling out on crutches to the
waiting doctors, I was dissolved in tears and sobbed my heart
out for hours. From this illness my father never quite re-
covered.
Whether it was some weakness from his early years which
the strain of the life he was living accentuated, whether it was
the pain he endured, I do not know, for of course at that time
I had no realization that anything was wrong he began,
however, to drink, and for my mother and his brother Theo-
dore and his sisters began the period of harrowing anxiety
which was to last until his death in 1894.
MY FIRST TRIP ABROAD
My father and mother, my litde brother and I went to Italy
for the winter of 1890 as the first step in the fight for his health
and power of self-control. Of this trip I have only vague pic-
tures in my mind. I remember my father acting as gondolier,
taking me out on the Venice canals, singing with the other
boatmen, to my intense joy. I think there never was a child
who was less able to carry a tune and had less gift for music
[.8]
Memories of My Childhood
than I. I loved his voice, however, and, above all, I loved the
way he treated me. He called me "Little Nell/* after the Little
Nell in Dickens* "Old Curiosity Shop." Later he made me
read the book, but at that time I only knew it was a term of
affection, and I never doubted that I stood first in his heart.
He could, however, be annoyed with me, particularly when
I disappointed him in such things as physical courage and
this, unfortunately, I did quite often. We went to Sorrento
and I was given a donkey and a donkey boy so I could ride
over the beautiful roads. One day the others overtook me and
offered to let me go with them, but at the first steep descent
which they slid down I turned pale, and preferred to stay on
the high road. I can remember still the tone of disapproval in
his voice, though his words of reproof have long since faded
away.
I was about five and a half and very sensitive to physical
suffering, and quite overcome by the fact that my little don-
key boy's feet were always cut and bleeding. On one occasion
we returned with the boy on the donkey and I was running
along beside him, my explanation being that his feet bled too
much!
I remember my trip to Vesuvius with my father and one
other person, and the throwing of pennies which were re-
turned to us encased in lava, and then an endless trip down, I
suppose there was some block in the traffic, but I can only re-
member my utter weariness and my effort to bear it without
tears so that my father would not be displeased.
Two other experiences stand out in my mind. One was in
[9]
This Is My Story
Germany, -where my father went to a sanitarium. Perhaps it
illustrates how one's childhood marks one's future life!
We often went to the cafes, and the older people drank
steins of beer with the delicious looking foam on top. I saw
little German children drinking it, too. I begged my father to
let me have one of the small mugs, as the other children. He
refused for a while and then said: "Very well, but remember,
if you have it, you have to drink the whole glass." I promised
without a suspicion of the horror before me. When I took my
first taste, instead of something sweet and delicious, I found I
had something very bitter which I could hardly swallow. I
was a disillusioned and disappointed child, but I had to finish
the glass ! Never since then have I cared for beer.
I remember, too, that we children were left to travel into
Paris following the older members of the family. My father's
man and our nurse looked after us. The nurse and I got out at
one of the stations and managed to be left behind! Such ex-
citement on the part of the nurse, for, of course, she had neither
money nor tickets! Such terror for me and exasperation on
the part of the station master! Finally, after much telegraph-
ing, we were put on a train and met later that night by a wor-
ried but distinctly annoyed father and mother in Paris.
My mother took a house in Neuilly, outside of Paris, and
settled down for several months, as another baby was ex-
pected the end of June. My father entered a sanitarium while
his older sister, Anna, our Auntie Bye, came to stay with my
mother.
The house was small, so it was decided to put me in a con-
[10]
Memories of My Childhood
vent to learn French, and to have me out of the way when the
baby arrived. In those days children were expected to believe
that babies dropped from Heaven, or were brought in the
doctor's satchel.
The convent experience was a very tinhappy one. Of course,
I -was not yet six years old, and I must have been very sensi-
tive, with an inordinate desire for affection and praise per-
haps brought on by the fact that I was fully conscious of my
plain looks and lack of manners. My mother was always a
little troubled by my lack of beauty, and I knew it as a child
senses those things. She tried very hard to bring me up well
so my manners would in some way compensate for my looks,
but her efforts only made me more keenly conscious of my
shortcomings.
The little girls of my age in the convent could hardly be
expected to take much interest in a child "who did not speak
their language and did not belong to their religion. They had
a little shrine of their own and often worked hard for hours
beautifying it. I longed to be allowed to join them, but was
always kept on the outside and wandered by myself in the
walled-in garden.
Finally, I fell a prey to temptation. One of the girls swal-
lowed a penny. The excitement was great, every attention
was given her, she was the center of everybody's interest. I
longed to be in her place. One day I went to one of the sisters
and told her that I had swallowed a penny. I think it must
have been evident that my story was not true, but I could not
be shaken, so they sent for my mother and told her that they
This Is My Story
did not believe me. She took me away in disgrace. Under-
standing as I do now my mother's character, I realize how
terrible it must have seemed to her to have a child who would
lie!
I finally confessed to my mother, but never could explain
my motives. I suppose I did not really understand them then,
and certainly my mother did not understand them.
I remember the drive home as one of utter misery, for I
could bear swift punishment of any kind far better than long .
scoldings. I could cheerfully lie any time to escape a scolding,
whereas if I had known that I would simply be put to bed or
be spanked I probably would have told the truth.
My father had come home for the baby's arrival, and I am
sorry to say he was causing my mother and his sister a great
deal of anxiety but he was the only person who did not
treat me as a criminal!
The baby, my brother Hall/ was several weeks old when I
finally left the convent, and soon we sailed for home, leaving
my father in a sanitarium in France where his brother, Theo-
dore, had to go and get him later on.
CHANGED CONDITIONS
We lived that winter without my father. I had the whoop-
ing cough and was extremely grateful that Mrs. Loomis, who
lived next door, on 34th Street, would allow me to come in
and play in her house, because her children had had the disease.
I was also fortunate in being allowed to go to study with die
[12]
**** & Memories of My Childhood
children of Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland Dodge, so time did not
hang altogether heavy on my hands.
I slept in my mother's room, and remember well die thrill
of watching her dress to go out in die evenings. She looked so
beautiful, I was grateful to be allowed to touch her dress or
her jewels or anything that was part of the vision which I ad-
mired inordinately.
My mother suffered from very bad headaches, and I know
now that life must have been hard and bitter and a very great
strain on her. I would often sit at the head of her bed and
^stroke her head. People have since told me that I have good
.hands for rubbing, and perhaps even as a child there was
something soothing in my touch, for she was willing to let me
sit there hours on end*
As with all children, the feeling that I was useful was per-
haps the greatest joy I experienced.
There was one mysterious visitor that winter, Uncle
Jimmie Bulloch, who came over from Liverpool, where he
had lived ever since the Civil War. On account of the work
he and his brother had done for the Confederacy they had not
I been included in the general amnesty, and so had had to settle
.in England instead of returning to their own country. He
'was, of course, entirely safe, but he had come over under an
assumed name, and there were many people in New York
who would not receive the man who had succeeded in getting
the Alabama out to sea to prey upon the northern ships and
had actually sailed in her as a junior officer.
I, of course, knew nothing of this story at the time, but I
[13]
This Is My Story
remember a very vital, big man in my mother's sitting room
playing with me, giving me a strange sense of adventure even
though I knew nothing of the reasons for it.
I had my troubles, too. The doctors did not want me to
have sugar, and I had a very sweet tooth. I loved candy and
sugar, so when we had dinner parties and there were sweets
to go on the table, I stole into the pantry, and if I could find
a paper bag with any of the sweets, I not only ate them but
once or twice, fearing I would not have a chance to eat them
on the spot, I took the whole bag and decided the best hiding
place was down the front of my dress. I remember sitting on
the lap of my brother's nurse, who was very strict with me,
and when she felt something crackle she demanded to know
what it was. I evaded the question, and, of course, was dis-
covered at once. She scolded me, and then I was taken in to
my mother, who scolded me again and sent me to bed in dis-
grace.
This habit of lying stayed with me for a number of years.
I now realize I was a great trial to my mother. She did not
understand that a child may lie from fear; I myself never
understood it until I reached the age when I suddenly realized
that there was nothing to fear.
Those summers, while my father was away trying to re-
habilitate himself, we spent largely with my grandmother at
her Tivoli house, which later was to become home to both
my brother Hall and me.
My father sent up one of his horses, an old hunter which
my mother used to drive, and I remember driving with her.
[14]
Memories of My Childhood
Even more vividly do I remember the times when I was sent
down to visit my great-aunt, Mrs. Ludlow, whose house was
next to ours but nearer the river and quite out of sight, for no
house along that part of the river was really close to any other.
Mrs* Ludlow was very handsome, very sure of herself, an
excellent housekeeper of the kind that existed in those days
but is rarely seen now! She was a good cook, could show her
servants how things should be done, knew exactly how much
sugar and flour and coffee should be used in a day and how
much was used in her house.
On one memorable occasion she set to work to find out
how much I knew. Alas and alack, I could not even read I The
very next day and every day thereafter that summer she sent
her companion to give me lessons in reading, and then she
found out that I could not sew and could not cook and knew
none of the things a girl should know!
I surmise that my mother was roundly taken to task, for
after that Madeleine became a great factor in my life and be-
gan to teach me to sew.
That summer stands out in my mind because of two labori-
ous tasks the effort to learn to read and the effort to begin to
sew. I think I was six!
I still slept in my mother's room, and every morning I had
to repeat to her some verses which I had learned in the Old or
the New Testament. I wish I could remember today all the
verses which I learned by heart that summer!
Sometimes I woke up when my mother and her sisters
were talking at bed time, and many a conversation which was
[15]
This Is My Story
not meant for my ears was listened to with great avidity. I
acquired a strange and garbled idea of the troubles which were
going on around me. Something was wrong with my father,
and from my point of view nothing could be wrong with him.
If people only realized what a war goes on in a child's
mind and heart in a situation of this kind, I think they would
try to explain more than they do to children; but nobody told
me anything.
We moved back to New York the autumn that I was
seven, to a house which my mother had bought and put in
order on East 6ist Street, two blocks from Auntie Bye, who
lived at Madison Avenue and East 62nd Street. She had Uncle
Ted's little girl, Alice, with her a great deal, and that winter
our first real acquaintance began. Already she seemed much
older and cleverer, and while I always admired her I was al-
ways a little afraid of her, and this was so even when we were
grown and she was the "Princess Alice" in the Wtite House,
That winter, too, began a friendship with young Robert
Munro-Ferguson, who was a young man sent over here from
England by an elder brother to make his way in the world.
My father and mother had known this elder brother, Ronald
(later Lord Novar) and so had Auntie Bye. The boy, when
he came here, was taken into her house and given a start in
Douglas Robinson's office. He became a dear and dose friend
to the entire family.
For my education, my mother formed a small class which
was to meet in our house in a very pleasant school room on an
upper floor. The fashionable teacher of die day was Mr. Rosa
[16]
Memories of My Childhood
but younger children were not taught by him, they were
taught by one of his teachers, Miss Tomes. As I think back, I
doubt that he was a remarkable teacher, but for Miss Tomes
my admiration has grown as the years have gone by. She
taught us well and thoroughly.
I was always disgracing nay mother, however. I remember
on the first day this class met I was asked to spell some simple
words and completely failed, with the result that my mother
took me aside afterwards and told me seriously that she won-
dered what would happen if I did not mend my ways ! She
knew that I knew them all and -was too shy to open my
mouth.
That winter I spent happy, rainy afternoons in the maid's
sewing room at Auntie Bye's, where I was allowed to have
cambric tea and cookies and no one bothered me.
My mother always had the three children with her for a
time in the late afternoon. Little Ellie adored her, and was so
good he never had to be reproved. The baby Hall was always
called Josh, and was too small to do anything but sit upon her
lap contentedly. I felt a curious barrier between myself and
these three. My mother made a great effort for me, she would
read to me and have me read to her, she would have me recite
my poems, she would keep me after the boys had gone to bed,
and still I can remember standing in the door, very often with
my finger in my mouth which was, of course, forbidden
and I can see the look in her eyes and hear the tone of her
voice as she said: "Come in, Granny." If a visitor was there
she might turn and say: "She is such a funny child, so old-
This Is My Story
fashioned, that we always call her 'Granny/ " I wanted to
sink through the floor in shame, and I felt I was apart from
the boys.
I was still forbidden sugar, and I ate my breakfast from a
tray in the library, by myself. Once my mother came into
the room and found me covering my cereal with sugar -which
I had cajoled the waitress into bringing me. I had got away
with it for many days and was caught at last!
The French maid, whom I hated and who took me out in
the afternoon, used to hold over my head the threat of telling
my mother that I spent my pennies for cakes and candies
which I shared with my little cousins, who occasionally came
to play with me in the front basement which was our usual
play room.
I remember, too, sitting on the bed in the guest room ad-
miring our most beautiful guest, Mary Leiter, later to be Lady
Curzon. I adored her because she let me sit and worship her.
All in all, however, life moved smoothly. Suddenly every-
thing was changed!
MY MOTHER'S DEATH
* We children were sent out of the house. I went to stay "with
my godmother, Mrs. Henry Parish, and the boys went to my
mother's aunt, Mrs. Ludlow. My grandmother left her own
house and family to nurse my mother, for she had diphtheria
and there was then no antitoxin. Bob Ferguson sat on the
stairs outside her room to do any errands that might be asked
of him, both day and night. My father was sent for, but came
[18]
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MRS. JAMES KING GRACDS AND HER GREATNEPHEW, THEODORE DOUGLAS ROBINSON
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AND HER BROTHER ELLIOTT, 1891
Memories of My Childhood
too late from his exile in Virginia. Diphtheria went fast in
those days.
I can remember standing by a window when Cousin Susie
(Mrs. Parish) told me that my mother was dead. She was very
sweet to me, and I must have known that something terrible
had happened. Death meant nothing to me, and one fact
wiped out everything else my father was back and I would
see him very soon.
This was on December yth, 1892.
He did not come right away, and later I knew what a
tragedy of utter defeat this meant for him. No hope now of
ever wiping out the sorrowful years he had brought upon my
mother and she had left her mother as guardian for her chil-
dren. My grandmother did not feel that she could trust my
father to take care of us. He had no -wife, no children, no hope !
Finally, he came to take me out driving, and as I climbed
up beside him in the high dog cart, everything but the excite-
ment of seeing him was forgotten.
He was driving his best hunter, Mohawk by name, and as
we went up Madison Avenue, a street car frightened the
horse, and we nearly had an accident. My father lost his hat,
which a policeman restored to him. He looked down at me
and said: "You weren't afraid, were you, Little Nell?"
When -we reached the Park, with its long line of carriages
and horses, he again looked at me and said: "If I were to say
'hoopla 9 to Mohawk he would try to jump them all." In-
wardly I prayed that he would do nothing of the kind.
[19]
This Is My Story
In spite of my abject terror, those drives were the high
}ints of my existence.
Finally, it was arranged that we three children were to go
id live with my Grandmother Hall. I realize now what that
uist have meant in dislocation of her household, and I mar-
i at the sweetness of my two uncles and the two aunts who
r ere still at home, for never by word or deed did any of them
lake us feel that we were not in our own house.
After we were installed, my father came to see me, and I
'member going down into the high ceilinged, dim library
n the first floor of the house in west syth Street. He sat in a
ig chair. He was dressed all in black, looking very sad. He
eld out his arms and gathered me to him. In a little while he
egan to talk, to explain to me that my mother was gone,
aat she had been all the world to him, and now he only had
ay brothers and myself, that my brothers were very young,
nd that he and I must keep close together. Some day I would
ciake a home for him again, we would travel together and
lo many things which he painted as interesting and pleasant,
o be looked forward to in the future together.
Somehow it was always he and I. I did not understand
whether my brothers were to be our children or whether he
elt that they would be at school and college and later in-
lependent.
There started that day a feeling which never left me that
he and I were very close together, and some day would have
a, life of our own together. He told me to write to him often,
to be a good girl, not to give any trouble, to study hard, to
[20]
Memories of My Childhood
grow up into a woman he could be proud of, and lie would
come to see me whenever it was possible.
When he left, I was all alone to keep our secret of mutual
understanding and to adjust myself to my new existence*
LIFE WITH MY GRAJSTDMOTHER
The two little boys had a room with Madeleine, and I had a
little hall bed room next to them. I was old enough to look
after myself, except that my hair had to be brushed at night.
Of course, someone had to be engaged to take me out, to and
from classes and to whatever I did in the afternoons. I had
governesses, French maids, German maids. I walked them all
off their feet. They always tried to talk to me, and I wished to
be left alone to live in a dream world in which I was the hero-
ine and my father the hero. Into this world I retired as soon
as I went to bed and as soon as I woke in the morning, and
all the time I was walking or when any one bored me.
I was a very healthy child, but now and then in winter I
would have a sore throat and tonsillitis, so cold baths were de-
creed as a daily morning routine and how I cheated on those
baths! Madeleine could not always follow me up, and more
hot water went into diem than would have been considered
beneficial had any one supervised me.
My grandmother laid great stress on certain things in my
education. I must learn French. My father wished me to be
musical. I worked at music until I was eighteen, but no one
ever trained my ear!
Through listening to my Aunt Pussie play I did gain an
[21]
This Is My Story
emotional appreciation of music, for she played with great
feeling, this young aunt whose name was Edith and who later
became Mrs. W. Forbes Morgan. She was a fascinating and
lovely creature, almost a genius in many ways, and her play-
ing was one of the unforgettable joys of my childhood. I
-would lie on the sofa in the 37th Street house and listen to her
for hours.
I would have given anything to be a singer, partly because
my father loved to sing, and when he came to the 37th Street
house he would sing with Maude and Pussie, and partly be-
cause I admired some of their friends who were professional
singers. I felt that one could give a great deal of pleasure and,
yes, receive attention and admiration! Attention and admira-
tion were the things through all my childhood which I
wanted, because I was made to feel so conscious of the fact
that nothing about me would attract attention or would
bring me admiration!
As I look back on that household in the 37th Street house,
I realize how very differently life was lived in the New York
of those days, both in its homes and in its streets.
There were already, of course, a number of very large and
beautiful homes, most of them on Fifth Avenue, Madison
Square was still almost entirely residential, and from I4th
Street to 23rd Street was the shopping district.
Our old-fashioned, brown-stone house was much like all
the other houses in the side streets, fairly large and comfort-
able, with high ceilings, a dark basement, and inadequate
servants quarters with "working conditions which no one
Memories of My Childhood
with any social conscience would tolerate today. The laundry
had one little window in it opening on the back yard and, of
course, we had no electric light. We were really very modern
in that we had gas!
The servants' rooms, as compared with today, as I remem-
ber them were not very comfortable in their lack of ventila-
tion and comfortable furnishings. Their bathroom "was in the
cellar, so each one had a basin and a pitcher in a tiny bedroom.
Our household consisted of a cook, a butler, a housemaid
who was maid as well to my young aunts and a laundress.
The family consisted of my grandmother, Pussie and Maude,
who had been the baby of the family until our arrival, Vallie,
my older uncle, and, for brief periods, Eddie, who was some
two years younger. Eddie had a roving foot, and took at least
one long trip to Africa which I remember.
Into this household I moved with my two little brothers
and their nurse.
My grandmother seemed to me a very old lady, though I
realize now that she was still quite young. She was relegated
almost entirely, to her own bedroom. She came down stairs
when she actually had visitors of her own, but the drawing
room, with its massive gilt furniture covered with blue dam-
ask, was the room in which, by tacit consent, she saw her
guests. Her daughters took possession of the library, which
was a large front room where the piano stood, and where a
large bow window on the street gave more light.
The dining room, in the extension at the back, was quite a
bright room, having three windows on the side. Back of that
US ]
This Is My Story
was the pantry, where I spent considerable time, for the
butler, Victor, whom I remember very well as he was with
us a good many years, was kind to me and taught me how to
wash dishes and to wipe them, though when I broke one he
was much displeased. Still, he did not tell my grandmother!
Sometimes when I was in disgrace and sent supperless to bed,
he or Kitty, the chamber maid, would smuggle me up some-
thing to eat.
The years had changed my grandmother. With her own
children she had been chiefly concerned in loving them, but
not in disciplining them. That had been my grandfather's
part. When he died she still wanted to surround them with the
tenderest love, but later on she found that she could not con-
trol Vallie or Eddie or Pussie or Maude. She worried over
them a great deal, and she was determined that the grand-
children who were now under her care should have the disci-
pline that her own children had lacked, and we were brought
up on the principle that "no" was easier to say than "yes,"
There was a great deal of coming and going of young peo-
ple in the house. My aunts had a great many friends, and they
were belles as soon as they came out, and even before that
magic time came.
So much for the way we lived in our home in New York
City.
In the streets there were no motor cars. Beautiful horses and
smart carriages of every description took their place. Horse-
drawn stages labored up Fifth Avenue and horse-drawn street
Memories of My Childhood
cars ran on other avenues and crosstown streets; cabs and han-
soms were the taxis of those days.
One of my most exciting experiences took place in a Fifth
Avenue stage. I was never allowed to go out alone, always
having a maid follow me, but naturally in a stage we could
not always sit side by side. One day a poor, wretched looking
man jumped up and tried to snatch a purse from a woman
who sat near me. Everyone screamed, and there was great
confusion. I was so terrified that I shot out of the stage into
the street and found myself on the sidewalk in the midst of a
milling crowd which was yelling "Stop thief!" Luckily, I
stood still, and a very irate maid got out as soon as die driver
realized that something was wrong and brought the horses to
a stop. She came back and reproved me sternly for jumping
out of the stage when it was going. We proceeded on our
way to my French lesson, but I am sure I learned very little
that day, for the face of that poor, haunted man was too viv-
idly before me, and it continued to come before me in my
dreams for months afterwards*
I was very much afraid of burglars. A sneak thief had en-
tered the 37th Street house one day and taken several things
off tables on the first floor before he was frightened away.
My great-grandmother, Mrs, Edward EL Ludlow, was still
alive, though a very old lady. She lived in a house on East 34th
Street. I have no very clear recollection of her, but my grand-
mother used to take us to see her after we had attended church
on Sundays.
I remember very vividly stopping there with Maude to ex-
[as]
This Is My Story
plain one Sunday that my grandmother had a cold and could
not come. The old lady who had a violent temper, I gather
shook her stick at us and told us to go straight home and
send Molly (my grandmother's name was Mary) down im-
mediately. We went home, and I think my grandmother got
out of bed and went to see her.
During die summer of 1896 she had a long illness, prior to
her death on Christmas Day, so that my grandmother was
much in New York with her, and slept in a room over die
front door. It was very easy for an active man to climb up to
the window of this room, and one night my grandmother
woke to find a burglar in her room and had to hand over her
rings. She was unable to call for help until after he left.
This story I listened to with bated breath, and when later
he was caught and sent to prison and the jewelry for the most
part was recovered, I was much relieved. I remember my fear
and dismay years later when my grandmother told us he was
about to be let out again, and she wondered if he would try-
to take any revenge for having been kept in prison.
In view of this terror on my part, I have always thought
that one incident which occurred during these years from ten
to fifteen was very significant.
Pussie was ill with a bad sore throat and she liked me to do
things for her, which made me very proud. One night she
called me. Everything was dark, and I groped my way to her
room. She must have ice, for what she had had was all melted.
She asked if I would go to the basement and get some from
the ice-box. That meant three flights of stairs; the last one
[26]
Memories of My Childhood
would mean closing the door at the foot of the stairs and be-
ing alone in the basement, making my way in pitch-black
darkness to that ice-box out in the back yard!
My knees were trembling, but as between the fear of going
and the fear of not being allowed to minister to Pussie when
she was ill and thereby losing an opportunity to be important,
I had no choice*
I went and returned with the ice, demonstrating again the
fact that children value above everything else the opportunity
to be really useful to those around them.
Very early I became conscious of the fact that there were
men and women and children around me who suffered in one
way or another. I think I was five or six when my father took
me for the first time to help serve Thanksgiving Day dinner
in one of the newsboys' clubhouses which my grandfather,
Theodore Roosevelt, had started. He was also a Trustee of the
Childrens Aid Society for many years. I was tremendously
interested in all these ragged little boys and in the fact, which
my father explained, that many of them had no homes and
lived in little wooden shanties in empty lots, or slept in vesti-
bules of houses or public buildings or any place where they
could be moderately warm. Yet they were independent and
earned their own livings.
A few of them had homes, but then they usually had added
cares, a mother and little brothers and sisters to help. The
boys' clubhouse was their only place for recreation, often their
only chance of education. The men who went there were
their friends and advisers.
This Is My Story
After dinner was over the boys themselves put on an enter-
tainment and as I remember it, if I hadn't been so sleepy I
would have enjoyed it, but I am afraid I disgraced myself by
placidly going to sleep !
Every Christmas I was taken by my grandmother to help
dress the Christmas tree for the babies' ward in the Post
Graduate Hospital. She was particularly interested in this
charity.
My father's aunt Annie, Mrs. James King Grade, whom we
children called "Auntie Gracie," took us to the Orthopaedic
Hospital which my Grandfather Roosevelt had been instru-
mental in helping Dr. Newton Shaffer to start and in which
the family was all deeply interested. There I saw innumerable
little children in casts and splints. Some of them lay patiently
for months in strange and curious positions.
Perhaps I was particularly interested in them because I had
a curvature myself and wore for some time a steel brace
which was vastly uncomfortable and prevented my bending
over.
Even my Uncle Vallie, who at this time was in business in
New York, a champion tennis player and a very popular
young man in society, helped along my education in human
suffering and want. I suspect now that some of his interest in
good works was because a lady he thought very charming was
also interested in them, but, nevertheless, he took me to help
dress a Christmas tree for a group of children in a part of New
York City which was called "Hell's Kitchen/' This was for
many years one of New York's poorest and worst sections.
[28]
Memories of My Childhood
I also went with Maude and Pussie to sing at the Bowery
Mission, so I was not in ignorance that there were sharp con-
trasts, even though our lives were blessed with plenty.
Of course, I did not really understand many of the things
I saw, but I still think that I gained impressions that have re-
mained with me all my life.
My father was very much interested in my education, and
certain things were done entirely for his pleasure. Much of
my reading was done at his suggestion. At the age of eight
I could recite a good part of Longfellow's "Hiawatha," be-
cause that happened to be a favorite poem, of his.
My French teacher, Mile. LeClerq, was quite an old lady,
but she taught French well and we learned to repeat verse
upon verse of the New Testament in French. I thought this
a great waste of time, but later found very useful the well-
trained memory which all t-Vns learning things by heart gave
me.
However, I realize now that it was unfortunate that I was
not taught to reason anything out* Mathematics, from plain
arithmetic to geometry, was torture to me, and all grammar
just about as bad, because both required a certain amount of
reasoning, and I tried to do them entirely from memory. My
real education did not begin until I went abroad at fifteen.
Though he was so little with us, my father dominated all
this period of my life. Subconsciously I must have been wait-
ing always for his visits. They were irregular, and he rarely
sent word before he arrived, but never was I in the house,
even in my room two long flights of stairs above the entrance
This Is My Story
door, that I did not hear his voice the minute he entered the
front door. Walking down stairs was far too slow. I slid down
the banisters and usually catapulted into his arms before his
hat was hung up.
My father gave me my first two puppies. The first one, a
tiny fox terrier, drank so much milk that he died, and the
second one, rather older and more healthy, escaped by the
back door and ran away. For twenty-four hours I was incon-
solable, but no matter how violent the sorrows of childhood,
time is very efficacious in healing them.
I consoled myself with playing with a small, round, white
ball of a puppy looking like a baby polar bear which Maude
bought on the corner of the street. He grew up entirely white
with pink eyes, his name was Mickey, and he was of no recog-
nizable breed. He was however, very intelligent. He could
follow a hansom in crowded New York City traffic. Once he
was left in the country, returned to the station, jumped into
the baggage car, where luckily the man recognized him, got
off the train at the Grand Central Terminal, and came home!
He was part of our family for many years.
My father never missed an opportunity for giving us pres-
ents, so Christmas was, of course, a great day for us, and I still
remember one memorable Christmas when I had two stock-
ings, for my grandmother had filled one and my father was
in New York and had one brought to me on Christmas morn-
ing.
I was still supposed to believe in Santa Glaus, but I think my
belief must have been shaken that year. However, I pretended
[30]
Memories of My Childhood
for years that I believed in him, and used to try to stay awake
and play 'possum in the hope that I would see someone come
to fill my stocking hanging on the foot on my bed, but I al-
ways fell asleep and woke to find it mysteriously filled.
MY FERST PONY
It -was on my birthday, however, that my father lavished the
greatest thought. He was anxious that I should be a good
horse-woman, and gave me a pony when I was still quite
young. The pony arrived with a cart when we were in New-
port one summer with my great-aunt, Mrs. Ludlow, Mrs.
Parish took us out driving, and the pony ran away. He "was
returned! Later, at Tivoli, I had a pony of my own called
Captain, and on my birthday came a saddle of my own.
Captain was a fair-sized pony and quite spirited,
I used to dislike very much the days when we drove, for
Madeleine did the driving and my little brother sat beside her.
I had to sit in the back seat while we meandered for hours over
the country roads, usually in the afternoons.
Riding was different, and I loved it especially going with
my aunts and uncles. They were endlessly patient in talcfng roue
with them wherever they went, and Vallie spent hours down
in the field below our house teaching me to jump.
I remained quite fearless until one sad day, when I was four-
teen, I rode a gray polo pony sent up by one of my aunt's
friends. He ran away with me twice and from that day I've
been full of fears and very grateful that my father never knew
it.
This Is My Story
He was always writing me about riding with all the little
children down in Abingdon, Virginia, where he lived, and
I was always longing to join the group and know some of the
children who seemed to be so much a factor in his life. One
child in particular I remember, Miriam Trigg, and I envied
her very much because he was so very fond of her. She used
to come in and sit in his sitting room and play with his fox
terriers. He had a great many of these, and several horses
which were taken care of by an excellent and very willing
darky groom.
Only three years ago I met a number of the Trigg family
when I 'went down to the music festival at White Top, which
is near Abingdon. The old darky who had been my father's
servant came to see me that day and brought me one of the
teacups which he had cherished all these years and which I rec-
ognized at once as being part of the same service which be-
longed to my Grandmother Roosevelt, some of which I still
have and use today.
One more sorrow came to my father the winter that my
mother died. My little brother, Ellie, was simply too good
for this world, and he never seemed to thrive after my mother's
death. Both he and the baby, Josh, got scarlet fever, and I was
returned to my Cousin Susie, and, of course, quarantined.
The baby got well without any complications, but Ellie
developed diphtheria and died. My father came to take me
out occasionally, but the anxiety over the little boys was too
great for him to give me a great deal of his time.
I am deeply grateful to my cousin, Mrs; J. West Roosevelt,
Memories of My Childhood
who lived not very far from Mrs. Parish, and who allowed
me to come over and have supper and play with her children,
Laura, Nicholas and Oliver, very frequently. They were much
younger than I was, but I was accustomed to being "with my
own little brothers.
I think that, in all probability, having only lessons to do
alone, as I could not go to school, and going for walks in the
afternoons, there were occasions when time hung rather
heavily on my hands*
Mrs. Parish has always been very closely connected with my
life. She was kindness itself to me when I was small and I took
it all for granted, though now I realize that my care must have
been quite a problem. She kept house at that time with the
same precision and care as her mother, Mrs. Ludlow. Meals
were always at the same hour; no one was ever late. Unex-
pected guests were unheard of, and life was a pretty well
regulated pattern into which a small child could hardly fit
easily. Yet I never remember a time when I needed a home
that it was not offered to me by Mr. and Mrs. Henry Parish.
While my father was alive, we children went from Tivoli
during the summer to Bar Harbor, Maine, with my grand-
mother and aunts. She took a small cottage, and we had our
meals in an old hotel called Lyman's. I still remember the way
the waitress recited the different courses desserts always in-
terested me especially and she rolled them off so fast I could
never make out what they were!
I loved climbing the rocks and going flounder fishing with
the old man who was owner of the hotel.
[33]
This Is My Story
MY FATHER'S DEATH
On August I4th, 1894, just before I was ten years old, word
came that my father had died. My aunts told me, but I simply
refused to believe it, and while I wept long and went to bed
still weeping, I finally went to sleep and began the next day
living in my dream world as usual.
My grandmother decided that we children should not go to
the funeral, and so I had no tangible thing to make death real
to me. From that time on I knew in my mind that my father
was dead, and yet I lived with him more closely, probably,
than I had when he was alive.
My father and mother both liked us to see a great deal of
Auntie Grade. She was very much beloved by all her great-
nephews and nieces. As I remember her now, she was of
medium height, very slender, with very clear-cut features,
but always looked fragile and very dainty. Ladies wore long
dresses, in those days, that trailed in the dust unless they were
held up, and I seem to remember her generally in the rather
tight-fitting bodices of the day, high in the back, square-cut
in front and always with an immaculate frill of white lace or
plaited linen around the neck. I suppose only certain dresses
were like this, but I must have thought these particularly be-
coming. I can also remember thinking that her hands were
very pretty with the rings gleaming on her fingers as she
knitted or crocheted something out of pale blue or pink wool
for some new baby in the family.
Often her hands would lie folded in her lap as she told us
[34]
Memories of My Childhood
a story, and I, who loved to look at hands even as a child,
remember still watching them with pleasure. My Saturdays
were frequently spent with this sweet and gracious great-aunt.
Alice Roosevelt, Teddy Robinson and I were the three who
enjoyed these days the most. In the mornings Auntie Grade
would take us to whatever disagreeable appointments we had,
such as dentist or doctor* I frequently visited Dr. Shaffer with
her, and on one occasion she held my hand while the doctor
lanced my ear, and she promised me something very nice
afterwards if I would be a brave girl.
After these appointments, she would take us back for
luncheon, and in turn we were allowed to order what we
preferred for that meal. Being a Southerner, she had some
special dishes for which I have the recipes in the book which
she wrote out for my father.
In the afternoons we went sight-seeing or to some place of
entertainment Mrs. Jorley's wax works I first saw "with her!
If it were a bad day we played games in her pleasant rooms.
When we grew tired of them, she told us stories of the old
plantation days and the life in the south which she and my
Grandmother Roosevelt loved so tenderly even though they
lived in the north for many years.
After my father died, however, these Saturdays with Auntie
Gracie were not allowed. My grandmother felt, I think, we
should be at home as much as possible, and perhaps she feared
we might slip away from her control if we were too much
with our dynamic Roosevelt relatives, or it may have been
that getting me about was difficult. In any case my young
[35]
This Is My Story
aunts \vere not allowed until they were seventeen to stay
overnight with anyone guarding a girl was considered so
difficult that I think my grandmother often prayed over it!
The next few years were uneventful for me. New York
City in winter, with classes and private lessons, and for enter-
tainment occasionally, on a Saturday afternoon, a child or two
for supper and play. My grandmother believed in keeping me
young, and my aunts believed in dressing me in a way which
was perhaps appropriate to my age but not to my size. I was
very tall, very thin and very shy. They dressed me for dancing
class and for parties in dresses that were above my knees, when
most of the girls my size had them halfway down their legs !
All my clothes seem to me now to have been incredibly un-
comfortable!
My grandmother saw to it that I -wore flannels from the
first of November until the first of April, regardless of the
temperature, and the flannels went from my neck to my
ankles. Of course, this attire included a flannel petticoat and
long, black stockings. I can remember those long, black stock-
ings in summer and how hot they -were! And the high button
or high laced shoes that went with them and were supposed
to keep your ankles slim!
We children stayed at Tivoli in summer now with a nurse
and a governess, even if the others went away, and there were
hot, breathless days when my fingers stuck to the keys as I
practiced on the piano but I never left off any garments and
even in summer we children wore a good many. I would roll
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Memories of My Childhood
my stockings down and then be told that kdies did not show
their legs and promptly have to fasten them up again!
OAK TERRACE, TIVOLI
The house at Tivoli was a tig house, with high ceilings and
a good many rooms, most of them large. My grandfather had
furnished it downstairs in a rather formal way. There are still
some lovely marble mantelpieces and chandeliers for candles
only, for we had neither gas nor electricity. "We had lamps,
but often went to bed by candle light. There were some
vitrines with very lovely little carved ivory pieces, one tiny
set of tables and chairs I loved to look at, and also silver orna-
ments and little china and enameled pieces collected from
various parts of the world.
The library was filled with standard sets of books besides
my grandfather's religious books. A good deal of fiction came
into the house by way of my young aunts and uncles, though
as I look back it was astonishing how much Dickens, Scott
and Thackeray were read and reread, particularly by Eddie,
who was a great reader.
On the second and third floors there were nine master bed
rooms and four double servants* rooms and one single one.
These servants' rooms were much better than those in the
town house, but no one thought it odd that there was no
servants* bath room.
There were just two bath rooms in this large house, but it
never occurred to us that it was an inconvenience or that it
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This Is My Story
really made much, work to have to use basins and pitchers
in our own rooms. Such is the force of habit.
We children had to take two hot baths a week, though
I think my grandmother could still remember the era of
Saturday-night baths. I was expected to have a cold sponge
every morning.
The three small bed rooms on the third floor Maude and
Pussie did over to suit themselves, and their taste changed
frequently. I am sorry to say that they had some rather nice
pieces of furniture in other parts of the house painted white
because at one period everything must be white! My grand-
mother protested faintly but felt that nothing was worth a
real discussion, and let them do more or less as they wanted.
I thought their rather frequent excursions into house dec-
orating were great fun, just as any new hobby either of them
took up was vastly interesting to me.
Pussie turned one of these rooms into a studio for a short
time and painted madly, while I sat on a step-ladder which for
some strange reason was in the room, watching her, and
cheering her on for I always thought every thing she did was
beautiful! They let me take refuge in their rooms on rainy
days. I can remember a perfectly delightful day spent almost
entirely alone, reading a book called "Misunderstood." I
cried bitterly, and had a grand time!
One escapade was stupid. My brother and I thought it a
very amusing thing to climb out of the window and walk
around on the gutter to a window on the other side of the
house. We were caught and informed that the gutter was
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Memories of My Childhood
made of tin and might easily have broken under our weight;
besides, it was just the grace of Heaven that we did not fall
off, when we certainly should have been killed.
My grandmother let me follow her about in the early
mornings when she was housekeeping, and I carried to the
cook the supplies of flour, sugar and coffee, that she so care-
fully weighed out in the store room, and I became extremely
familiar with the basement of the house.
Today very few servants would be content to cook in the
semi-darkness which reigned in that big, old-fashioned
kitchen, with a large stone areaway all around it, over which
was the piazza, which left only a small space for the light to
filter in. The room where the servants ate had one door lead-
ing into the area way. The laundry was a little better, because
there were two doors leading out onto the terrace, and here I
spent many hours.
Our wash and what a wash it was was done by one
woman, Mrs. Overhalse, without the aid of any electric
washing machine or irons. She had a wash board and three
tubs and a wringer and a little stove on 'which were all weights
of irons. The stove was fed with wood or coal.
Mrs. Overhalse was a cheerful, healthy soul, apparently
able to direct her own household and come and wash all day
for us, and then go back at night and finish up on her farm.
She had a number of children. She taught me to wash and
iron, and though I was not allowed to do the finer things, the
handkerchiefs, napkins and towels often fell to my lot, and
I loved the hours spent with this cheerful woman.
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This Is My Story
Sometimes she would have me spend the day with her on
the farm. Her children were shy but always kind and I loved
picking apples and eating her good German food. She died
only a short time ago. She was ill for quite a long time. Her
family sent word to me, asking that I come to see her, because
she talked so much of the old days with my grandmother.
I went and sat with her and renewed my childhood, and won-
dered if any of my generation would have the strength or the
courage to do the work that she had done.
The date was so rigidly set for our moves up and down
from New York to Tivoli, that when I was young we never
used the furnace which had been put in when the house was
built. They spent one or two winters there when my aunts
and uncles were young but never after I can remember. In the
autumn, stoves were put up in all the bed rooms, with wood
boxes behind them, and we were kept busy replenishing
them. Open fires kept the rooms downstairs warm. The li-
brary, which had a false fireplace, was simply closed when
the cold weather began.
Occasionally Uncle Vallie would want to go up in the late
autumn or winter. He would choose a Sunday, and I can re-
member my joy if he allowed me to go with him. All the
water was turned off in the house, but as we always carried
our drinking water all summer from a spring which was
quite a distance from the house, it did not bother me to pump
what little water we needed during the day and carry it to the
house.
On one occasion we got caught in a blizzard on the way
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Memories of My Childhood
down, and after much difficulty we pulled into the Pough-
keepsie station. Everyone on the train dashed in to buy food,
but the restaurant had already been invaded by people from
all the other trains which had also been stuck. The men who
were looking for food proceeded to the town. I cannot re-
member that VaUie returned with a great deal, but my sense
of adventure kept me warm in what became an extremely
cold car, and apparently I did not really suffer from hunger.
It was thrilling not to get to New York until the early hours
of the morning.
One of the joys of these trips up and down the river was the
colored man who always got on at Poughkeepsie, where there
was the chief restaurant of the railroad between New York
and Albany in those days, and peddled his wares up and down
the aisles.
We loved the house and place at Tivoli. When my aunts
and uncles were at home life was pleasant indeed. I did have
to run errands for them, and many times a day I ran along the
little path that went through the "woods from our house to the
stable. Not long ago, in telling some of the stories of my
childhood, I told this to my grandson, Curtis, and he re-
marked patronizingly: "Grandmere, why didn't you tele-
phone?"
My grandmother built a little house for me in the woods,
with a stove so I could leaxn to cook under Madeleine's tuition.
I enjoyed everything about it except cleaning up after a welsh
rarebit party the older members of the family sometimes had
after I went to bed.
This Is My Story
I was given rabbits to care for, but their cannibalistic habits
were a constant shock, and they kept escaping and being
chased and killed by the dogs, so they were given up.
In exchange for everything which we children did for our
elders, they did much for us. There was rarely an evening that
they did not play with both my brother and me and then with
me after he went to bed.
Endless games of "I spy" were played around the piazza.
We used to slide down the terrace on trays. They would go
with me into the woods and build camp fires and cook supper
there. Pussie would take me off and read poetry aloud by the
hour. I -would be allowed to ride with them or sit in the back
of the buggy when they went driving, dangling my legs over
the edge with a cushion under my knees so that my legs
would not really be cut off !
I realize today that it must have been a nuisance if you
drove with a young man to have a child tagging along, but
they never made me feel in the way.
I well remember being with Maude in our two-wheeled
gocart when we met our first automobile. Before I knew it we
were over a barbed-wire fence in the field. The horse was cut.
I was thrown out and dazed but unhurt, and Maude was still
in the cart but apparently stunned.
I rejoiced when I got my first bicycle and the errands were
done more easily, but I would not have given up doing them
for anything in the world!
I remember well Pussie getting up before sunrise, and both
of us stealing into the pantry and eating bread and butter and
Memories of My Childhood
rowing eight miles to Tivoli and back to get the mail. I do not
know why this was such a spree, since all children wake up
early, but to have an older person actually do something with
you in those early morning hours was a real adventure.
Pussie adored my little brother, and there are photographs
taken of him as a little boy looking over her shoulder which
show a real, maternal affection.
On the other hand, she had an artistic temperament, and
there would be days when I would go to Maude for comfort,
for Pussie would not speak to me or to anyone else. I could not
understand it as a little girl, but I gradually came to accept it
as part of her character and to be grateful for all the lovely
things she did, and wait patiently for the storms to pass.
She took me one summer with my governess to Nantucket
Island for a few days an exciting trip for a child "who never
went anywhere except up and down the Hudson River. After
a few days I think she was bored with us; in any case, she left.
The governess did not have enough money to get us home.
Pussie was to return, but she forgot all about us. Finally my
grandmother was appealed to and sent enough money to pay
our bill and get us home!
During the years from ten to fifteen I became an omnivo-
rous reader for I had no playmates near by. Little Carola de
Peyster came up for a day, and I spent a day with her every
summer, but that was ajl the companionship of my own age
which I had. There were some little Livingstons and Clarksons
about my brother's age, so he had playmates, but Carola
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This Is My Story
lived five miles away, and that was a long distance before die
day of motors.
My aunts were often away, but even when they were home
we loved to be alone except for the young friends whom they
asked to visit them. This solitude encouraged my habit of
taking a book out into the fields or in the woods and sitting
in a tree or lying under it, completely forgetting the passage
of time. No one tried to censor my reading, though occasion-
ally when I happened on a book that I could not understand
and asked too many difficult questions before people, the
book would disappear. I remember this happened to Dickens'
"Bleak House," and I spent days hunting for it and wondering
where I could have left it!
Ruues AND REGULATIONS
Certain things my grandmother insisted on. On Sundays
I might not read the books which I read on week days, but
special books were kept for Sundays. I had to teach Sunday
school to the coachman's little daughter, giving her verses to
learn, hearing her recite them and seeing that she learned
some hymns and collects and the catechism. In turn, I must
do all these things myself and recite to my grandmother.
Every Sunday the big victoria came to the door and we
went to church, and my seat usually was the little seat facing
my grandmother. Unfortunately, the four miles were long,
and I was nearly always very nauseated before we reached the
church, and equally so before we reached home!
I could not play games on Sunday, and we still had a cold
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Memories of My Childhood
supper in the evenings, though we did not live up to a cold
meal in the middle of the day, as had been my grandfather's
rule.
On Sunday evenings Pussie would play hymns and we all
sang. This was a joy to me, and I often wish it was done more
often now. We also used to sing popular songs on weekday
evenings, for as a family we liked music.
Madeleine did succeed in teaching me to sew. I hemmed
endless dish towels and darned endless stockings, and if the
darn did not suit Madeleine she would take her scissors and
simply cut out the whole thing and a large round hole would
have to be filled in all over again. Many a tear I shed over
this darning.
In fact, Madeleine caused me many tears, for I was des-
perately afraid of her, I used to enjoy sliding down the moss-
grown roof of our ice house, and always got my white
drawers completely covered with green. I always went to my
grandmother before I went to Madeleine, knowing that both
of them would scold me, but that my grandmother would
scold less severely!
Madeleine did not like to be disturbed in the evenings, and
yet she had to do my hair when I came to bed, and if I was
a few minutes late I not only got a scolding, but my hair was
unmercifully pulled.
I was not supposed to read in bed before breakfast, but as
I woke at five a. m. practically every morning in summer and
was, I am afraid, a self-willed child, I used to take a book to
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This Is My Story
bed with me and hide it under the mattress. Woe was me
when Madeleine caught me reading!
I have no recollection now of why she really frightened me.
As I look back it seems perfectly ludicrous, but I did not even
tell my grandmother how much afraid I was until I was nearly
fourteen years old, and then I told her, between sobs, as we
were walking in the woods.
How silly it all seems today, and how hard to understand
the workings of a child's mind! However, I was taken away
from Madeleine's care and put under one of the maids for the
rest of the time I spent at home.
A few things I wanted desperately to do in those days. I
remember very well when I was about twelve Mr. Henry
Sloane asked me to go west with his daughter, Jessie. I do not
think I ever wanted to do anything as much in all my life, for
I was very fond of her and longed to travel. My grandmother
was adamant and would not allow me to go. She gave me no
reasons, either. It was sufficient that she did not think it wise.
She so often said "no" that I built up the defense of saying
I did not want things in order to forestall her refusals and
keep down my disappointments.
She felt I should learn to dance, and I joined a dancing class
at Mr. Dodsworth's. These classes were an institution for
many years, and many little boys and girls learned the polka
and the waltz standing carefully on the diamond squares of
the polished, hardwood floor. Mr. Dodsworth was dapper
and very slim and very correct and kept us in order with what
looked like a pair of castanets. Mrs. Dodsworth, always in
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Memories of My Childhood
evening dress, had a sweet face, and tried to make us feel
at ease and consoled us if Mr. Dodsworth was too severe.
My grandmother decided that because of my being tall and
probably very awkward I should have ballet lessons besides,
so I went once a week to a regular ballet teacher on Broad-way
and learned toe dancing with four or five other girls who were
going on the stage and looked forward to the chance of being
in the chorus and talked of little else, and made me very
envious.
I was very much interested in everything that they told me,
and particularly in the way the old lady who was an ex-dancer
talked to them. I loved it and practiced assiduously, and can
still appreciate how much work lies behind some of the dances
which look so easy as they are done on the stage.
[47]
CHAPTER TWO
ADOLESCENCE
I HAD grown very fond of the theater and Pussie had taken
me to see Duse, the great Italian actress, when she first came
to this country, and then she took me to meet her a thrill
which I have never forgotten. Her charm and beauty were all
that I had imagined! I was also allowed to see some of Shake-
speare's plays and occasionally to go to the opera, but my
young aunts and their friends talked all the time of plays
which I never went to see. As a result, one winter I committed
a crime which weighed heavily on my conscience for a long
time.
My grandmother told me to go to a charity bazaar with
a friend. To escape my maid, I told her my friend would have
her maid with her and that she would bring me home. Instead
of going to the bazaar we went to see a play, "Tess of die
D'Urbervilles," which was being discussed by my elders and
which I, at least, did not understand at all. We sat in "the
Adolescence
peanut gallery" and were miserable for fear of seeing some-
one whom we knew. We left before tbe end because we knew
we would be late in reaching home.
I had to he and could never confess, which I would gladly
have done because of my sense of guilt, but I would have in-
volved the other girl in my trouble ! Finally, I told the story to
Josie Zabriskie, a very lovely friend of Maude's who later
married my Uncle Eddie. Telling her eased the burden of my
guilt, and while I think she probably told my aunts I have
no recollection of the final denouement , as I was never taken
to task.
SAGAMORE Hnx, OYSTER BAY
My grandmother, after my father's death, allowed me less
and less contact with his family. Never have I quite tinder-
stood the reason unless it was that she felt I would grow up too
quickly or become accustomed to things of which she dis-
approved. In any case, I saw very little of my Roosevelt
cousins. I did, however, pay one or two short visits to Aunt
Edith, and Uncle Ted in summer.
Alice, who was nearest my age, as I have already said, was
so much more sophisticated and grown-up that I was in great
awe of her. She was far better at all the sports, and I realize now
that my having so few companions of my own age put me at
a great disadvantage with other young people.
For instance, I remember the first time we went swimming
at Oyster Bay. I couldn't swim, and Uncle Ted told me to
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This Is My Story
jump off the dock and try. I was a good deal of a physical
coward then, but I did it and came up spluttering and was
good-naturedly ducked and became very much frightened.
Never again would I go out of my depth.
A favorite Sunday afternoon occupation was to go to
Cooper's Bluff, which was a high sandy bluff with a beach
below. At high tide the water almost came to its base. Uncle
Ted would line us up and take the lead and we would
go down holding on to each other until someone fell
or the speed became so great that the line broke in several
places. In some way we reached the bottom, rolling or
running.
I was desperately afraid the first time we did it, but found
it was not as bad as I thought, and then we clambered up
again, taking a long time to get there as we slid back one foot
for every two we took up.
I remember these visits as a great joy in some ways, how-
ever, for I loved chasing through the hay stacks in the barn
with Uncle Ted after us, and going up to the gun room on the
top floor of the Sagamore house where Uncle Ted would
read aloud, chiefly poetry.
Occasionally he took us on a picnic or a camping trip and
taught us many a valuable lesson. The chief one was to re-
member that camping was a good way to find out people's
characters. Those who were selfish soon showed it, in that
they wanted the best bed or the best food and did not want
to do their share of the work.
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Adolescence
CHRISTMAS PARTIES
My brother did a great deal more of this than I did, for he
was just Quentin Roosevelt's age, and after I went abroad
my grandmother let him visit Uncle Ted and Aunt Edith far
more frequently than before. My only other contact with my
Roosevelt family was during an annual Christmas holiday
visit, when my grandmother permitted me to spend a few
days with Auntie Corinne.
This was the only time in the year when I ever saw any boys
of my own age- To me these parties were more pain than
pleasure. In the first place, the others all knew each other very
well and saw each other often. They were all much better at
winter sports than I was because they did them with their
mothers and fathers or with one another. I rarely coasted and
never skated, for my ankles were so weak that when I did get
out on the pond my skating was chiefly on those ankles.
I was a poor dancer, and the climax of the party was a dance.
I still remember the inappropriate dresses I wore and, worst
of all, they were above my knees. I knew, of course, I was
different from all the other girls and if I had not known, they
were frank in telling me sol I still remember my gratitude
at one of these parties to my cousin Franklin Roosevelt when
he came and asked me to dance with him!
I must have been a great trial and responsibility to Auntie
Corinne, who tried so hard to give every one of us a good
time. But what could she do with a niece who was never
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This Is My Story
allowed to see boys in the intervals between these parties and
who still was dressed like a little girl when she looked like
a very grown-up one?
Suddenly life was going to change for me. My grandmother
decided that the household had too much gaiety for a girl of
fifteen. She remembered that my mother had wanted to send
me to Europe for a part of my education. Thus the second
period of my life began.
[52]
CHAPTER THREE
EUROPE
IN THE autumn of 1899, when I was fifteen, I sailed for Eng-
land with my aunt, Mrs. Stanley Mortimer, and her family.
She took me in her cabin with her, and told me beforehand
that she was a very poor sailor and always went to bed im-
mediately on getting on the boat.
I must have thought this was the proper procedure, because
I followed suit. As a result, I did not enjoy that trip at all, as
most of it was spent in my berth, and I arrived in England
distinctly wobbly, never having stayed indoors so long before!
I did not know Auntie Tissie quite so well as I knew my
two younger aunts, but I was very fond of her and she was
always kindness itself to me. She was very beautiful, and is
still today, tall and graceful. I think she felt more at home in
Europe and in England than she did in the United States, even
then. She had many friends in that little London coterie
known as "The Souls." She was one of the people that die
word "exquisite" describes best.
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This Is My Story
I was to grow to know her very much better in the next few
years, for she really looked after me in many ways during the
three years I was abroad.
SCHOOL
There had been much discussion as to where I should go to
school. Finally it was decided to send me to Mile. Souvestre's
school, "Allenswood," at a little place called South Fields, not
far from Wimbledon Common and by the tube, which cor-
responds to our subway, a short distance from London.
The reason Mile. Souvestre's school was chosen was that
my father's sister, Mrs. Cowles, had gone to her school years
before at Les Ruches, outside of Paris. To be sure, that had
been before the Franco-Prussian War. The siege of Paris had
been such an ordeal that Mile. Souvestre had left France and
moved to England.
Naturally, she was considerably older than when Auntie
Bye studied under her, but at least there was a personal tie,
and I think the family felt that as I was to be left alone at
school when Auntie Tissie returned to the United States it
would be pleasanter to feel that the head mistress had a per-
sonal interest in me.
We went to Claridge's Hotel in London, and I spent only
one night there. My first impression of London was rather
bewildering. There were quiet little back streets and alley-
ways, but the main thoroughfares were appallingly crowded
with traffic. London seemed to me a most tremendous city,
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Europe
for you could go for hours in any direction and still apparently
be in the heart of a great city.
The next day Tissie took me out to see Mile. Souvestre,
and I was left there with the promise that I would spend
Christmas with her in London. I felt lost and very lonely
when she drove away.
I unpacked, and found my room-mate, Marjorie Bennett,
a very shy, gentle girl who was a little bit younger than I was,
quite ready to show me around and tell me about rules, etc.
There were a great many rules, and the first one was that all
had to talk French, and if they used an English word they had
to report themselves at the end of the day, A gkl stood in the
dining room door as we went in to supper and we told her
the horrid truth, as far as we could remember it. This always
seemed to me a rather ridiculous rule, as we all knew quite well
we could not be accurate, but perhaps it made us remember
that French was the language we were supposed to converse in.
As my first nurse had been a French woman and I spoke
French before I spoke English, it was quite easy for me, but
for many of the English girls who had had very little French
beforehand it was a terrible effort.
On the inside of each bathroom door were pasted the bath
rules, and I was a little appalled to find that we really had to fight
for three baths a week and we were limited to ten minutes
unless we happened to have the last period, and then perhaps
we could sneak another five minutes before "lights out" was
sounded!
Of course, we had to be on time ! We had to make our own
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This Is My Story
beds before leaving the room in the morning, so that meant
that when we got out of bed we had immediately to take all
the bed clothes off and put them on a chair to air. Our rooms
were inspected every morning after breakfast, and we were
marked on neatness and the way we made our beds. Fre-
quently our bureau drawers and closets were examined, and
any girl whose bureau drawers were out of order might re-
turn to her room to find the entire contents of the drawers
dumped on her bed for rearranging. I also saw beds completely
stripped and left to be made over again.
The day began with an early breakfast, cafe au lait, choco-
late or milk, rolls and butter. I think eggs were given to those
who wanted them.
Mile. Souvestre, older and white-haired and obliged to take
a certain amount of care of her health, never came to break-
fast, but we were well watched over by Mile. Samaia, a very
tiny and dynamic little woman who adored Mile. Souvestre
and waited on her hand and foot, ran all the business end of
the school, and gave our Italian lessons to those of us who
took Italian.
To be in Mile. Samaia's good graces you had to show prac-
tical qualities. The girls who were singled out by her to hold
positions of trust were dependable, could usually do almost
anything with their hands, and had the ability to manage and
lead their fellow students.
It took me a long time to get into her good graces, for I was
a good deal of a dreamer and, in any case, American, which
to her was an unknown quantity.
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Europe
Mile. Souvestre, on the contrary, had a very soft spot for
Americans and liked them as pupils. This was not surprising,
because a number of her pupils turned out to be rather out-
standing women. Auntie Bye, for instance, was one of the
most interesting women I have ever known.
My Grandfather Roosevelt's interest in cripples had first
been aroused by the fact that he had consulted many doctors
in trying to do something for his eldest daughter, who was
our Auntie Bye. She was not exactly a hunchback but had
a curious figure, very thick through the shoulders; this was
evidently caused by a curvature of the spine. Her hair was
lovely, soft and wavy. Her eyes were deep set and really
beautiful, making you forget the rest of the face, which was
not beautiful.
Auntie Bye had a mind that worked as a very able man's
mind works. She was full of animation, was always the center
of any group she was with, and carried the burden of con-
versation. When she reached middle age she was already deaf
and the arthritis which was finally to cripple her completely,
was causing her great pain, but never for a minute did her
infirmities disturb her spirit. As they increased she simply
seemed to become more determined to rise above them, and
her charm and vivid personality made her house, wherever
she lived, the meeting place for people from the four corners
of the earth.
She had great executive ability, poise and judgment, and
I am sure her influence was felt not only by her sister and
brothers, but by all her friends. To the young people with
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This Is My Story
whom she came in contact she was an inspiration, and one of
the wisest counselors I ever knew. She always listened more
than she talked when alone with anyone, but what she said
was worth listening to !
From the start, Mile. Souvestre was interested in me because
of her affection for Anna, and day by day I found myself more
interested in her. This grew into a warm affection which
lasted until her death.
Miss Boyce, the English teacher, was always less important
to me. She was, naturally, interested primarily in the English
girls. I had very few classes with her, and found her cold and
rather forbidding. I am sure now that she was simply shy and
retiring, and I think I made no effort to know her.
As it was, Mile. Souvestre and Mile. Samaia stand out as the
two most important people in this period, with Mile. Souvestre
far and away the most impressive and fascinating person.
Mile. Souvestre was short and rather stout, and had snow-
white hair. Her head was beautiful, with clear-cut, strong
features, a very strong face and broad forehead. Her hair grew
to a peak in front and waved back in natural waves to a twist
at the back of her head. Her eyes looked through you, and
she always knew more than she was told.
After breakfast we were all taken for a walk on the common
and you had to have a very good excuse to escape that
walk! From about November on it was cold and fairly foggy,
and the fog rose from the ground and penetrated the very
marrow of your bones but still we walked!
At home I had begun to shed some of the underclothes
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which my grandmother had started me out with in my early
youth, but here in England in winter I took to warm flannels
again and while we had central heat, which was most tan-
usual, one had positively to sit on the radiator to feel any
warmth. There were only a few of us who had grates in our
bed rooms, and those of us who had open fires were con-
sidered extremely lucky and envied by all the others.
I can remember crowding into the dining room in order
to get as near the radiator as possible before we had to sit
down. Nearly all the English girls had chilblains on their
hands and feet throughout most of the winter. I did not suffer
from these disagreeable things, and though I have never con-
sidered the English winter climate very attractive I have to
bear witness to the fact that I never spent healthier years.
I cannot remember being ill for a day.
Classes began immediately on our return from the walks,
and each of us had a schedule that ran through the whole day
classes, hours for practice, time for preparation no idle
moments were left to anyone. Immediately after lunch we
had two hours for exercise, and most of us played field hockey
during the winter months.
I was as awkward as ever at games, and had never seen a
game of hockey, but I had to play something, and in time
made the first team. I t-Vir>lc that day was one of the proudest
moments of my life.
I realize now it would have been better to have devoted the
time which I gave to hockey to learning to play tennis, which
would have been far more useful to me later on.
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Mile. Souvestre thought, however, that proficiency in out-
door sports was more or less useless. She looked upon any
game primarily as a method of exercise to keep yourself well
and healthy. It did not occur to her to advise me to play
tennis, and I liked playing with a team and winning their
approbation. It was a rough enough game, with many hard
knocks. Most of the English girls probably had a chance to
play on teams at home for many years, but I came back to the
United States, where no one played field hockey and it was
particularly useless to a girl.
When we came in at four o'clock we found on the school
room table big slices of bread about half an inch thick, some-
times spread with raspberry jam, more often with plain
butter. Those who were delicate were given a glass of milk.
I remember the milk seemed to me pretty poor and it had
a rather chalky taste, but then I was accustomed to milk from
Jersey cows at home.
Then we studied until the bell rang, which sent us scurrying
to dress for dinner. Fifteen minutes were allowed that was
all the time we had and everybody changed shoes and stock-
ings and dress.
One day a week we did our mending in the period after
four p. m. under supervision, of course in the school room.
In the evenings we worked again, though occasionally we
were allowed to go down to the gym and dance. Most of our
lessons were in French, though Miss Strachey, a member of the
well known literary family, gave us classes in Shakespeare
and of course, we had German, Latin and music.
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My music was not far enough advanced to allow me to have
a man teacher, so Miss Eames taught me for a time. Finally,
I graduated to a professor. I think he was an Austrian, but,
in any case, he made me practice three hours a day. That was
a waste of time as I know now, and those hours might have
been more profitably used, since I have rarely touched a piano
in the past thirty years. I may have gained something in char-
acter, however, for one of those hours had to be practiced
before breakfast. It meant getting up on cold, dreary mornings
and going into a cold and dreary room to find a piano.
The earliest months at Allenswood were marked by a
friendship with a really fascinating girl, whose real name I -will
not give you, however. I will call her Jane. She was brilliant
and a real personality. She had the most violent temper I have
almost ever seen, and I doubt if anyone had ever tried to dis-
cipline her, but she had a fine mind and a very warm heart.
Jane and I took history with Mile. Souvestre, and I still say
all my historical names in French, harking back to this early
teaching. There were perhaps eight other girls in our class,
but as far as I was concerned there was no one but Jane, This
impression of mine was helped considerably by the fact that
Mile. Souvestre seemed to feel that there were only two mem-
bers of her class Jane and myself
She held her classes in her library, a very charming and
comfortable room lined with books and filled with flowers,
looking out on a wide expanse of lawn, where really beautiful
trees gave shade in summer, and formed good perches for the
rooks and crows in winter.
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We sat on little chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mile.
Souvestre carried a long pointer in her hand, and usually a
map hung on the wall. She would walk up and down, lec-
turing to us. We took notes, but were expected to do a good
deal of independent reading and research. We wrote papers
on the subjects assigned. Jane and I labored hard over those
papers. This was the class we both thoroughly enjoyed be-
yond any other.
Mile, Souvestre would ask different ones to read their
papers, and I have seen her take a girl's paper and tear it in
half in her disgust and anger at poor or shoddy work.
Jane was half American, which perhaps explained Mile.
Souvestre's interest in her. Her mother had married first an
Englishman and then an Irishman who owned a place in
Ireland.
Jane's aunt, she told me, had a big ranch in Texas. She had
never been to Texas nor had I, but the place was very vivid
to her, and she could describe to me miles and miles of country
to ride in, and the endless number of cattle that roamed the
plains.
I was quiet and docile, so I think I was considered a good
influence for Jane, and we were put alone together for our
German lessons, because Jane had been so insubordinate that
they found her a disturbing influence in the regular German
class.
She was always being sent out by the teacher for some trick
or rudeness, but we got on quite well until one day the teacher
angered her and Jane threw an inkstand at her I I knew this
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was an unpardonable offense, on top of all the other things
which Jane had already done, and I was completely heart-
broken.
I went to Mile. Souvestre and wept after the inkstand epi-
sode, but she was adamant and Jane was expelled. I was heart-
broken and for many years kept in touch by correspondence
with her, but she was not a very good correspondent and after
a time we lost track of each other. I know that she has been
married and had children. Her glamour however is still with
me, so that I would give much to see her walk into my room
today.
During my three years at school I had a room to myself for
one term, but one or two terms I roomed with a German girl,
Carola de Passavant. She was a beautiful girl with a lovely
character and real capacity. She has since shown that she can
meet whatever life may bring her. Her husband was an officer
on the western front during the World War. She has five
children, and after she had been brought up to the greatest
luxury her father and mother died and most of their fortune
was lost, with the result that she now has to be very careful,
but I have never heard her complain.
The rest of the time I think I must always have been with
Marjorie Bennett. We became more and more intimate, and
I went home with her to visit occasionally.
Most of the little group of girls I remember well were the
leaders in school. Avice Horn, sent home from Australia to
get the benefit of life "at home'* in England, was attractive
and capable beyond the average. Helen Gifford, a litde wisp
This Is My Story
of a girl whose spectacles seemed bigger than she was, was an
extraordinarily brilliant child whose sister had preceded her
as a pupil. Louise Gifford had been much relied on by Mile.
Samaia, and Helen followed in her footsteps, though Helen's
achievements were almost entirely intellectual. She was one
of the younger girls whom we older ones picked out as a
leader of the lower school. Today she is the head of a school
which carries on the "Allenswood" traditions, though it is in
another place.
Another youngster I saw much of was Hilda Burkinshaw,
not as brilliant as Helen, but very practical. She had been sent
home at the age of five from India, and school was almost
more a home to her than any other place in the world.
Hilda, or "Burky" as we called her, is married and has
several children. I am godmother to her daughter. For a num-
ber of years Hilda and I were thrown, at times, very closely
together, as you will see later.
Hilda, Helen, Marjorie, Avice and Jane, as long as she was
there and I were occasionally invited in the evening to Mile.
Souvestre's study, and those were red-letter days.
She had a great gift for reading aloud and she read to us,
always in French, poems, plays or stories. If the poems were
those she liked, occasionally she read them over two or three
times, and then demanded that we recite them to her in turn.
Here my memory training at home stood me in good stead,
and I found this a rather exhilarating and pleasant way to
spend an evening. While some of the others found it even
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easier than I did, others suffered to such an extent that their
hands were clammy, and they could hardly speak.
We all assembled in the library every evening before going
to bed, mail was distributed and the roll called, and we passed
before Mile. Souvestre and wished her good night. She had
an eagle eye which penetrated right through to your backbone
and she took in everything about you. She did not approve
very much of my clothes, but she did not tell me until some
time later.
I did not know that my grandmother and my aunts had
written about me before I arrived, so I felt that I was starting
a new life, free from all my former sins and traditions. I am
not sure that I would not recommend this for any child who
has been somewhat fearful of authority in her early youth, for
this was the first time in all my life that all my fears left me.
If I lived up to the rules and told the truth, there was nothing
to fear*
I had a bad habit of biting my nails. In very short order that
was noticed by Mile. Samaia, who set out to cure me. It
seemed a pretty hopeless task, but one day I was rereading
some letters of my father's which I always carried with me,
and I came across one in which he spoke of making the most
of one's personal appearance, and from that day forward my
nails were allowed to grow.
HOLIDAYS
By the first Christmas holiday I was quite at home and very
happy in school. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were
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spent with my Mortimer family at Claridge's Hotel in Lon-
don. It did not seem quite right to have a small tree on a table
in a hotel. We had always had big ones at home, but Auntie
Tissie saw to it that I had a stocking and many gifts, and the
day was a happy one, on the whole.
I had been invited to spend a few days with Mrs. Woolry che-
Whittemore and her family, in the north of England. Her hus-
band was rector of a church at Bridgenorth, in Shropshire,
and she had five little girls, one or two about my own age.
She was Douglas Robinson's sister and held very closely to
her American ties, so that though I could only be considered
a connection by marriage, I really was made to feel like a real
relative and taken into the family life and treated like one of
the children. I enjoyed every minute of that visit, and it was
my first glimpse of English family life.
Breakfast in the morning had food on one of the sideboards
in covered dishes with lamps under them to keep the food
warm, and everybody helped himself to whatever he found,
and there was a great variety of food. High tea was served in
the school room about four-thirty in the afternoon, and the
children's father joined us sometimes and shared our bread
and jam and tea and cake. Those who were very hungry
could have an egg. Long walks and drives, endless games and
books on hand for any unoccupied moments, made life seem
very full for the days that I stayed there.
I had traveled up alone and was going back alone. There
had been a good deal of discussion as to how I was to get over
to Paris to see Auntie Tissie once more before she left for
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Biarritz. I was to live in a French family for the rest of my
holiday, in order to study French*
It was finally decided to engage one of the English inven-
tions, a visiting maid, with good references, to travel from
London to Paris with me. I had never seen the lady, so it was
rather remarkable that after my long journey, almost a whole
day from the north of England to London, I should pick her
out without any difficulty, in the station! We proceeded on
our journey to Paris.
I really marvel now at myself confidence and independ-
ence, for I was totally without fear in this new phase of my
life. The trip across the Channel was short, and I managed
to find myself a very windy corner to keep from being ill, but
I was glad enough, once through the customs and on French
soil, to curl up in the compartment on the train, and drink
cafe au lait poured out of those big cans that were carried up
and down the platforms.
We reached Paris in the early hours of the morning. The
maid went with me as far as my aunt's hotel. I spent a few
hours with her, and was then taken over by Mile. Bertaux*
There were two Miles. Bertaux and their mother. They had
a simple but very comfortable apartment in one of the less
fashionable parts of Paris, and here was to be my first glimpse
of French family life.
The furniture was rather stuffed, as I remember it, and was
of an entirely nondescript period. There was of course, no
bath room, but hot water was brought by the bonne a tout
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faire mornings and evenings, and a little round tin tub was
available if you felt you must have it.
Once during my stay we went to the &tablis$ement de bain,
a public bath house which I did not relish at all I Meals were
very good, but very different from anything I had known.
Soups were delicious, and inferior cuts of meat were so well
cooked that they were as palatable as our more expensive cuts.
A vegetable was a course in itself, and at each place at the
table were little glass rests for your knife and fork, which -were
not taken out with your plate as you finished each course.
This household was run with extreme frugality, and yet they
lived very well. The two Miles. Bertaux were excellent guides
arid very charming, cultivated women.
My first glimpse of Paris in the early morning had been al-
most like a dream. I could not remember the rime when I had
not wanted to see Paris, for, of course, I didn't remember my
first visit when I was not yet six years old.
The wide avenues, beautiful public buildings and churches,
everything combined to make it for me the most exciting
city I had ever been in. I saw much of Paris with Mile. Ber-
taux on that first visit, but chiefly we did the things that a
visitor should do, not the things which later came to mean
to me the real charm of Paris. However, the Muse de Cluny
and the Louvre left me with a desire to return and see more of
the things I liked on my first visit. I did all the things that any
sightseer should do, and it simply whetted my appetite for
new sights and sounds. I longed really to know this city which
I had dreamed of for so long.
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Mile. Souvestre had arranged that I should go back to Eng-
land under Mile. Samaia's care, and so after what really was
a very delightful holiday I went back to school, hoping very
much that I should have another chance to stay with the
Bertaux family.
WAR
School life itself was fairly uneventful, but in the world
outside great excitement reigned. I had hardly been conscious
of our own Spanish War in 1898, even though I had heard
a great deal about the sinking of the "Maine" and about Uncle
Ted and his Rough Riders; my grandmother and her family
lived so completely out of the political circles of the day and
took very little interest in public affairs. Maude and Pussie,
however, had friends who went to the war and we would
scan the list of casualties or deaths, but on the whole this war
did not bring sorrow to enough homes or last long enough
to mean real privation to the people of the country. I remem-
ber the general horror when one young man who had been
a prominent figure in New York society died in a Florida
camp, and the joy and excitement when Uncle Ted came
back and went to Albany as Governor of New York.
One read in the papers, of scandals and of battles, but it was
all on a fairly small scale. This war of ours had hardly touched
my daily life.
In England, however, the Boer War, which lasted from
1899 to 1902, was of a more serious nature, and the tremen-
dous feeling in the country at large was soon reflected in the
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school. There was great confidence at first in rapid victory,
then months of anxiety and dogged "carrying on" in the face
of unexpected and successful resistance from the Boers.
There was a considerable group in England and in otter
countries that did not believe in the righteousness of the Eng-
lish cause, and Mile. Souvestre was among this group. She was
pro-Boer, and was not in the habit of hiding her feelings. She
was, however, always fair, and she realized that it would be
most unfair to the English girls to try to make them think
as she did. With them she never discussed the rights and
wrongs of the war. Victories were celebrated in the gym and
holidays were allowed, but Mile. Souvestre never took part
in any of the demonstrations. She remained in her library,
and there she gathered around her the Americans and the
foreign girls, of which there were a great number. I remember
a Russian girl, who was very attractive to me, a Dutch girl,
a Swedish girl, and one or two girls from South America.
These she felt at liberty to keep with her and to them she ex-
pounded her theories on the rights of the Boer or small
nations in general in their own countries and their freedom.
Those long talks were very interesting, and echoes of them
still live in my mind when certain subjects come up for dis-
cussion today.
She told us she was an atheist, primarily because she could
not comprehend a God who would think of bothering about
such insignificant things as individual human beings, and d<
trines of religion which preached reward for good behav
and punishment for bad she considered food for small
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Right should be done for right's sake and not for reward or
through fear of punishment, and only the weak needed relig-
ion. I often thought of what my dear, religious grandmother
would have thought had she been able to listen to some of
the doctrines which Mile. Souvestre propounded, I do not
know what effect it had on the others, but, as far as I was con-
cerned, I think it did me no harm. Mile. Souvestre shocked
me into thinking, and that on the whole was very beneficial,
MORE HOIIDAYS
I cannot remember what I did in my first Easter holiday,
but somewhere about this time I must have gone to Liverpool
to see my father's aunt, Mrs. James Bulloch. My father had
always talked to me about her, and between my father and
his "Aunt Ella" had existed a very dose tie. He wrote her long
letters, at regular intervals, which she always answered, and
on her regular visits home they always renewed their intimacy
by long talks which had been a habit of his boyhood. I had
had letters from her, and this visit meant a great deal to her,
for it brought her "Ellie Boy," as she called my father, back
in the person of his daughter.
She had kept her dose ties with the United States, corre-
sponding regularly with her sisters in the kind of minute daily
life correspondence which the members of my father's family
of the older generation seemed able to carry on. The only
other people I know of who wrote and still write in the same
way are the English people, who keep in touch with one an-
other though scattered to the four corners of the earth in their
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far-flung empire, by writing an almost daily diary of little
inconsequential happenings to the children sent home to be
educated or to the parents living in the old family home.These
letters are passed about from one member of the family to the
other and keep up a kind of intimacy which wipes out time
and space.
I think I saw Aunt Ella once more before I went home for
good, but never after that, as she died before I returned again
to England. She was white-haired, gentle-voiced, aristocratic-
looking, just in the way Auntie Grade had been. They were
the same type of southern gentlewomen. So many members
of her family in the United States having died, I became one
of her nearest ties to the country she loved.
During her life time, every one of my children received at
birth the most exquisitely knitted garments from her, little
booties, knee-length stockings made of the finest wool in
almost a lace>-like pattern, and jackets and capes and caps. Her
interest in each child that came was as keen as though she sat
by our fireside and watched them grow.
Wlien she died she left me her engagement ring and two
silver and gold salt cellars brought from India to her by my
father when he went around the world.
In all probability, most of this first Easter holiday was spent
with my Woolryche-Whittemore cousins in the parsonage
in the north of England.
I was beginning to make a place for myself in the school,
and before long Mile, Souvestre made me sit opposite her at
table. The girl who sat opposite her received her nod at the
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end of the meal and gave the signal by rising for the rest of
the girls to rise and leave the dining room. This girl was tinder
close supervision, so I acquired certain habits which I have
never quite been able to shake off.
Mile. Souvestre used to say that you need never take more
than you wanted, but you had to eat what you took on your
plate, and so, sitting opposite to her day after day, I learned
to eat everything that I took on my plate. There were certain
English dishes that I disliked very much for instance, one
stands out. It was a dessert called suet pudding. I think I really
disliked its looks as much as I disliked anything else about it,
for it had an uncooked, cold, clammy expression as it sat upon
the dish, and die girl who served it cut it into what looked
like heavy, soggy slices. We had treacle to pour over it and
my only connection with treacle was through "Nicholas
Nickleby," which did not make the pudding any more at-
tractive.
Mile. Souvestre thought that we should get over such
squeamishness and eat a little of everything, so I choked it
down when she was at the table and refused it when she was
not.
It was a great advantage in one way, however, to sit oppo-
site Mile. Souvestre, for sometimes she had special dishes and
shared them with three or four of us who sat dose by. "When
she had guests they sat on either side of her, and it was easy
to overhear the conversation, which was usually interesting.
I think that I started at this period in my life a very bad
habit which has stayed with me ever since. Frequently I
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would use, in talking to Mile. Souvestre afterwards, things
which I had overheard in her conversation with her friends
and which had passed through my rather quick mind, giving
me some new ideas, but if anyone had asked me any ques-
tions he would have soon discovered that I had no real knowl-
edge of the thing I was talking about. Mile. Souvestre was
usually so pleased that I was interested in the subject that she
did the talking, and I never had to show up my ignorance.
As the years went by, I began to realize that I had had a
rather poor grounding in many subjects in the classes that I
had attended before coming to boarding school. I learned a
great deal there. Mile. Souvestre's active and keen mind was
a great stimulus to all of her pupils, and she taught us how to
find out whatever we wanted to know, but I never really
filled in the fundamentals that were lacking in my education.
More and more, as I grew older, I used the quickness of my
mind to pick the minds of other people and use their knowl-
edge as my own. A dinner companion, a casual acquaintance,
provided me with information which I could use in conver-
sation, and few people knew how little I actually knew on a
variety of subjects that I talked on with apparent ease.
This is a bad habit, and one which is such a temptation that
I hope few children will acquire it. It has one great advantage,
it does give you a facility in picking up information about a
great variety of subjects, and adds immeasurably to your in-
terests as you go through life.
Of course, later on I discovered that when I really wanted
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to know something I had to dig in and learn all there was to
know about that particular subject.
Mile. Souvestre introduced me to her guests occasionally,
and in this way I met many interesting people. For instance,
Beatrice Chamberlain had been her pupil, and when she came
out to visit, because of her American mother Mile. Souvestre
introduced me to her. "Whenever I read her name or that of
her father in the newspapers after that it gave me a thrill, be-
cause I had really seen and talked with her. This is one way
of giving youth an interest in the "news.**
ST. MOMTZ
As the summer holidays came nearer my excitement grew,
for I was to travel to St. Moritz in Switzerland to spend my
holiday with the Mortimers. My only recollection of the trip
is a part of it which was made by diligence from Chur to St.
Moritz, a long day's drive.
My first view of these beautiful mountains was positively
breath-taking, for I had never seen any high mountains be-
fore. I lived opposite the CatsHU Mountains in summer and
loved them, but I had never even crossed the river and
climbed the heights, and how much more majestic were
these great snow-capped peaks all around us as we drove into
the Engadine. The little Swiss chalets, built into the sides of
the hills and with places under them for all the livestock which
did not actually wander into the kitchen, were very pictur-
esque, but strange to my eyes with their fretwork decoration.
However, I was totally unprepared for St. Moritz itself,
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with its street of grand hotels tapering offinto the more mod-
est pensions and little houses dotted around for such patients
as had to live there for long periods of time.
The hotels all bordered the lake, and the thing that I re-
member best about my time there was the fact that Tissie and
I got up every morning early enough to walk to a little cafe
that perched out above the lake on a promontory at one end.
There we drank coffee or cocoa as the case might be, and ate
our rolls with fresh butter and honey, the sun just peeping
over the mountains and touching us with its warm rays, and
I can still remember how utterly contented I was!
Tissie tried to find me companions of my own age, but as
I remember it was not very easy to foist me on other children,
and there were not many other children whom she knew.
Caroline Drayton, now Mrs. William Phillips, came there
for a time with her father, Mr. Coleman Drayton, but she
seemed in those days much more sophisticated and grown up
than I was. She had been her father's companion for so many
years that philosophy and history and literature were all fa-
miliar topics of conversation. To me they were only just open-
ing up and as yet were an unexplored world, though I did
have a good background of general reading.
Her association with her father made her seem to me at
that time more Tissie' s friend than mine, which amuses me
today, for as the years have gone by we have become great
friends and I have discovered that we are practically the same
age. She was tall and dark and very straight. Charm of man-
ner and of voice added to the distinction of birth and breed-
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ing. Her small head rose from the straight column of her neck
in a regal way, and always a certain aloofness set her apart.
You felt that something "within her was in communion with
another world.
We were staying in the Palace Hotel, and I tried to play
tennis once or twice, but I was too awkward and conscious of
my awkwardness to try it after the first exhibition of my lack
of skill, so I think a good part of my time was spent in walking
and reading.
Toward the end of the summer Tissie told me that she had
decided to make a trip by carriage from St. Moritz through
the Austrian Tyrol to Oberammergau, where the Passion
Play was being given. She was taking a friend with her, and
I could go along if I were willing to sit either with the coach-
man on the box, or on the little seat facing the two ladies. I
would have agreed to sit on top of the bags, I was so excited
at the prospect of seeing the Passion Play and all this new
country.
We had only a one-horse victoria, and much of the coun-
try we drove through was mountainous, and when we
climbed I got out and walked, so our progress was not rapid
and we had plenty of time to enjoy the scenery.
I still think the Austrian Tyrol is one of the loveliest places
in the world. We spent a night in a little inn which had
housed the mad king, Ludwig of Bavaria, when he went to
fish in the rushing brook we saw below us. We visited his
castles, and finally arrived in Oberammergau.
It was the night before the play, and because of the crowds
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our rooms were separated from each other in simple little
village houses. We -walked the whole length of the village
and found the people, whom we should see the next day tak-
ing their parts in the holy play, sitting in their little shops,
selling the carved figures which they made during the winter
for sale to the crowds that came there as tourists.
The Passion Play was given once in every ten years, so you
can imagine my excitement at having this opportunity. I
went to bed in a featherbed that night, the first one of my ex-
perience, and nearly died of the heat, but was too weary to
remove the one over me and find something else as a cover.
The Passion Play adjourned only when people had to eat,
and so we sat through long hours of the day. I loved it, though
I realize now that I must have been a tired child, for I had to
go to sleep after lunch and could not get back until the end
of the second period, because no one is allowed to move or
make a noise during the acting.
We went from there to Munich, back to Paris and then I
went back to school.
PABIS
Christmas of 1899 I was to have my wish and spend the
holiday entirely in Paris with the Miles. Bertaux. Burky, of
whom I have already spoken, was to be with me. We shared
a room, and my chief concern was to fill a stocking for her
that Christmas, for I knew that very often the child had gone
without a stocking, though her parents never forgot to send
her remembrances on Christmas and on her birthday. This
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year they added to their box a present for me, an Indian silver
box with a dragon design on top and my initials on it. I still
have that box to remind me of our Christmas in Paris.
As the Miles. Bertaux had charge of us, and as we were sup-
posed to take French lessons every day as well as do a great
deal of sightseeing, we were carefully chaperoned, and our
days were carefully planned. I was getting to know Paris,
however, and to feel able to find my way about and to decide
in my own mind what I should like to do if I ever were free
to plan my own days.
The last few days of our stay Mile. Souvestre was back in
Paris, and we went to see her. She quizzed us about what we
had learned. At this time she told me frankly what she thought
of my clothes, many of which were made-over dresses of my
young aunts and commanded me to go out with Mile. Sa-
maia and have at least one dress made.
I was always worried about my allowance, for my grand-
mother felt, quite rightly, that we children should never know
until we were grown up what money might be ours, and that
we should always feel that money was something to be care-
fully spent as she might not be able to send us any more.
However, she sent money for my holiday to Mile. Sou-
vestre, so I decided that if Mile. Souvestre thought I should
buy a dress I could have it. I still remember my joy in that
dark red dress, made for me by a small dressmaker in Paris
but, as far as I was concerned, it might have been made by
Worth, for it had all the glamour of being my first French
dress.
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it on Sundays and as an everyday evening dress at
school and probably got more satisfaction out of it than from
any dress I have had since!
The one great event of interest that I remember in the win-
ter of 1901 was the death of Queen Victoria. There was a great
deal of feeling in England for the Queen, and every loyal
English subject wore mourning for a certain period.
Some of my Robinson connections had arranged for me to
come in and see the funeral procession from the windows of
a house belonging to one of them. It was a very exciting day,
beginning with the crowds in the streets and the difficulty of
arriving at our destination, and finally the long wait for the
funeral procession itself. I remember very little of the many
carriages which must have comprised that procession, but I
shall never forget the genuine feeling shown by the crowds
in the streets or the hush that fell as the gun carriage bearing
what seemed like the smallest coffin I had ever seen came
within our range of vision. It seemed to me that hardly any-
one had dry eyes as that slow-moving procession passed by,
and I have never forgotten the great emotional forces that
seemed to stir all about us, as Queen Victoria, so small of
stature and yet so great in devotion to her people, passed out
of their lives forever.
ITALY
By the following Easter Mile. Souvestre had decided that
she would take me traveling with her, and this for me was
perhaps one of the most momentous things that happened in
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my education. This trip was planned to go to Marseilles, along
the Mediterranean coast, to stop at Pisa and then spend some
time in Florence, not staying in the city in a hotel, but living
with an artist friend of Mile. Souvestre's, a man who was
really painting in his villa in Fiesole, on a hill which over-
looked Florence.
Traveling with Mile. Souvestre was a revelation. She did
all the things that in a vague way you had always felt you
wanted to do.
One funny incident took place in Marseilles. I felt that I
must have a bath, and so when the maid came to bring us hot
water I asked her how a bath could be achieved. She told me
she would prepare it and come back for me. I got all ready,
my towels over my arm, my soap in my hand, and we began
the long trek, finally finding the bath tub neatly housed in a
cubbyhole just outside the room where the men were drink-
ing and playing games. This was my first introduction to the
tin tub with a sheet spread over it. I do not know why that
sheet filled me with such misgivings, but though I was to
meet it in many, many places throughout Europe afterwards,
I always had a squeamish feeling as I got in, expecting surely
that there must be bugs beneath it which would squish un-
pleasantly under my feet.
The maid meanwhile returned to tidy up our rooms and
remarked to Mile. Souvestre: "Que ces Anglaises doivent etre
sales! Elles ont toujours besoin de se baigner" ("How dirty these
English must be; they always have to bathe.") When I finally
returned I found Mile. Souvestre much amused and waiting
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gleefully to tell me this story. She added that she had not ex-
plained that I was not English.
La the afternoon we walked upon the "Quai," we looked
at all die boats that came from foreign ports, saw some of the
small fishing boats with their colored sails, and went up to a
little church where offerings were made to the Blessed Virgin
for the preservation of those at sea. There is a shrine in this
church where people have prayed for the granting of some
particular wishes, the crippled have hung their crutches there,
and people have made offerings of gold and silver and jewels.
We ended up by dining in a cafe overlooking the Mediter-
ranean and ate the dish for which Marseilles is famous, bouilla-
baise, a kind of soup in which every possible kind offish which
can be found in nearby waters is used. With it we had vin
rouge du pay*; because Mile. Souvestre still believed in the
theory that water being uncertain wine was better and safer
to drink, and if you diluted it with water, in some way the
germs were killed by the wine. I accepted this theory and,
whether it is true or not, I never had any ill effects from my
mixture of vin du pays and water. We finished with Gruyere
cheese and bread and coffee. I stuck to Gruyere, though Mile.
Souvestre would sometimes take other kinds of cheese native
to the country we were in, but with my uneducated palate
Gruyere was the only kind I dared to try.
The next day we started our trip along the shores of the
Mediterranean. I wanted to get out at almost every place the
name of which was familiar to me, but our destination was
Pisa and it never occurred to me, the child of regular trips
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from New York to Tivoli and back, that one could change
one's plans en route.
Suddenly, towards evening, the guard called out "Alassio."
Mile. Souvestre was galvanized into action; breathlessly she
leaned out of the window and said, "I am going to get off."
Directing me to get the bags, which were stored on the rack
over our heads, we simply fell off onto the platform, bag and
baggage, just before the train started on its way. I was aghast,
for my grandmother, who was far from Mile. Souvestre's
seventy years, though I did not realize it then, would never
have thought of changing her plans once she was on the train.
But here we stood, our trunks going on in the luggage van
and we without rooms and as far as I knew in a strange place
and with no real reason for the sudden whim.
When we recovered our breath Mile. Souvestre said: "My
friend Mrs. Htimphry Ward lives here, and I decided that I
would like to see her, besides the Mediterranean is a very
lovely blue at night and the sky with the stars coming out is
nice to "watch from the beach.'* I was thrilled!
Alas, we found that Mrs. Ward was away, and the older
hotel of the place was crowded so we had to take rooms in
the new hotel. The proprietor had only just moved in, the
walls were still damp, but he gave us an omelette for supper
and "was as amiable as a French hotel-keeper is when he knows
that he is going to be unable to make you comfortable but
still wants you to stay! "We spent a wonderful hour down on
the beach watching the sky and sea, and though Mile. Sou-
vestre had a cold the next day as a result of sleeping in a damp
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room, she did not regret her hasty decision and I had learned
a valuable lesson. Never again would I be the rigid little per-
son I had been theretofore.
The next day we went on to Pisa, where we found our
trunks quite safe, and established ourselves for a day or two
in a hotel frequented by Italians and not by foreigners. As I
think back over my trips with Mile. Souvestre, I think she
taught me how to enjoy traveling. She liked to be comfort-
able, she enjoyed good food, but she always tried to go where
you would see the people of the country you were visiting,
not your own compatriots.
She always ate native dishes and drank native wines. I think
she felt that it was just as important to enjoy good Italian food
as it was to enjoy Italian art, and it all served to make you a
citizen of the world, at home wherever you might go, know-
ing what to see and what to enjoy. She used to impress on my
mind the necessity of acquiring languages, primarily because
of the enjoyment you missed in a country when you were
both deaf and dumb !
Years later this was brought home to me in the first trip
which my two youngest sons took with me in Europe. They
spoke French but no German. In consequence they learned
twice as much in France and Belgium, and enjoyed it twice
as much as they did the short trip we took in Germany. They
had insisted on taking a trip down the Rhine, and had looked
forward to it tremendously. When they were actually in the
country where they could not understand what people said,
and could not even ask for what they wanted, the only way
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they could enjoy themselves was through their eyes. Even
when they saw something they liked, they were unable to
ask any questions about it or find out anything more than
their eyes could tell them. They begged to return to France,
Mile. Souvestre taught me also on these journeys with her
that the way to make young people responsible is to throw
real responsibility on them. She was an old lady and I was six-
teen. The packing and unpacking for both of us was up to me
once we were on the road. I looked up trains, got the tickets,
made all the detailed arrangements necessary for comfortable
traveling. Though I lost some of my self-confidence and abil-
ity to look after myself in the early days of niy marriage,
when it -was needed again, later on it came back to me more
easily because of these trips with Mile. Souvestre.
Pisa is famous for its leaning tower and its Campo Santo.
Frequently Mile. Souvestre would send me out alone to do
my sightseeing, but I remember that we visited the tower
together and I wanted to climb it. At the moment there was
some question about its safety, and I was not permitted to
do so.
We proceeded to Florence, where we really settled down
for a long visit. The family with whom we stayed left no im-
pression upon me, although I do remember the artists* models
who came to the door, for we lived with an artist who was
painting a tremendous church canvas of the Last Supper. The
models were striking figures with interesting heads, and the
painting as a whole must have been good, for I can remember
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spending considerable time looking at it and liking it very
much.
Up to the time of this Florentine visit I do not think I ever
really had given any thought to the pictures of Christ; I think
I actually believed that they were a real likeness of the real man,
and it was not until I listened to the discussions of types that
it gradually dawned upon me that all these Biblical figures
and personalities had been created by the various artists whose
conception of what Christ or the Virgin Mary or John the
Baptist looked like were sufficiently similar to create, finally,
an accepted likeness of these individuals which has been ad-
hered to more or less in all sacred paintings. Isn't it queer how
children take things for granted until something wakes them
up?
Spring is a lovely time in Florence, and whatever may have
happened to the city since, at that time I thought it had more
flavor of antiquity than any of the other cities I had seen. I
was reading Dante laboriously with Mile. Samaia in school,
and had plenty of imagination to draw upon as I walked, about
the city. Here again Mile. Souvestre's trust in Americans
made my trip unique.
The morning after our arrival she calmly took out the
Baedeker, opened it at the description of the campanile, and
said: "My dear, I should be exhausted if I walked the streets
with you, but the only way to know a city really is to walk
the streets. Florence is worth it. Take your Baedeker and go
and see it. We shall go to certain things together. I like the
sunset from Santa Maria, so we will go there together. You
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go and see things for yourself, and we shall discuss what you
have seen."
So, sixteen years old, keener than I have probably ever been
since and more alive to beauty, I sallied forth to see Florence
alone. Innocence is perhaps its own protection. Mile. Sou-
vestre's judgment was entirely vindicated. Perhaps she real-
ized that I had not the beauty which appeals to foreign men,
and that I would be safe from their advances. In any case,
everyone was most helpful. Even -when I got lost in the nar-
row, little streets and had to inquire my way I was always
treated with the utmost respect and deference.
I spent hours in churches; in the galleries I sat before certain
pictures and barely glanced at others. I can still see Botticelli's
"Spring," with its riot of gay figures and flowers. I loved the
Etde Delia Robbia babies that decorated both the outside and
inside of so many buildings; die statues in the square; the old
Ponte Vecchio lined with its funny little shops, where I
prowled looking for gold and silver filigree work, or any-
thing else I could find which my rather slender allowance
would permit me to buy. As usual, gifts were on my mind; for
when I did go home, which I hoped to do that summer, I
wanted to take something from my travels to everyone.
We proceeded to Milan, where Mile. Souvestre rather
scornfully remarked that the cathedral was beautiful but the
rest of the city was so entirely modern we need not spend any
more time in sightseeing after visiting the cathedral.
A few days in Paris, "where again I did my sightseeing
alone. One day I met the entire Thomas Newbold family in
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the Luxembourg, and they wrote home in haste that I was
unchaperoned in Paris !
Back in school again for a time, and then in the early sum-
mer great excitement, for Pussie had come to Europe with
the Mortimers, and she and I were to sail for home together.
I stayed in London with her in lodgings two nights before
we sailed, and had my first taste of an emotional crisis on her
part. I was to know many similar ones in the years to come.
As I have said, Pussie had an artistic temperament. She always
had men -who were in love with her, not always wisely but
always deeply!
At this particular moment she thought she was casting
away her happiness forever because she was being separated
from the gentleman of the moment. I stayed up anxiously
most of the night listening to her sobs and protestations that
she would never reach home, that she would jump overboard.
Being very young and very romantic, I spent most of the trip
home wondering when she would make this effort and watch-
ing her as closely as I could. We were on a slow Atlantic
Transport Line boat and shared a cabin. Her moods were any-
thing but placid, but by the time we reached home she was
somewhat calmer.
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CHAPTER FOUR
HOME AGAIN
THAT summer was a stormy one, and when we -were both
staying in Northeast Harbor, she with her aunt, Mrs. Lud-
low, and I with Mrs. Ludlow's daughter, Mrs. Henry Parish,
Jr., she was very much annoyed with me one day. She told
me quite frankly that I probably would never have the beaux
that the rest of the women in the family had had, because I
was the ugly duckling. At the same time she told me some of
the painful and distressing facts about my father's last years.
The combination made me very unhappy, and I imagine Mrs.
Parish had her hands full trying to console me. She tried hard
to give me a good time but I knew no one and had no gift for
getting on with younger people of the type that I was meet-
ing in Northeast, where they lived a life which was totally
different from the English school life that I was at present
completely absorbed in.
I wanted just one thing, that was to get back to England to
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school and more traveling in Europe. None of the family was
going abroad, my grandmother was not entirely sure that she
approved of my returning to England, but after much beg-
ging and insistence I was finally told I might go if I found
someone to take me over. Due to the fact that my poor grand-
mother was beginning to have her hands full with her older
son, my Uncle Vallie, who had started out in life in such an
exemplary way but was now beginning to sow his wild oats,
I think she was really glad to have me away.
I went to New York, and Pussie and Maude helped me to
get my first long, tailor-made suit. The skirt trailed on the
ground, and was oxford gray, as I remember it, I was enor-
mously proud of it, and I can hardly believe now that we
could ever have been so impractical!
RETURN TO SCHOOL IN ENGLAND
Entirely by myself, I engaged a deaconess through an em-
ployment agency to take the trip to London with me and
return by the next boat. As I look back on it, it was one of the
funniest and craziest things I ever did, for my family never
set eyes on her until they came to see me off on the steamer.
She looked respectable enough and I am sure she was, but I
might just as well have crossed alone, for we had a very rough
crossing, and I never saw her till the day we landed.
In the little Cunard ships of those days (I think we were
on the Umbria), a rough crossing meant that the steamer
chairs, if they were out at all, were lashed to the railing There
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were racks on the table, and when you tried to walk you felt
you were either walking up a mountain or down one.
I had learned something since my first trip, and in spite of
continually feeling ill I always got on deck and sat for hours
watching the horizon rise and fall, and ate most of my meals
up there.
One funny incident occurred. Several days out, it suddenly
dawned on me that I had left the keys to my two trunks at
home and both of them had to be opened for the benefit of
the customs officer on my arrival in Liverpool. I was so horri-
fied at what seemed to me an insuperable difficulty that I con-
fided my worries to the only other person who ever joined
me on deck, a middle-aged, kindly gentleman. He soothed
my anxiety and told me that I would find my cousin, Mr.
Maxwell, Aunt Ella's nephew, on the dock when we landed,
as he was a Cunard official, so he was sure that either my
trunks would be passed unopened or they would find a lock-
smith and bring him immediately. I was enormously relieved,
and everything worked out perfectly on landing.
My deaconess and I proceeded to London to a large cara-
vanserai of a hotel, where Marjorie Bennett and her family
were staying.
The next day I went to school, carefully handed over the
return ticket and enough money for her hotel bill to my com-
panion whom I had taken care of and had rarely ever seen I
But she had served the purpose of giving my family the satis-
faction of knowing I was well chaperoned!
School "was as interesting as ever. Mile. Souvestre was very
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glad to see me back, and I had the added interest of a young
cousin at school that year. Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Robinson
came over bringing their daughter, Corinne, and leaving her
with Mile* Souvestre. She was younger than I was and very
intelligent, and soon won her way to Mile. Souvestre's in-
terest and respect. In athletics she was far better than I was,
and established her place with the girls more quickly than I
had done.
Having Auntie Corinne and Uncle Douglas in London oc-
casionally was a joy for me, as we were allowed an occasional
week end away and quite frequent Saturday afternoons if we
had a relative near enough to take us out, and I know that I
went up to London once or twice at least to see Auntie Co-
rinne; later Auntie Bye was there, too.
I was only sorry that I had to go home before the corona-
tion of King Edward VII, as they were all staying in London,
'where Uncle Ted would join them to act as special ambas-
sador from our government.
ROME
The Christmas holiday of the year 1902, Mile. Souvestre
took Burky and myself to Rome. It was an unforgettable visit,
and though I never have had the same affection for Rome as
a city as I have for Florence, still that Christmas holiday period
in Rome was a marvelous experience.
Mile. Souvestre did not take rooms in a hotel, but we went
to a pension in one of die old palaces where the rooms were
enormous, with high ceilings, and though we rejoiced in
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their beauty we nearly froze to death trying to warm our-
selves over a little portable stove which had a few red coals
glowing in its center.
Here again I remember the bath with a sheet spread over it,
but it was so cold that I think we only took baths when it was
absolutely necessary!
However, we visited the Forum many times. Mile. Sou-
vestre sat on a stone in the sun and talked to us of history and
how the jnen of Rome had wandered here in their togas;
pointed out the place where Julius Caesar may have been
assassinated and made us live in ancient history. We watched
the people on their knees climbing up the "Scala Santa," and,
silly little Anglo-Saxons that we were, I think we fejt self-
conscious for them!
One beautiful day we journeyed to Tivoli, with its beauti-
ful gardens and the litde loop hole in the hedge through
which you get a view of the city of Rome in the distance.
Many days Burky and I wandered around alone, and many
hours we spent in galleries and churches. I think St, Peter's
was a terrible disappointment to me, for I had always remem-
bered as a little girl kissing the toe of an enormous and heroic
statue. In fact, my nurse had held me up so I might accom-
plish this act of reverence, but when I went back to look at
the statue it was really quite small, and had I wanted to kiss
the toe I should have had to bend over considerably.
I acquired in the Sistine Chapel a lasting dislike for orna-
mental ceilings that must be studied, for I had a permanent
crick in my neck!
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On Christmas Eve Mile. Souvestre took us to see the "Rag
Market/* where frequently priceless treasures are sold for a
mere song. That night I bought some real lace which was
very fine.
After wandering around to our hearts* content, we went
over to St. Peter's, I think though it may have been to some
other church for midnight mass. Never have I seen a more
colorful ceremony, and I discovered Mile. Souvestre was not
an atheist at heart for she was as much moved as we were by
the music and the lights!
The winter at school was uneventful, though the Boer War
was giving the English girls constant reasons for celebrations
and throwing many of us more and more into Mile* Sou-
vestre's keeping in the evenings.
FRANCE, BELGIUM, GERMANY *
When Easter came around, Mile. Souvestre again asked me
to travel with her. This time we crossed the Channel and went
to stay not far from Calais with her friends, the Ribots, who
lived in a house entered by a door set in a wall. You pulled a
long, iron bell handle and a cheerful little tinkle ran through
the house. In a few minutes you were let in to a very spacious
and comfortable garden entirely surrounded by a wall high
above your head, making it possible to have complete privacy,
which is one of the things French people strive for even in
their city homes.
I do not remember the name of this small town, but I do
remember sallying forth alone to look at the churches and to
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see what could be seen. I felt somewhat awed by our two
dignified and very kindly hosts. Later I was to discover in a
Premier of France my host of this visit.
From there we went to Belgium and visited some other
friends of Mile. Souvestre's, taking a long trip on their coach.
We proceeded up the Rhine to Frankfort, where we spent a
good deal of time enjoying the kindly hospitality of Herr and
Frau de Passavant, the parents of Carola and Nellie, two girls
who had been with Mile. Souvestre at school for a year or
more.
I was very fond of both of them, and they were certainly
lovely looking girls, and the glimpse of German family life
and customs was extremely interesting.
These two girls were then attending a school for domestic
training, and they were learning not only every detail of
household management, but were learning how to run a
country place, how to make cheese and butter, how to care
for milk and cream. I had never heard of such a school before,
especially for girls of wealthy parents, but they took it for
granted that every girl should receive this education before
she was ready to take up her responsibilities as a wife and
mother.
To them it has certainly proved valuable, and I thifi1c per-
haps we might learn something from their thorough ground-
ing and practical knowledge and experience along these lines.
One German custom gave me quite a shock. As we were
leaving the house one evening after dinner, I saw Mile. Sou-
vestre slip a tip into the hand of the butler and also of the
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footman who was helping us on with our coats. I could hardly
wait until I got outside to ask her if that was a custom in Ger-
many, for, of course, it would never have occurred to me as
an American to tip any servant where I had just taken a meal.
I did know that you tipped people when you stayed in the
house over night, but it was an entirely new thought to have
tipping on my mind every minute.
However, I discovered that both in homes and in hotels
and restaurants tipping formed a substantial part of a servant's
remuneration. Wages were very low everywhere, and that
gave the tipping system a real reason for existence.
I still feel it is a pernicious system, but as it apparently has
to exist, perhaps it is better handled in a country where the
amount of tipping for various services is distinctly under-
stood. In those days ten per cent of your bill was considered
the proper amount to tip, and you knew pretty well by cus-
tom what tips should be in a country house in England,
France and in Germany, or wherever you might be. But I
still feel that adequate wages paid for work done is a more
satisfactory method of payment.
The summer was now approaching, and I knew that I must
go home for good. Mile. Souvestre had become one of the
people whom I cared most for in the world, and the thought
of the long separation seemed very hard to bear. I would have
given a great deal to have spent another year on my educa-
tion, but to my grandmother the age of eighteen was the
time that you "came out," and not to "come out** was un-
thinkable.
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Luckily, when I actually left I felt quite sure that I would
return before long, but I realize now that Mile, Souvestre,
knowing her infirmities, had very little hope of seeing me
again. She wrote me very lovely letters, which I still cherish.
They show the kind of relationship which had grown up be-
tween us, and give an idea of the very fine person who cer-
tainly exerted the greatest influence, after my father, on this
period of my life.
Through correspondence I have kept in touch through all
the ensuing years with Carola de Passavant , Leonie and Helen
GifFord, Marjorie Bennett, and Hilda Burkinshaw, and oc-
casionally others pop up!
Since we have been in the White House, it has given me
great pleasure to have the sons of Marjorie Bennett, now Mrs.
Philip Vaughan, and a relative of the Giflfords, stay with us.
HOME FOR GOOD
I returned to Tivoli, my grandmother's country place, and
spent the whole summer there. This was not a happy sum-
mer, for, as I said before, while I had been away my Uncle
Vallie, who had been so kind to me when I was a child, had
been slipping rapidly into the habits of an habitual drinker.
My grandmother "would never believe that he was not going
to give it up as he promised after each spree, but the younger
members of the family realized that the situation was really
serious. He made life for the other members of the family dis-
tinctly difficult.
Pussie was away a great deal, Maude was married to Larry
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Waterbury, Eddie was married to Josie Zabriskie and was
proving himself just as weak as his brother, Vallie. This was
my first real contact with anyone who had completely lost
the power of self-control, and I think it began to develop in
me an almost exaggerated idea of the necessity of keeping all
of one's desires under complete subjugation.
I had been a solemn little girl, my years in England had
given me my first real taste of being carefree and irrespon-
sible, but my return home to the United States accentuated
almost immediately the serious side of life, and that first sum-
mer was not very good preparation for being a gay and joy-
ous debutante.
Vallie still had great charm in fact, lie kept it all his life
and I think my grandmother, because she always had a desire
to protect those she loved, probably loved him more than any
of her other children and she never would give up her hopes
for him.
I was allowed to have Leonie Gifford and a friend of hers to
stay with me for a few days that summer, as they had come
over from England. Every moment that they were there,
however, I held my breath for fear some unfortunate incident
would occur.
That was the last time I ever had any girl to stay at Tivoli
with me. After that I would occasionally invite a man, but
never felt free to do so unless I knew him well enough to tell
him that he might have an uncomfortable time.
My grandmother had cut herself off almost entirely from
contact with her neighbors, and while Vallie, when he met
anyone, would behave with braggadocio, we really lived an
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isolated life. No one was ever invited to come for a meal oa
to stay with, us who was not so intimate that he knew the en-
tire situation.
My little brother was still at home and had a tutor witt
him, but while I think he was frightened by my uncle al
times, as I was, being younger it did not make the same deej
impression on him.
That autumn he went off to boarding school. My grand-
mother and I took him up to Groton. She seemed quite olc
already, and somehow or other the real responsibility for this
young brother was slipping very rapidly from her hands intc
mine. She never went again to see Vritn at school and I began
to go up every term for a week end, which was what all good
parents were expected to do. I kept this up through the sis
years he was there, just as I was to do later for my own sons,
A little later that autumn I moved to the old house on "West
37th Street. Theoretically my grandmother lived there too.
but as a matter of fact she lived at Tivoli in a vain attempt tc
keep Vallie there and keep him sober as much as possible.
Pussie, my only unmarried aunt, and I lived together. Sh*
was no less beautiful than she had been when I was a child,
She was just as popular, with just as many beaux, and severa]
love affairs always devastating her emotions. She went the
round of social dinners and dances just as hard as any debutante,
"COMING Our"
Of course, my grandmother could do nothing about m}
"coming out,*' but automatically my name was placed or
everybody's list. I was asked at once to all kinds of parties, bu
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the first one I attended was an Assembly Ball, and I was taken
by my cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Parish, Jr.
My aunt, Mrs. Mortimer, tad bought my clothes in Paris,
and I imagine that I was well dressed, but there was absolutely
nothing about me to attract anybody's attention. I was tall,
but I did not dance very well, nor had I had much oppor-
tunity in England, and in any case English dancing was differ-
ent from ours. I had lost touch with all the girls whom I had
known before I went abroad, though, of course, afterwards
I picked up some of my old relationships. I went into that
ball room not knowing one single man except Bob Ferguson,
the friend of my childhood but whom I had rarely seen since
I went abroad, and Forbes Morgan, who was one of Pussie's
most ardent admirers.
I do not think I quite realized beforehand what utter agony
it -was going to be or I would never have had the courage to
go. Bob Ferguson introduced a number of his friends, Nick
Biddle, Duncan Harris and Pendleton Rogers. But by no
stretch of the imagination could I fool myself into thinking
that I was a popular debutante!
I went home early, thankful to get away, having learned
that before I went to any party or to any dance I should have
two partners, one for supper and one for the cotillion. Any
girl who -was a success would be asked by many men and ac-
cepted the one whom she preferred at the moment. These
partners were prerequisites, but you must also be chosen to
dance every figure in the cotillion, and your popularity was
gauged by the numbers of favors you took home. Pussie al-
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ways had far more than I had! I knew I was the first girl in
my mother's family who was not a belle, and though I never
acknowledged it to any of them at that time, I -was deeply
ashamed.
Mr. and Mrs- Mortimer gave a large theater party and sup-
per, with dancing afterwards, for me, kter on at Sherry's,
which was the fashionable restaurant of those days* This
helped very much to give me a sense that I had done my
share of entertaining, or rather it had been done for me, and
for one night I stood and received with my aunt and had no
anxieties. Pussie and I together gave a few luncheons and
dinners that winter at the syth Street house.
Gradually I acquired a few friends, those I have already
mentioned and Harry Hooker, and a few others, and finally
going out lost some of its terrors; but that first winter, when
my sole object in life was society, nearly brought me to a
state of nervous collapse. I had other things however, on my
mind! I ran the house more or less as far as it was run by any-
one, for Pussie was if anything more temperamental than she
had been as a young girl, and her love affairs were becoming
more serious. There would be days and days when she would
shut herself into her room, refusing to eat and spending hours
weeping.
Finally, I felt called upon to try to find out what some of
her troubles were, but I was quite unsuccessful, as I should
have known I would be if I had been a little older and had had
a little more experience. I went blindly on, trying to be tactful
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and wise, and finding myself confronted with many situations
that I was totally unprepared to handle.
Occasionally Vallie would come to the house for one pur-
pose and one alone, that was to go on a real spree. Pussie was
no better equipped to cope with this difficulty than I was. In
fact, not having any other vital interests, I had more time to
handle this situation and a certain kind of strength and deter-
mination which underlay my timidity must have begun to
make itself felt, for I think I was better able to handle many
difficulties that arose during this strange winter than was
Pussie, who was some fourteen years my senior.
I did do with Pussie a number of pleasant things, however,
that winter. Her musical talent kept her in touch with a cer-
tain number of artistic people, and I enjoyed listening to her
play and going to the theater, concerts and the opera with
her. Bob Ferguson, who lived a very pleasant bachelor ex-
istence in New York and had many, many friends, introduced
me that year to Bay Emmett, the painter, and some of her
friends, and I rejoiced that Bob and I had reestablished our old
friendship. He felt that he was entitled to bring me home
after parties we might both attend, which of course was a
great relief to me, as otherwise I always had to have a maid
wait for me that was one of the rules my grandmother had
laid down. That rule amuses me now when I realize how
gaily I went around European cities all by myself. However,
she accepted Bob as escort, though she would not hear of any-
one else having the same privilege.
He took me to several studio parties in Bay Emmett's
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studio and gave me my first taste of meeting informally peo-
ple whose names I recognized as having accomplished things
in the sphere of art and letters.
I liked this very much better than I did the dinners and
dances I was struggling through in formal society each night,
and yet I would not have wanted at that age to have been left
out, for I was still haunted by my upbringing and believed
that what was known as New York Society was really im-
portant.
During this time I had begun to see occasionally my cousin,
Franklin Roosevelt, who -was at college, and also his cousin,
Lyman Delano, and various other members of his family and
some of his college friends. His mother, Mrs. James Roosevelt,
was sorry for me, I think. She remembered seeing me as a
child not only at Mr. Dodsworth's dancing classes but occa-
sionally at a dancing class which Mrs. Archibald Rogers, her
next-door neighbor at Hyde Park, held during the autumn
months at Crumwold Hall, where the children from up and
down the river came and danced. I was occasionally allowed
to go with my cousin, Mrs* Robert Livingston, and her
children.
Mrs. Roosevelt and her husband, who died in 1900, had
been fond of my mother and father. Mrs. Cowles knew- them
both very well, and of course they knew Mrs. Douglas Rob-
inson, but the tie with my father was stronger because he
crossed on the steamer with them when he was starting his
trip around the world. They were so fond of him that when
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their son, Franklin, was born they asked my father to be his
godfather.
When I was two years old my father and mother took me
to stay at Hyde Park with them. My mother-in-law says that
she remembers my standing in the door with my finger in my
mouth and being addressed as "Granny" by my mother, and
that Franklin rode me around the nursery on his back. This
visit, however, is purely a matter of hearsay to me, and my
first recollection of Franklin is at one of the Orange Christmas
parties, later a glimpse of him the summer I came home from
school when I was going up to Tivoli in the coach of a New
York Central train. He spied me and took me to speak to his
mother who, of course, was in the pullman car. I never saw
him again until he began to come to occasional dances the
winter I came out and I was asked to a house party at Hyde
Park where all the other guests were mostly his cousins.
Muriel Robbins, later Mrs. Cyril Martineau, pretty and
capable and very lovely, with her younger brother, 'Warren,
who was still at Groton; Ellen and Laura Delano, and their
brother, Lyman, and some other young college friends, made
up the party.
Muriel afterwards went to Groton with me once or twice
when I was visiting Hall, and the boys from Harvard came
down to see us.
In those days there was no comfortable Parents* House at
Groton and we stayed with Mrs. Whitney, the lady who for
many years looked after Groton parents visiting their off-
spring. She and I got on very well; I was young and the fact
that the beds were hard and the rooms cold made very litde
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difference to me. Everyone marveled because she allowed me
to bring a maid, but I had explained to her that my grand-
mother would not allow me to come unless I had a maid with
me. She seemed to accept that necessity, though she never
allowed a maid as a luxury to anyone! On one occasion she
is known to have deposited some of her guests* bags on the
front porch and announced that a car would take them to the
station at such and such a time. When they gently remon-
strated, her only answer was that she no longer had a room
for them. They had, I believe, committed the sin of asking
for late dinner or breakfast in bed, both of which were taboo I
Later Groton was to have a Parents* House with greater
comfort, but I must have begun early to enjoy vagaries of
human nature, for I really grew fond of Mrs. Whitney, and
felt a distinct sense of loss -when her boarding house was
given up.
I did not stay so much in Tivoli the summer after I came
out. I was there part of the time, but paid a great many visits,
for by that time I had made many friends, and Mrs. Parish was
kind to me as always. In the autumn -when I was nineteen my
grandmother decided that she could not afford to open the
New York house, and the question came up as to where
Pussie and I were going to live. Mrs. Ludlow invited Pussie
to stay with her, and Mrs. Parish offered me a home.
GROWING UP
I had grown up considerably this past year, and had come
to the conclusion that I would not spend another year just do-
ing the social rounds, particularly as I knew that my cousin's
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house would mean much less ease in casual entertainment
than I had known in the 37th Street house. She still lived with
a great deal of formality and punctuality, and the latter was
now not one of my strong points.
Pussie was no help in keeping me punctual. In fact, I re-
member one horrible evening, when I "was dining with Mrs.
Ogden Mills. We often took a cab together for the sake of
economy, and this evening she was so late that after leaving
her I arrived when everyone was seated at table. Covered
with confusion, I apologized lamely for my lateness, and
found my seat, suffering agonies of shame with so many eyes
turned reprovingly upon me!
Cousin Susie (Mrs. Parish) told me that I might occasion-
ally have guests for tea down in a little reception room on the
first floor, but there was no feeling at that time that I could
ask people in casually for meals. I had my maid, however, and
everything was arranged so that I could go out as much as I
wished, and she was more than kind in enterteining at formal
lunches and dinners for me.
One thing I remember very vividly. I had ran. over my
allowance considerably and had a great many bills overdue
and finally my cousin, Mr. Parish, took me in hand, and
painstakingly showed me how to keep books. He would not
allow me to ask my grandmother to pay up these bills, but
he made me pay them up myself gradually over a period of
time. This was probably my only lesson in handling money,
and I have been eternally grateful for it all the rest of my life.
He was tall and thin and distinguished looking, with a mus-
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tactic, and while rather formal in manner he was the kindest
person I have ever known, and he still is.
I have my Cousin Susie to thank for the friendship which
grew up gradually that winter between Mrs. Tilden R.
Selmes and myself. She was a very intimate friend of Mrs.
Parish's and I had met her casually just as I had met her very
beautiful sixteen-year-old daughter the winter before. This
daughter, Isabella, though still at school, was already the talk
of New York, one of the loveliest young girls I have ever
seen.
Bob Ferguson and Nick Biddle had brought her first to see
me, and that was the beginning of a friendship with both
mother and daughter. They came from Kentucky and St.
Paul, Minnesota, and there was a glamour about them both.
Isabella's colored mammy would have lent a touch of distinc-
tion to any household, and she added to the interest in this
girl who was to be one of the most popular debutantes that
New York has ever seen. Mammy looked over all her friends
and passed judgment on them. She even looked up their an-
cestors; her keen intuition was seldom wrong, and many a
time have I laughed over her summing up of some young
man who was supposed to be one of New York's best catches !
That winter I began to work in the Junior League. It was
in its very early stages. Mary Harriman, afterwards Mrs.
Charles Gary Rumsey, was the moving spirit. There was no
clubhouse; we were just a group of girls anxious to do some-
thing helpful in the city in which we lived. We agreed when
we joined to do certain pieces of work, and Jean Reid, daugh-
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tcr of Mr. and Mrs, Whitelaw Reid, and I undertook to take
classes of youngsters at the Rivington Street Settlement House.
Jean was to play the piano, and I was to keep die children en-
tertained by teaching calisthenics and fancy dancing. As I
remember it, we arrived diere as school came out in the after-
noons, and it was dark before we left. Jean often came and
went in her carriage, but I took the elevated railway or the
Fourth Avenue street car and walked across from the Bowery.
Needless to say, the streets filled with foreign looking people,
crowded and dirty, filled me with a certain amount of terror
and I often waited on a corner for a car, watching, widi a
great deal of trepidation, men come out of the saloons or
shabby hotels nearby, but the children interested me enor-
mously. I feel sure I was a very poor teacher, for I had had no
experience. However, I still remember the glow of pride that
ran through me when one of the little girls said her father
wanted me to come home with her, as he wanted to give me
something because she enjoyed her classes so much. Needless
to say, I did not go, but that invitation bolstered me up when-
ever I had any difficulty in disciplining my brood!
Occasionally Jean was ill, and though we -were supposed to
provide someone else if we were not able to go ourselves,
something went wrong and I had to take the class without
any music, which was not so easy.
Once I remember allowing my cousin, Franklin Roosevelt,
at that time a senior at Harvard, to come down to meet me.
All the litde girls were tremendously interested, and the next
time they gathered around me demanding to know if he was
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my "feller," an expression which meant nothing to me at
that time!
I think it must have been this same winter that I became
interested in the Consumers' League, of which Mrs. Maud
Nathan was the president. Luckily, I went with an experi-
enced, older woman to do some investigation in garment
factories and department stores. It had never occurred to me
before that the girls might get tired standing behind counters
all day long, or that no seats were provided for them if they
had time to sit down and rest. I did not know what die sani-
tary requirements should be in the dress factories, either for
air or lavatory facilities. This was my first introduction to
anything of this kind and I rather imagine that by spring I
was quite ready to drop all this good work and go up to the
country and spend the summer in idleness and recreation!
As I try to sum up my own development in the autumn of
1903, I think I was a curious mixture of extreme innocence
and unworldliness with a great deal of knowledge of some of
the less attractive and less agreeable sides of life which, how-
ever, did not seem to make me any more sophisticated or less
innocent.
I think it would be very difficult for anyone in these days
to have any idea of the formality with which girls in my gen-
eration were trained. I cannot believe that I was the only one
brought up in this way, though I rather imagine that I was
perhaps more strictly kept to the formalities than were many
of my friends.
It was an understood thing that no girl was interested in a
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man or showed any liking for him until he made all the ad-
vances* You knew a man very well before you wrote or re-
ceived a letter from him, and those letters make me smile
when I see some of the correspondence today. There were
very few men indeed who would have dared to use my first
name, and to have signed oneself in any other way than "Very
sincerely yours/* would have been not only a breach of good
manners but an admission of feeling which was entirely in-
admissible.
One of Franklin's friends, Howard Gary, a charming man
with a really lovely spirit, "wrote me occasionally about books,
for we had a mutual interest in literature. His letters were
charming, but formal and even stiff when they touched on
anything but books. My grandmother always made me feel
a little self-conscious when I received a letter from a man.
You never allowed a man to give you a present except
flowers or candy or possibly a book. To receive a piece of
jewelry from a man to whom you were not engaged was a
sign of being a fast woman, and the idea that you "would per-
mit any man to kiss you before you were engaged to him
never even crossed my mind.
All these restrictions seem foolish nowadays, but I wonder
if the girls weren't safer. It requires more character to be as
free as youth is today.
I had painfully high ideals and a tremendous sense of duty
at that time, entirely unrelieved by any sense of humor or any
appreciation of the weaknesses of human nature. Things -were
either right or wrong to me with very few shades, and I had
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had too little experience to know as yet how very fallible
human judgments are.
MY ENGAGEMENT
I had a great curiosity about life and a desire to participate
in every experience that might be the lot of woman. There
seemed to me to be a necessity for hurry; without rhyme or
reason I felt the urge to be a part of the stream of life, and so
in the autumn of 1903 when Franklin Roosevelt, my fifth
cousin once removed, asked me to marry him, though I was
only nineteen, it seemed an entirely natural thing and I never
even thought that we were both rather young and inexperi-
enced. I came back from Groton, where I had spent the week
end, and asked Cousin Susie whether she thought I cared
enough, and my grandmother, when I told her, asked me if
I was sure I was really in love. I solemnly answered "y^" and
yet I know now that it was years later before I understood
what being in love was or what loving really meant.
I had very high standards as to what a wife and mother
should be and not the faintest notion of what it meant to be
either a wife or a mother, and none of my elders enlightened
me.
I marvel now at my husband's patience, for I realize how
trying I must have been in many ways. I can see today how
funny were some of the tragedies of our early married life.
My mother-in-law had sense enough to realize that both
of us were very young and very undeveloped, and in spite of
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the fact that she thought I had been well brought up, she de-
cided to try to make her son think this matter over which
at the time, of course, I resented. As he was well ahead in his
studies, she took him with his friend and room-mate, Lathrop
Brown, on a cruise to the West Indies that winter, while I
lived in New York with Mrs. Parish.
Franklin's feelings did not change, however.
My first experience with the complications that surround
the attendance of a President at any kind of family gathering
such as a wedding or a funeral came when my great-uncle,
James King Grade, whose wife was our beloved Auntie
Gracie, died on November 22, 1903 , and Uncle Ted came to
New York for the funeral.
The streets were lined with police, and only such people as
had identification cards could get in and out of Mrs. Douglas
Robinson's house, where Uncle Ted stayed. We all drove
down in a procession to the church, but Uncle Ted went in
by a special door through the clergyman's house which had
a connecting passageway, and left the same way.
I went into the church in the ordinary way, and only after-
wards heard with horror that in spite of all the precautions an
unknown man stepped up to Uncle Ted in the passageway
leading from the house to the church and handed him a peti-
tion. No one could imagine how the man got in or why he
had not been seen by the police. He fortunately had no bad
intentions, but nevertheless he gave everyone a shock, for had
he wanted to attack Uncle Ted he could have done so easily.
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WASHINGTON FOR THE RUST TIME
In the winters of 1903 and 1904 Auntie Bye, with whom I
had akeady stayed in Farmington, Connecticut, asked me to
come to Washington to stay with her. She was a wonderful
hostess, as I have akeady said. By this time I had gained
a little self-confidence and so I really enjoyed meeting the
younger diplomats and the few young American men who
are to be found in the social circles of Washington. I was in-
vited to the White House to stay for a night, but I was always
awed by the White House and therefore preferred to stay
with Auntie Bye, where one felt more at ease. She arranged
everything so well for me that I did not feel responsible for
myself. She had me meet a number of the girls in Washington,
and I often wonder if some of them remember those youthful
days as well as I do. There were Mrs. Victor Mowrawetz, who
was Marjorie Nott, Cissie Patterson and the Winslow girls,
Harriet and Mary, Catherine Adams, daughter of Charles
Francis Adams, Margaretta MacVeagh, and many others who
were friends of Auntie Bye's and therefore kind to me*
I went with Auntie Bye on her rounds of afternoon calls,
and though I was aghast at this obligation, for the short time I
was there it was most entertaining. The dinners, luncheons
and teas were interesting, and people of importance, with
charm and wit and savoirfaire, filled my days with unusual
and exciting experiences.
Young Major Leonard, with only one arm (the other lost
during the Boxer rebellion in China), Mr. John Lodge and a
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charming young Italian named Gherardesca, and many oth-
ers, made these visits stand out in my memory.
The chief excitement of the winter of 1904 was the mar-
riage of Pussie to W. Forbes Morgan, Jr. It took place on
February i<5, in Mrs. Ludlow's house, where Pussie was stay-
ing. The flowers were lovely, as I remember, and Pussie
looked beautiful, but no one was very happy. Forbes was a
number of years younger than Pussie, and we knew she was
temperamental and wondered how they would adjust them-
selves to the complicated business of married life.
Uncle Ted's campaign and reelection had meant very little
to me except in general interest, for again I lived in a totally
nonpolitical atmosphere. In Washington, however, I gradu-
ally acquired a faint conception of the political world, very
different from my New York world. I also acquired little by
little the social ease "which I sorely needed.
Uncle Ted came occasionally to Auntie Bye's house in-
formally, and those visits were interesting events. She went
now and then to walk with Aunt Edith, or perhaps Uncle
Ted would send for her to talk over something, thereby
showing that he considered her advice was well worth having.
He was devoted to both his sisters, and Auntie Corinne (Mrs.
Douglas Robinson) came down to see him, or he went to see
her in New York or in the country. They all talked on po-
litical questions, literature or art, and his wife and his sisters,
each in their own way, made their contributions to what was
always stimulating talk.
Auntie Bye had a great gift for homemaking. Some of her
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furniture was ugly, but wherever she lived there was an at-
mosphere of comfort, and you were glad to sit down in her
rooms. The talk was always lively, and at all times there was
friendliness in her unstinted hospitality. The unexpected guest
was always "welcome, and, young or old, you really felt
Auntie Bye's interest in you.
This may have been the reason why I loved to be with her,
for I was still shy, and she gave me reassurance. She once gave
me a piece of advice which I tfnnTc must have come from her
own philosophy. I was asking her how I could be sure that I
was doing the right thing if someone criticized me. Her an-
swer was, "No matter what you do, some people will criticize
you, and, if you are entirely sure that you would not be
ashamed to explain your action to some one whom you loved
and who loved you, and you are satisfied in your own mind
that you are doing right, then you need never worry about
criticism, nor need you ever explain what you do."
She had not married until late in life, and she had lived for
many years according to this principle herself. When Mr.
J. R. ("Rosy") Roosevelt's wife died while he was the Krst
Secretary of our Embassy in London, she went over to be his
hostess and take care of his children. There she met and was
married to Captain William Sheffield Cowles, who was our
Naval Attache, and on her return to this country William
Sheffield Cowles, Jr., was born. Because of her deformity and
her age, everybody was anxious about her, but courage will
carry you through a great deal and the baby arrived perfect
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in every way, and both mother and baby progressed normally
to health and strength.
This child of hers was always the apple of her eye and grew
up to be the pride and joy of her life.
Uncle Will, Auntie Bye's husband, was now an Admiral
in the Navy, and I began to learn something about the "serv-
ices" and to realize that these men who are our officers in the
army and navy, while they receive little financial compensa-
tion, are enormously proud to serve their country. They and
their wives have a position which is their right by virtue of
their service, regardless of birth or of income. Quite a new
idea to a provincial little miss from New York!
In June of 1904 I went with Franklin's mother and most of
his cousins to his commencement at Harvard, the first com-
mencement I had ever attended.
That summer I paid my aunt, Mrs. Douglas Robinson,
quite a long visit in Islesboro, Maine, where she had a cottage,
and then I went up to stay with Franklin and his mother at
Campobello Island, New Brunswick, Canada. Franklin came
down to get me, and we made the long trip by train, chang-
ing at least twice and getting there in the evening. Of course,
I had to have my maid with me, for I could not have gone
with him alone!
Once there, however, we walked together, drove around
the island, sailed on a small schooner yacht with his mother
and other friends, and got to know each other a little better
than ever before. This yacht seemed to me, who was not
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much accustomed to any of the luxuries of life, the last word
in extravagance.
FAIRHAVEN AND THE DELANO FAMILY
In the autumn of 1904 our engagement was announced. I
was asked by Franklin's aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Warren
Delano, to spend Thanksgiving at Fairhaven, Massachusetts,
with the entire Delano family. It was an ordeal, but I knew
so many of them already, and they were so very kind and
warm in their welcome, that I began to feel that I was part of
the clan, and a clan it was.
This old Fairhaven house, and the tradition which lay back
of it, was in itself interesting to me. My mother-in-law's
grandfather, Warren Delano, had been a sea captain, sailing
from New Bedford. When returning from a trip to Sweden
in 1814, his boat was captured by the British and he was taken
into Halifax. Finally the men were sent home, but the ship
was taken from them. My mother-in-law's father, Warren
Delano, remembered as a little boy the occupation of Fair-
haven by the British in this same War of 1812. He and his little
brothers were hurried to safety up the &cushnet River.
On retiring, Captain Delano built himself a dignified, ram-
bling house with stone walls inclosing the lawn and garden.
There was a stable in the rear. When his son, Warren Delano,
my mother-in-law's father, was seventeen, Captain Delano
drove him up to Boston and put him in the counting house of
his friend, Mr. Forbes. The eldest of a large family must begin
early to earn his own living, and before the lad was nineteen
["7]
This Is My Story
he was sailing as supercargo on a ship which went to South
America and China. This son helped to start his brothers in
life and took care of his sisters and various other relatives,
He was comfortably well off when he married Catherine
Lyman, whose father and mother, Judge and Mrs. Lyman,
were important people in Northampton, Massachusetts. He
had a house in Lafayette Place in New York, and later he built
a house, called "Algonac," at Newburgh, New York, on the
Hudson River. He lived in China for many years, and was a
member of the firm of Russell and Company.
After Warren Delano, the sea captain, died, the Fairhaven
house belonged to all the brothers and sisters then living. Their
descendants all happened to be children of Warren Delano,
for the other brothers and sisters had had no children.
Warren Delano, the third in line, was my mother-in-law's
oldest brother, and the head of the family when I became en-
gaged to Franklin. He managed the Fairhaven property and
the trust fund which went with it. All the family went there
when they wished and conformed to the agreement which
the brothers and sisters entered into together.
I grew very fond of some of the older members of my hus-
band's family. Mr. and Mrs. Warren Delano were always
kindness itself to me, as were Mrs. Forbes, Mrs. Hitch, Mrs.
Price Collier and Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Delano.
Mrs. Hitch was the most philanthropic and civic-minded of
my husband's relations. She was not only a moving spirit
in Newburgh, where she lived in the old family house, but
she reached out to New York City and belonged to many of
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the early state-wide and national movements for the bettering
of human conditions. After my husband went into politics
she took a tremendous interest in him and wrote him long
letters about the local political situation.
Mr. Frederic Delano was still in business in these early
years, but later on, when he came to live in Washington, he
devoted himself entirely to public affairs, and became one of
the leading citizens not only of his community, but of the
country, putting into public work all the ability which had
gained him a place of prominence in the business world and
working as hard on his unpaid civic jobs as he had worked
on the things he did which had brought him in a substantial
income.
All the members of my husband's family had business
ability, imagination and good sense. That does not mean that
they never made mistakes, but standing as they did together
in a clan they usually retrieved their mistakes, and the whole
family profited.
The Fairhaven house was roomy, and had been added to
from time to time. In it there were many interesting things.
The coat-of-arms of Jehan de Lannoy, Knight of the Golden
Fleece, and ancestor of the original Phillipe de Lannoy who
came to this country in November, 1621, hung over the door
on a painted shield. Some shelves over the old-fashioned desks
were filled with interesting little trinkets, and there were some
beautiful Chinese vases. A drawer in one of these desks
yielded to our astonished gaze the skin from the palm of a
boy's hand. The attached legend explained that it came off
This Is My Story
intact and was retained by Warren, I think, as a memento
of his case of scarlet fever! Shades of the old theory that peel-
ing was a contagious period!
Up in the attic were some ivory carvings done by men on
the long whaling voyages. Many of these things are now in the
New Bedford museum, but certain trunks held old ships* logs
and family diaries, and these Franklin, in particular, reveled in.
Large family reunions had not taken place in my Hall
family for a good many years, perhaps due to the fact that
life at Tivoli, where my grandmother lived almost entirely
with Vallie, was not very pleasant, or it may have been due
to the fact that we were scattered and had no mutual interests,
being held together only by personal affection for each other
as individuals. This did hold us, however, and I think we were
drawn together for many years by devotion to my grand-
mother.
Therefore this first big family party at Fairhaven was to me
something of a revelation. There was a sense of security which
I never had known before. I imagine that, without realizing
it, it was a relief to me, who sensed in those years a certain
feeling of insecurity in most of the relationships of my Hall
family. Maude, for instance, was very much in love with her
attractive husband, but financial difficulties were always lurk-
ing in the background. They seemed the gayest, most care-
free of young people, and when they had come to England
while I was at school because Larry Waterbury (Maude's
husband) was a member of the American international cham-
pionship polo team, I watched with awe and envy the clothes
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Home Again
that Maude wore and the constant gaiety. Theirs was a world
where pleasure dominated.
I was allowed to attend these games, and I thrilled with
pride at the skill of the American players. Under the excite-
ment and gaiety, however, lurked a constant sense of inse-
curity. I also soon discovered that cards were not always played
for fun in this young group, and that the results were some-
times serious.
By 1902 I was already beginning to realize that debts some-
times hung over people's heads, that both Eddie and Vallie
had squandered -what money was left to them, that Pussie had
trusted much of hers to gentlemen with good intentions but
little business judgment who always lost more than they made
for her, which meant that by this time her income was con-
siderably lessened.
My grandmother, as the children came of age, had less and
less money because, as there had been no will, she only had
her dower right in her husband's estate. She was barely able
to meet her own expenses and help her somewhat extravagant
children.
Tissie's husband was well off and very generous, and Tissie
herself for years spent practically every penny she had on
members of her family. Everyone of them was conscious of
financial strain, primarily because each one was "keeping up
with the Joneses" in some way.
The Delanos were the first people I met who were able
to do what they wanted to do without wondering where to
obtain the money, and it was not long before I learned the
This Is My Story
reason for this. My mother-in-law taught me, but I am sure
that any member of her family could have taught me just as
well. They watched their pennies, which I had always seen
squandered. They were generous and could afford to be in big
things, because so little was ever wasted or spent in incon-
sequential ways.
They 'were a clan, and if misfortune befell one of them, the
others rallied at once. My Hall family would have rallied, too,
but they had so much less to rally with. The Delanos might
disapprove of one another, and if so, they were not slow to
express their disapproval, but let someone outside as much
as hint at criticism, and the clan was ready to tear him limb
from limb!
Before Franklin went to Harvard he had wanted to go into
the navy, which desire may be explained by his New England
ancestry. His father felt, however, that an only son should not
choose a profession which would take him so much away from
home. Therefore he wanted Franklin to study law as a prepa-
ration for any kind of business or profession which he might
enter later.
After graduating from Harvard, Franklin went to law
school at Columbia University. His mother took a house at
200 Madison Avenue, and we had many gay rimes during the
winter of 1905 with his cousin, Muriel Robbins, who often
came to visit her Aunt Sallie, and the other young members of
the family. Parties were given for us, wedding presents began
to come, and my Cousin Susie helped me to buy my trous-
seau and my linens. It was all very exciting, and die wedding
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Home Again
plans were complicated by the fact that Uncle Ted, at that
time President of the United States, was coming to New York
to give me away, and our date had to fit in with his plans.
Finally, it was decided that we would be married on St. Pat-
rick's Day, March lyth, 1905, because Uncle Ted was coming
on for the parade that day.
UNCLE TED'S INAUGURATION, MARCH 4, 1905
Franklin and I were thrilled to be asked to stay with Auntie
Bye for Uncle Ted's inauguration on March 4th, 1905. 1 had
no conception of "what all the arrangements entailed, but I do
remember the number which was pasted on Auntie Bye's
brougham, and her remark that her colored coachman really
stayed with her because of the pride he felt when he found
himself well up in the line passing in where others were not
allowed to go ! Not very different from some of our white
brethren who are not coachmen, either! Just a human trait
which has persisted even into the machine age!
Once at the capitol, only the immediate family went inside.
Franklin and I went to our seats on the capitol steps just back
of Uncle Ted and his family. I was interested and excited, but
politics still meant little to me, for though I can remember the
forceful manner in which Uncle Ted delivered his speech, I
have no recollection of what he said! We came back to the
White House for lunch, and then saw the parade and back to
New York. I told myself I had seen an historic event and
I never expected to see another inauguration in the family!
CHAPTER FIVE
OUR WEDDING, MARCH 17, 1905
THE week before our wedding was all frantic haste. Some of
my bridesmaids came to help me write notes of thanks for
wedding presents, of course signing my name. One day we
discovered to our horror that Isabella Selmes was writing
"Franklin and I are so pleased with your gift, etc.," and then
signing her own name instead of mine! The bridesmaids were
dressed in cream taffeta with three feathers in their hair, and
had tulle veils floating down their backs.
Franklin had a number of ushers, and Lathrop Brown was
his best man. My own dress was heavy, stiff satin, with
shirred tulle in the neck, and long sleeves. My Grandmother
Hall's rose-point Brussels lace covered the dress, and a veil of
the same lace fell from my head over my long train.
The three feathers worn by the bridesmaids were reminis-
cent of the Roosevelt crest, and Franklin had designed a tie pin
for his ushers, with three little feathers in diamonds. He also
Our Wedding, March 17, 1905
designed and gave me a gold watch, with my initials in dia-
monds and a pin to wear it on with the three feathers, which
I still wear, though watches fla-ngling from pins are not so
much the fashion today.
My mother-in-kw had given me a dog-collar of pearls
which I wore, feeling decked out beyond description. I car-
ried a large bouquet of lilies of the valley.
The date chosen had an added significance to all my Hall
family, for it was my mother's birthday.
March iyth arrived. Uncle Ted came to New York from
Washington, he reviewed the parade, and then came to Cou-
sin Susie's house, where Franklin and I were married.
Many of our guests had difficulty in reaching the house
because of the parade which blocked the streets. No one could
enter from Fifth Avenue, and the police guarded Uncle Ted
so carefully it made it difficult for anyone to come in from
Madison Avenue. A few irate guests arrived after the ceremony
was over!
The ceremony was performed by the Reverend Endicott
Peabody, the head of Groton School. My Cousin Susie's
drawing room opened into her mother's house, so it gave us
two large rooms. We were actually married in Mrs. Ludlow's
house, where an altar had been arranged in front of the fire-
place, just as had been done for Pussie's wedding the year
before.
When the ceremony had been performed, we turned around
to receive congratulations from the various members of our
families and our friends. In the meantime^ Uncle Ted went
This Is My Story
into the library, where refreshments were served. Those clos-
est to us did take time to wish us well, but the great majority
of the guests were far more interested in the thought of being
able to see and listen to the President and in a very short time
this young married couple were standing alone! The room in
which the President was holding forth was filled with people
laughing gaily at his stories, which were always amusing. I do
not remember being particularly surprised by this, and I can-
not remember that even Franklin seemed to mind. We simply
followed the crowd and listened with the rest. Later we gath-
ered together enough ushers and bridesmaids to cut the wed-
ding cake, and I imagine we made Uncle Ted attend this
ceremony. Then we went upstairs to dress. By this time the
lion of the afternoon had left!
We left amidst the usual shower of rice. One old friend of
mine had not been able to be at the wedding. Bob Ferguson
was laid up with a fever, which ever since the Spanish War,
when he had been one of Uncle Ted's "Rough Riders," came
back at intervals, so before we went to our train we stopped
in to see him and then took the train for Hyde Park, where
we spent our first honeymoon. It is not customary to have
two honeymoons, but we did, because my husband had to
finish out his year at law school.
Our first home was a small apartment in a hotel in the West
Forties in New York City for the remainder of the spring
while Franklin continued his study of law.
It was lucky that my first housekeeping was so simple. I had
a tiny room for Hall, so he could spend his Easter holiday with
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Our Wedding, March 17, 1905
us, and he seemed to fill the entire apartment. Mending was
all that was really required of me in the way of housewifely
duties in those first few weeks, and fortunately I was well able
to do that, thanks to Madeleine's training. But I knew less
than nothing about even ordering meals, and what little I had
learned at Tivoli before I went abroad to school had com-
pletely slipped out of my mind, and in any case my grand-
mother's household required much more than a household
for two or three I
As soon as my mother-in-law moved to Hyde Park for the
summer we moved into her house, and were promptly taken
care of by her caretaker, so I still did not have to display the
depths of my ignorance as a housewife,
OUR HONEYMOON
As soon as law school was over for the summer we went
abroad and with what qualms did I embark! How terrible
to be seasick with a husband to take note of your suffering,
particularly one who seemed to think that sailing the ocean
blue was a joy! Luckily for me, the trip -was calm, and all
I remember about it is that we played a great many games of
piquet and I invariably lost. I was not wise enough at that
time to know that if one plays cards with Franklin one must
be prepared to win very rarely. I claim he has phenomenal
luck. He claims it is all due to skill!
For the first time we did things that I had always longed to
do. We went first to London, and were horrified to find that
in some way we had been identified with Uncle Ted and were
This Is My Story
given the royal suite at Brown's Hotel, with a sitting room so
large that I could not find anything that I put down! We had
to explain that our pocketbook was not equal to so much
grandeur, but that made no difference. We lived in it for
those first few days in London.
This is a city that my husband loves and I learned to like
it better than I ever had before, because we poked into strange
corners while he looked for books and prints, with clothes
thrown in. I found many things of interest, but it was when
we crossed the Channel that I was really excited.
In Paris we dined in strange places, ordering the specialties
of any particular restaurant, whatever they might be. We
wandered along the Seine and looked in all the second-hand
stands. I bought clothes and some prints, but Franklin bought
books, books, everywhere we went.
His French was very good, so in Paris he did the bargaining
for the books, etc., but when we reached Italy I spoke better
Italian than he did. However, after a few days he gave up tak-
ing me on expeditions to shops when he really was going to
bargain, because he said he did a great deal better without
me, and insisted that I accepted whatever the man said and
believed it to be the gospel truth, so as a bargainer I was use-
less. He got along with his poor Italian, made up largely from
the Latin which he had learned in school.
We went to Milan, and then to Venice in July. In fact, we
spent the Fourth of July there, and it was very, very warm,
but we had a delightful gondolier who looked like a benevo-
lent bandit and kept us out on the canals a good part of the
Our Wedding, March 17,
nights. He talked enough real Italian so that he and I could
understand each other moderately -well. Occasionally, when
we went on long trips he had a friend to help him, and then
the Venetian dialect Would fly back and forth, and he had to
translate what his friend was saying.
Mr. Charles Forbes, a cousin of my husband's, was living
in Venice, and took us to some of the little Italian restaurants
in the back streets to eat macaroni cooked in the right way.
He had given us one of his paintings of Venice as a wedding
present, and showed us many of his other paintings and the
original scenes.
I fed the birds on the Piazza San Marco, as I remembered
doing as a little girl. We glided through some of the smaller
canals to look through grilled entrances at what looked like
fascinating gardens beyond the stately palace fronts. We went
to one or two of the old palaces, thanks to Mr. Forbes' kind
offices, and visited some friends of Franklin's mother and
father who lived there.
We saw churches until my husband would look at no more,
but he was never tired of sitting in the sun at one of the little
tables around the Piazza and recalling the history of Venice.
We went by gondola out to Murano and saw the glass
blown, and ordered a set of glasses with the Roosevelt crest,
and some Venetian glass dolphins for table decorations, both
of which we still have.
On the gondola were some little brass horses which I much
admired. They were used to fasten up the top when a top was
used. Finally we succeeded in buying a pair. When we got
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This Is My Story
home these horses were mounted as andirons, and were used
ever since by us until last fall, when I sent them to our son,
Elliott, for his home in Texas. In Venice also I bought some
very beautiful red damask made many years before, I surmise.
Some of it I used for curtains, and some of it I kept, and my
daughter still has an evening coat made of this material. It will
not wear out and will always be beautiful, in spite of the fact
that I feel sure she must begin to be a litde weary of wearing
it!
From Venice we went north through the Dolomites, a
short distance by train, and then we took a large, lumbering
victoria drawn by two horses. It was a beautiful trip to Cor-
tina, where we spent several days. My husband climbed the
mountains with a charming lady, Miss Kitty Gandy. She was
a few years his senior and he did not know her very well at
that time, but she could climb, and I could not, and though
I never said a word I was jealous beyond description and per-
fectly delighted when we started off again and drove out of
the mountains. Perhaps I should add that Miss Gandy has since
become one of my very good friends!
We stopped at Augsburg and Ulm, two quaint German
cities, where we managed to find more interesting prints.
Then we drove through the Alps to St. Moritz where Auntie
Tissie (Mrs. Stanley Mortimer) and her family were staying.
The fact that we drove meant that our luggage had to be
light, and I had one very simple evening dress with me, which
by this time was not in its first freshness. We arrived at the
Palace Hotel to find a suite reserved for us, and the price ap-
-3 g
<^l
H 2 O
gO 4J*
5 -c
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I i<i
1||
ill
*
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THEODORE AND ELLIOTT ROOSEVELT ON THE NORTH DAKOTA RANCH, ABOUT 1882
.4*9*
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT SIXTEEN MONTHS
WITH HIS FATHER, JUNE, 1883
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT THREE,
FEBRUARY, 1885
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT six,
FEBRUARY, 1888
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT AT HYDE PARK,
APRIL, 1889
JAMES AND SARA ROOSEVELT WITH THEIR SON FRANKLIN, ABOUT 1897
MLLE. SOUVESTRE
" Mile. Souvestre had a very soft spot for Americans and liked them as pupils "
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AT FIFTEEN, WITH HER BROTHER HALL
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AT FIFTEEN
* I was enormously proud of my firs* long tailor-made suit"
I
1
S
3
H
Our Wedding, March 17,
palled us both. We decided that as it was only for a few days
our pocketbook would stand the strain. We forgot how very
much dressing went on in such hotels as this, and we soon
found that our clothes were only suitable to one particular
dining place, a balcony overlooking the lake, and the food
seemed to be even more expensive here than it was elsewhere.
We were much relieved when we started off again and drove
out of Switzerland by way of Strasbourg and Nancy.
Franklin took pictures of this whole trip, some of them at
the tops of passes where we were surrounded only by white
peaks covered with snow. When we got home and these pic-
tures were developed he never had a moment's hesitation as to
exactly where they were taken. That extraordinarily photo-
graphic mind of his never forgets anything he has once seen.
I believe that today he would recognize any part of the coun-
try which we went over then as easily as he did when the
photographs were developed.
Back in Paris, I collected my clothes, and we had some gay
times, as some of FrankliVs cousins were there also. I remem-
ber one night taking Franklin's Aunt Dora (Mrs. Forbes) to an
extremely "French" play in some place on the Champs
Elys^es. The boys were greatly concerned for fear she would
be shocked. I confess my Anglo-Saxon sense of humor was
somewhat strained, but she had lived many years in Paris and
did not give them the satisfaction of turning a hair!
Mrs. Forbes took us to see many places, and her apartment,
which is always the center for the entire family when they go
to Paris, was the most hospitable home to us.
i ms is my story
It was on this trip also, I think, that I first met Madame
Howland. She had lived many years in France, and because
Franklin's father had acted chivalrously toward her she had
a soft spot in her heart for the family- As long as she lived
every little 'while some interesting objet fart such as a pair
of Marie Antoinette's earrings would find its way from her
collection to my mother-in-law's vitrine.
We reveled in the theater but nothing that we saw on this
trip came up to the memories that I had of first seeing Sarah
Bernhardt play in "La Dame aux Camelias," or Mounet-Sully
act "CEdipe Roi" in the Theatre Fran<jais. He was going blind
at the time, yet his performance was so magnificent that at the
end the people stood on their chairs and cheered, and I, a little
school girl up in the balcony who had never seen American
audiences behave in this manner, was thrilled by the audience,
almost forgetting that I was an Anglo-Saxon and therefore
should show no feeling.
We went back to England, and had "Allenswood" been
open I should certainly have gone back to the old school on
these occasions, but Mile. Souvestre died in March, 1905, and
the school was closed for the vacation period. Her death had
been a great sorrow to me, coming as it did before I had an
opportunity to visit Europe again, but life was so full I had
little time for repining. This trip brought home the loss, and
made me long for her more than once.
We visited Marjorie Bennett and her mother, and saw a
number of my mother-in-law's old friends, and paid what
was to me a terrifying visit to Mr. and Mrs. Foljambe, who
Our Wedding, March 17,
had a beautiful place called "Osberion in Workshop/* It Is in
a part of England known as "the Dukeries," because of its
many fine estates belonging to great titled family
The most marvelous oak tree I have ever seen stood near
this place, and we visited a castle which had a little railroad
track running from the kitchen to the butler's pantry through
endless corridors. We were shown the special rooms in which
the plate was kept, and it seemed to me more like the vault
of a silversmith than a safe in a private house. The library had
real charm. You entered it through a doorway from which a
divided staircase led down several steps into a long room.
A fireplace at the end held some blazing logs. On either side
stacks came out into the room, and between them were ar-
ranged tables and chairs and maps, everything to make read-
ing or study easy and delightfuL
In this library some scholar immersed himself for months,
going through old manuscripts that dated back hundreds and
hundreds of years, and finding new facts with which to en-
rich the history of England.
Mr. Foljambe had a wonderful herd of cattle, very good
shooting, and beautiful gardens with the most exquisite fruit
grown on sunny walls. Fruit in England was very beautiful,
very delicious and very expensive, and was not a food such
as we considered it for the most part in our country, but a
luxury grown by experts in particular spots especially pre-
pared. They grew only small quantities of fruit, but they grew
it to perfection.
In this tremendous household there was only one bathroom.
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We had two very comfortable rooms with open fireplaces,
and our tin tubs were placed before the fires in the morning,
our cans of hot water beside them. The food was excellent,
but typically English. Dinner was formal, and to my horror
there were no introductions. We were guests in the house,
and that was considered sufficient.
I suffered tortures, and when after dinner I had to play
bridge, which I played badly, my horror was increased by the
fact that we were to play for money. My principles would
not allow me to do this, so I was carried by my partner, but
this scarcely eased my conscience. I felt like an animal in a
trap, which could not get out and which did not know how-
to act!
Soon after we left the United States, Isabella Selmes' mother
had cabled us that suddenly Isabella was going to marry Bob
Ferguson. He was eighteen years her senior and it seemed in
some ways an incongruous marriage, but there was no ques-
tion that he had loved her for a long time and that she was
deeply in love with him. They had come over on their honey-
moon to visit his family in Scotland. We were invited to his
mother's house, in order that we might have a chance to see
them. They were staying at a little watering place not far from
Novar, the old family home in the north of Scotland. Up
there the head of the house is known to the people as "The
Novar," and for many years the present Lord Novar would
take no tide because he considered that "The Novar" was
higher than anything that the crown could give him!
The family house was rented to some friends, the Almeric
Our Wedding, March 17, 1905
Pagets. Mrs. Paget was the daughter of William C. Whitney,
our Secretary of the Navy under President Cleveland. They
asked us to visit the house and see some of its art treasures.
The dower house, where old Mrs. Ferguson lived, was a
revelation to me with its glorious view, and the lovely gardens
covering the side of the bill. I knew the Ferguson family well,
and, as I have said, they had been friends of our family for a
long time.
Hector, the second son, had been in the United States. I was
very fond of him and of his sister, Edith Ferguson, who was
a great friend of Auntie Bye's.
It rained constantly, but in spite of that Edie Ferguson and
I drove in an open, two-wheeled cart with one of the sturdy
Shetland ponies to see Bob and Isabella. We sat in pools of
water and our feet were simply soaked, but she "was not dis-
turbed, so I tried to be equally oblivious of the discomfort.
Franklin tramped the moors with Hector, and one night,
after a long day of exercise and many visits to crofters* cot-
tages, I was awakened by wild shrieks in the neighboring bed.
Mrs. Ferguson was very delicate, and I woke with a "hush!"
on my lips, for I did not want to have her disturbed. I had
discovered that my husband suffered from nightmares. On the
steamer coming over he frad started to walk out of the cabin
in his sleep. He was very docile, however, when asleep, and
at my suggestion returned quietly to bed.
This time he pointed straight to the ceiling and remarked
most irritably to me, "Don't you see the revolving beams"
I assured him that no such, thing was there, and had great
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This Is My Story
difficulty in persuading him not to get out of bed and awaken
the household.
When our early morning tea with thin slices of bread and
butter was brought in, as it is in every English household by
whoever wakes you, I inquired if he remembered his dream.
He said he did, and that he remembered being very much an-
noyed with me because I insisted on remaining in the path of
the beam which at any moment threatened to fall off in its
gyrations.
I was asked to open a bazaar while I was there. Any young
English girl would have been able to do it easily, but I was
quite certain that I could never utter a word aloud in a public
place. Finally, Franklin was induced to make a speech to the
tenantry, and to this day we tease him because he told the
Scotch crofters that vegetables should be cooked in milk
an extravagant idea hardly within their means!
From there we went down to stay with the older brother,
who was the head of the house, Sir Ronald Ferguson, and his
wife, Lady Helen, at thek other house, "Raith," on the Firth
of Forth, just across from Edinburgh. This was a beautiful
place, with wonderful woods and rhododendrons. My hus-
band was tremendously interested because of the scientific
forestry work which made these woods financially valuable
and brought in revenues year by year.
I was fascinated by the prints which hung everywhere, even
on the walls along the little back stairs which led to our rooms.
My final thrill came when we went to dinner and I found the
walls hung with Raeburn portraits of all the Ferguson ances-
Our Wedding, March 17, 1905
tors. The first one I saw, "The Boy With the Open Shirt/*
I had known in reproductions since childhood, but had never
expected to see the original hanging in a friend's home.
This was my first sight also of a Scotchman in his dress kilts
at dinner. Hector had worn them out on the moor, but I had
really not had a chance to take them in, in all their glory, until
this occasion. All I could think of was my husband's favorite
story. He had been made to wear them as a little boy because
his family had a right to "wear the Murray plaid, and his
mother had therefore bought them for him, and he had suf-
fered at the age of five or six because he was different from the
other little boys. These Scotchmen did not suffer, however
they loved their kilts!
One afternoon at tea I was alone with Lady Helen, when
she suddenly asked me a devastating question: "Do tell me,
my dear, how do you explain the difference between your
national and state governments? It seems to us so confusing."
I had never realized that there were any differences to ex-
plain. In fact, I had never given a thought to the question.
I knew that we had state governments, because Uncle Ted
had been Governor of New York State, My heart sank, and
I wished that the ground would open up and swallow me.
Luckily, Sir Ronald and my husband appeared at that mo-
ment for tea, and I could ask Franklin to answer her question.
He was adequate, and I registered a vow that once safely back
in the United States I would find out something about my
own government.
We had to be home for the opening of the Columbia Law
This Is My Story
School, so our holiday, or second honeymoon, had come to
an end. My mother-in-law had taken a house for us within
three blocks of her own home. It was at 125 East 3 6th Street.
She had furnished it and engaged our servants, and everything
was almost in order for us. We were to spend the first few-
days with her on landing until we could put the finishing
touches on our house.
I was beginning to be an entirely dependent person no
tickets to buy, no plans to make, someone always to decide
everything for me. A very pleasant contrast to my former life,
and I slipped into it with the greatest of ease.
The edge of my shyness was gradually wearing off through
enforced contact with many people. I still suffered but not so
acutely, and I was beginning to be conscious of the fact that
it was rare that you could not establish some kind of a rela-
tionship with your neighbor at dinner or at any social gather-
ing-
Either Maude or Pussie once told me that if I were stuck
for conversation I should take the alphabet and start right
through it. "A Apple. Do you like apples, Mr. Smith? B
Bears. Are you afraid of bears, Mr. Jones? C Cats. Do you
have the usual feeling, Mrs. Jellyfish, about cats? Do they give
you the creeps even when you do not see them?" And so
forth all the way down the line, but some time had passed
since anything as desperate as this had had to be done for con-
versational purposes. As young women go, I suppose I was
fitting pretty well into the pattern of a fairly conventional,
quiet, young society matron.
CHAPTER SIX
A WOMAN
THE trip home was not so pleasant, and I landed in New York
feeling very miserable. I soon found that there -was a very
good reason, and I will have to acknowledge that it was quite
a relief for, little idiot that I was, I had been seriously
troubled for fear that I -would never have any children and
my husband would therefore be much disappointed. I won-
der whether any girls today ever go through such foolish
fears, but I think I always expected the worst and was rather
pleasantly surprised when it did not happen!
I had always been ^ particularly healthy person, and I think
it was a good thing for me to be perfectly miserable for three
months before every one of my six babies arrived, as it made
me a little more understanding and sympathetic of the general
illnesses human beings are subject to. Otherwise, I am afraid
I would have been more insufferable than I am and I am
bad enough as it is for I always think that we can do some-
thing to conquer our physical ailments.
This Is My Story
Little by little I learned to make even these months bear-
able. In any case, I never let anything physical prevent m.}
doing whatever had to be done. This is pretty hard discipline
and I do not think I really recommend it either as training foi
those around one or as a means of building character in one-
self. What it really does, I think, is to kill a certain amount o
the power of enjoyment. It makes one a stoic, but too mucl
of a thing is as bad as too little, and I think it tends to make
you draw away from other people and into yourself.
For the first year of my married life, I was completely taker
care of. My mother-in-law did everything for me. I saw ;
great deal of Isabella Ferguson and a few of my other friends
and, like many other young women waiting for a first baby
I was sometimes nervous. A girlhood friend of mine who hac
gone to the Rosa classes with me made a remark one da}
which I found helpful. She said: "When I am a little afraid o
the future, I look around and see all the people there are in th<
world and think that after all they had to be born, and sc
nothing so very extraordinary is happening to me!"
I drove with my mother-in-law in the afternoons. I walkec
in the mornings religiously, and we practically always tool
one meal a day together.
My brother, Hall, had now come to live with us, and thougl
this only meant that he was with us in his holidays, still I fel
the full responsibility for him from now on, and whatever h<
did or did not do was entirely up to Franklin and to me, so th<
bringing up of boys, which began in fact before I was married
A Woman
has continued fairly consistently and certainly given me a rich
experience!
My Cousin Susie (Mrs. Parish) and my mother-in-law
were the two fountain-heads of wisdom from whom I drew
all my housekeeping advice, but my husband was the person
who educated me in the question of accounts. He set up books
for household expenses which I kept in an itemized way for
a good many years, and when my daughter married I dug
them out and turned them over to her as an example of what
her father had expected of me. They were of little value, how-
ever, as a comparison for actual costs, for we had three serv-
ants, as the wages paid in our youth equaled what she paid
for one maid and a quarter!
For a little while we had as waitress my father and mother's
waitress, Rebecca, but she came in only to help me out in an
emergency, because she was getting too old to be in a young
household where trays had to be carried up and down stairs.
Some emergencies of this period I remember very vividly.
We had invited some friends for dinner, and the cook de-
parted the day before. It seemed impossible to get another
one. I was simply petrified, because I knew nothing about
preparing a meal, and I spent the day going from intelligence
office to intelligence office until finally I corralled someone
to cook the dinner, and -worried all the way through for fear
the results would be disgraceful.
One would think that this might have suggested to me the
wisdom of learning to cook, and though I remember I did
take myself all the way up to Columbia University for some
This Is My Story
cooking lessons one winter, I got little good out of it, for the
school used gas ranges, and I learned to make special, fancy
little dishes only. What I needed to know was how to manage
an old-fashioned coal range and how to cook a whole meal.
Apparently not being able to find a way of doing this, I de-
voted myself to the study of how to manage the people in my
house and not find myself in a position again where my lack
of skill would give me so many anxious hours.
In the next few years I really did become a very good di-
rector, but I know now that I was not quite good enough, for
I lacked a certain amount of practical knowledge which I did
not master' until many years later.
That winter my cousin, Alice Roosevelt, was married to
Nicholas Longworth. Franklin had to go alone to the wedding.
MOTHERHOOD
On May 3, 1906, my first child, a girl whom we named
Anna Eleanor after my mother and myself, was born. The
trained nurse who was with me was a very lovely person,
Blanche Spring, and for many years she played an important
part in my life, and I was always deeply attached to her. She
was not very well this first spring when she came to me, but
she took care of me and of the baby single-handed. She
adored babies, and she tried to teach me something about
their care.
I had never had any interest in dolls or in little children, and
I knew absolutely nothing about handling or feeding a baby.
I acquired a young and inexperienced baby's nurse from the
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A Woman
Babies' Hospital. She knew a considerable amount about
babies' diseases, but her inexperience made this knowledge
almost a menace, for she was constantly looking for obscure
illnesses and never expected that a well fed and -well cared
for baby would move along in a normal manner.
During the next few years we observed in summer much
the same routine, except for one year which I shall describe
later. We visited my mother-in-law at Hyde Park for a time,
and then went up to stay with her at Campobello. My mother-
in-law was abroad for a part of that summer of 1906, and we
had her house at Campobello. My brother spent a good part
of his holiday with us. Ordinarily my husband sailed up or
down the coast in the little schooner, Half Moon, taking
some friends with him., and took perhaps one or two short
cruises during the summer across to Nova Scotia or to various
places along the coast. He was a very good sailor and pilot,
and nearly always calculated his time so well that rarely do I
remember his causing us any anxiety by being delayed. As a
rule he sailed into the harbor ahead of his schedule.
If they were going on a cruise from Campobello, I had to
stock the boat up with food for the first few days, and after
their return they always told me what delicious things they
had had to eat on the boat. Apparently their idea of perfection
was a combination of sausages, syrup and pancakes for every
meal, varied occasionally by lobsters or scrambled eggs. My
husband was the cook as -well as the captain, and was very
proud of his prowess.
There were a number of young people on the island that
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summer, particularly a family of pretty young girls, of the
Sturgis family of Boston, living immediately across from our
cottage. With these girls Hall had a pretty good time, and
I was given a perspective on the way he regarded us when 'he
sat down beside my desk one day and asked naively, "When
you were young did you ever hold hands?"
Toward the end of the summer the baby seemed not to do
so well, and when we got back to Hyde Park we had a great
fright about her, because one night she had a convulsion. We
took her down to Dr. Holt, who was the great baby doctor
of that period. I think he must have had much experience with
anxious mothers who knew nothing. While he was kind to
them, he still felt a great contempt for the ignorance and
foolhardiness of any young woman who would have a baby
without knowing even the rudiments of how to care for it.
By this time I had come to the conclusion that I needed
a more experienced nurse, and acquired a friendly old Irish
woman who had brought up babies for many years. I dis-
covered a little later that she was too old for the job, but for
a little while it was a great relief to have her.
One evening that winter, however, stands out in my mind.
The baby was beginning to straighten out under Dr. Holt's
care, and seemed completely healthy and normal. We were
having some people in to dinner, the nurse was out, and about
six-thirty, after having her bottle and being put to bed, instead
of placidly going to sleep Anna began to howl, and she howled
without stopping while I dressed for dinner. Our guests began
to arrive. We had a telephone, and I called the doctor. He
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A Woman
asked me if I "thought she might have a little wind, and was
I sure I had gotten up all the bubbles after her last bottle?"
I did not dare tell him I had completely forgotten to put her
over my shoulder, and had no idea whether the bubbles had
come up or not. He suggested that I turn her on her tummy
and rub her back, so, with my guests arriving downstairs,
I told Franklin he would have to start dinner without me.
I picked up my howling baby, put her over my knee on her
tummy, and in a few minutes she smiled and gurgled. After
I had rubbed her back for some time she got rid of her troubles
and, when put back to bed, went to sleep like a lamb. I went
down to dinner, but was so wrought up by this time that I
felt I had to go and look at her several times during the eve-
ning, and finally succeeded in waking her up before the nurse
came home. I was obliged to leave my guests again before
they departed. After this experience I registered a vow that
never again would I have a dinner on the nurse's day out.
If I had it all to do over again, I know now that what we
should have done was to have no servants those first few
years; I should have acquired knowledge and self-confidence
so that other people could not fool me either as to the house-
work or as to the children. However, my bringing-up had
been such that this never occurred to me, and neither did it
occur to any of the older people who were closest to me. Had
I done this, my subsequent troubles would have been avoided
and my children would have had far happier childhoods. As
it was, for years I was afraid of my nurses, who from this
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time on were usually trained English nurses who ordered me
around quite as much as they ordered the children.
As a rule, they kept the children in pretty good health (and
I think were really fond of them), but I had a silly theory that
you should trust the people with your children and back up
their discipline. As a result my children were frequently un-
justly punished, all because in certain ways I was completely
unprepared to be a practical housekeeper, wife or mother.
SERIOUS ILLNESS
In the winter of 1907 I had a rather severe operation, and
was successful in getting Miss Spring to come back to me.
Dr. Albert H. Ely, who was our family doctor, performed
this operation in our own house, and I was found to be con-
siderably weaker than any one had dreamed. As a result they
thought I was not coming out of the ether, and I returned to
consciousness to hear a doctor say: "Is she gone* Can you
feel her pulse?"
Apparently nature made me feel that I needed a great deal
of fresh air, and I must have been a trying patient indeed, for
I demanded that in midwinter both my windows be kept
open all the time. Miss Spring -wore a fur coat over her uni-
form and my husband and mother-in-law, when they came
in to see me, had to dress as though they were going out of
doors.
The pain was considerable, but as my own impulse was
never to say how I felt I do not thrnk I ever mentioned this
until some time later on. I simply refused to speak to those
A Woman
who approached me, and I imagine that they probably
thought that I was far more ill than I really was, and worried
about me unnecessarily. My disposition was at fault rather
than my physical condition!
During the time my husband was at law school, he had
long summer holidays which made it possible for us to be at
Campobello. I rather imagine that it was this summer of 1907
that he took some of his friends and Hall on a cruise to Nova
Scotia* Just before returning they landed on an island and sent
my brother, as the youngest member of the crew, up a tall
tree to capture a cormorant's nest. A cormorant is known as
a scavenger bird, and his nest is not a very agreeable thing.
They brought it home and they also brought my brother, but
he had to take off all his clothes and leave them on the beach
and scrub himself before he could enter the house!
I think it was this summer, also, that Mr. and Mrs. Henry
Parish came to stay with us. I went with my husband to meet
them on their arrival on the evening train. A thick fog made
crossing the bay blind sailing, but my husband prided himself
that with the engine he could do it and strike the exact spot
he was headed for. We reached Eastport, Maine, without any
mishap, and got our cousins aboard.
On the return trip the compass light -went out. Someone
brought my husband a lantern and hung it on the main boom
so he could see his course. He rang his bell for slow speed at
the proper moment, but no buoy appeared for us to pick up,
no land was in sight. After proceeding cautiously for some
little time, the m^n out on the bowsprit called out, "Hard
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aport" and there, above us, loomed the Lubec docks, with
just enough room to sheer off. Much annoyed and completely
mystified, my husband reset his course for Campobello, realiz-
ing we had come through a narrow passageway and just by
luck had not found ourselves in the tide running through the
"Narrows." About three minutes later, "Hard over" came
from the bowsprit, and we just missed a tiny island with one
tree on it, which was entirely off our course.
Suddenly it dawned on my husband that the lantern swing-
ing from the boom was an iron lantern, and had been attract-
ing the compass! From there on we used matches, and found
our way through the narrow pass and back to our buoy
without any further difficulties. Mr. and Mrs. Parish had a
very uncomfortable time, and I think were rather relieved
that five days of solid fog made further sailing impossible for
the rest of their stay. They could hardly be expected to think
that the climate was agreeable, and never again -were we able
to induce Mrs. Parish to attempt a trip to Campobello. Mr,
Parish came one other time and had some good Weather and
some good sailing.
I was having difficulty that same summer with my brother,
for, like many boys of that age, baths were not a thing he
enjoyed. My husband had sternly reproved me because he said
I nagged Hall and expected too much of him, so in my most
exasperating Griseldaish mood I refused to take any further
responsibility or to reprove him about anything. A few well
chosen remarks from Cousin Susie did the trick, and daily
A Woman
baths "were in order from then on until the time came when
he really enjoyed them as much as the rest of us did.
I think one of any most maddening habits, which must in-
furiate all those who know me, is this habit, when my feelings
are hurt or when I am annoyed, of simply shutting up like
a clam, not telling anyone what is the matter and being much
too obviously humble and meek, feeling like a martyr and
acting like one. Years later a very good but much older friend
of mine pointed this out to me and said that my Griselda
moods were the most maddening things in the world, I think
they have improved since I have been able to live a little more
lightly and have a certain amount of sense of humor about
myself and the circumstances in which I find myself. They
were just a case of being sorry for myself and letting myself
enjoy my misery.
But these first years I was so serious and a certain kind of
orthodox goodness was my ideal and ambition, and I fully
expected that my young husband would have these same
ideas, ideals and ambitions. So much sweetness and light
could hardly have been expected of an older and more dis-
ciplined person, but what a tragedy it was if in any way my
husband offended against these ideals of mine and, amusingly
enough, I do not think I ever told him what I expected!
I do remember once, -when the children were still very
young, asking him solemnly how much religion he felt we
should teach them, or whether it was our duty to leave them
free minds until they decided for themselves as they grew
older. He looked at me with his amused and quizzical smile,
This Is My Story
and said that lie thought they had better go to church and
learn what he had learned. It could do them no harm. Heat-
edly, I replied: "But are you sure that you believe in every-
thing you learned?" He answered: "I really never thought
about it. I think it is just as well not to think about things like
that too much." That effectively shut me up, but in the years
to come, whenever he played golf on Sundays and I took the
children to church, I used to feel a kind of virtuous grievance
which was utterly ludicrous but which persisted until my
sense of humor came to the rescue.
On December 23, 1907, our first boy, James, was born,
and he will never know with what relief and joy I welcomed
him into the world, for again I had been worried for fear
I would never have a son, knowing that both my mother-in-
law and my husband "wanted a boy to name after my hus-
band's father. Many a time since I have wished that two girls
had started our family, so that Anna might have had a sister,
and in the end I reached a point where boys were almost com-
monplace, but my heart sang when James was safely in the
world.
Our house was very small, my brother Hall had to move
over to my mother-in-law's for the rest of his holiday, and
I do not imagine he enjoyed very much being routed out oi
bed in the middle of the night to wake up my mother-in-law
and tell her that a new grandchild was about to arrive. It was
a new experience for him, and perhaps it was a necessary part
of his education.
This winter of 1908 1 still think of as one of the times in my
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A Woman
life which I would rather not live over again. We simply
could not find any food which would agree with, the new
baby. Miss Spring was pressed into service, we turned one of
our living rooms into a bedroom, for we meant to put the
two babies together, but when the younger one cried every
night all night, that was not quite practicable,
I had a curious arrangement out of one of my back win-
dows for airing the children, a kind of box with wire on the
sides and top. Anna was put out there for her morning nap.
On several occasions she wept loudly, and finally one of nay
neighbors called up and said I was treating my children in-
humanly and that she would report me to the S.P.C.C. if I
did not take her in at once! This was rather a shock to me, for
I thought I was being a most modern mother. I knew you
should not pick up a baby when it cried, that fresh air was
very necessary, but I learned later that the sun is more im-
portant than the air, and I had her on the shady side of the
house!
I also learned later that healthy babies do not cry long, and
that it is wise to look for the reason when a baby does any
amount of prolonged crying.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW AND A NEW HOME
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW thought that our house was too small,
and that year she bought a plot and built in East 6sth Street
two houses, Nos. 47 and 49. She and my husband entrusted
the plans to Mr. Charles A. Platt, an architect of great taste
who certainly did a very remarkable piece of work. The
houses were narrow, but he made the most of every inch of
space and built them so that the dining rooms and drawing
rooms could be thrown together and make practically one
big room as the doors between them were very wide doors.
My early dislike of any kind of scolding had developed now
into a dislike for any kind of discussion and so, instead of tak-
ing an interest in these houses, one of which I was to live in,
I left everything to my mother-in-law and my husband. I was
growing very dependent on my motlier-in-law, requiring
her help on almost every subject, and never thought of asking
for anything which I felt would not meet with her approval.
My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
She is a very strong character, but because of her marriage
to an older man she disciplined herself into gladly living his
life and enjoying his belongings, and as a result I think she
felt that young people should cater to older people. She gave
great devotion to her own family and longed for their love
and affection in return. She was somewhat jealous, because of
her love, of anything which she felt might mean a really deep
attachment outside of the family circle. She had warm friends
of her own, but she did not believe that friendship could be on
the same par with family relations.
Her husband had told her never to live with her children,
that it was one thing to have children dependent upon you,
but intolerable to be materially dependent on them. This she
repeated to me very often, but I doubt if she realized that
with certain natures it is advisable to force independence and
responsibility upon them young.
In June of 1908 my husband went on a short trip with his
uncle, Warren Delano, to Kentucky, to look at some coal
mining property in which the family was interested. This
trip is best described in his own words:
Pennington Gap, Va.,
Friday Evening,
June I2th, '08
The letter head will explain to you where we are just as well as
I could without the aid of a map. Suffice it to say that we are spending
the night here, having arrived at 9:30 p. m. We are in the point of
Virginia which, runs down to where Kentucky and Tennessee
join. Tomorrow we leave at 7 a. m., take the train down the valley
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about 20 miles to a place called Hagan, get our horses there and
ride over the mountains over Boone's trail to Harlan in Kentucky,
our headquarters. Next Thursday night we come out to the R.R,
at Pinesville, far to the S.W. of this, take train on Friday to Rnox-
ville, Tenn., and get to "Washington some time on Sunday. . . .
The trip today has been so -wonderful to me that I can't begin to
tell you about it now. We woke up near Hagerstown, Maryland,
and ever since have been coining through Virginia; the Valley of
Virginia is rather a succession of wonderful valleys and hills. In
some places we were over 2,000 feet up, and the train ran thro
gorges that for sheer beauty beat anything that we saw in the
Black Forest* [We had been to the Black Forest on our honey-
moon.]
Permit) gton Gap, Va.,
Monday Morning,
June 15
This letter head is erroneous as to our location, as we have come
many miles into the mountains, staying at Mr. Henry Smith's
house about three miles from Harlan.
We got up on Saturday morning at Pennington at 6 a. m. took
the train about 18 miles down the valley to Hagan and found the
horses waiting at the station. We had been joined by a Mr.
Whiteley of Baltimore, the manager of some iron mines just
South of Hagan and we rode down the railway as far as the mines
and came to the path running into Kentucky over the Cumber-
land Mountains which Daniel Boone came over on his first West-
ward journey. If you can imagine a succession of ridges, each fif-
teen hundred or so feet above the valleys, running up at a very
precipitous angle and covered with marvelous trees and an under-
growth of rhododendrons and holly you can get a general idea of
the country the path was just about the steepest kind that I
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My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
would care to take a horse up, following generally a water course
filled with boulders and ledges of rock. We formed a cavalcade
of five, Mr. Whitdey, Mr. Wolf, the superintendent of the
Boone's Path Iron Co., Uncle Warren, Mr. Lewell, W. D's local
attorney, and me. My horse is small, but wiry and sure footed,
Uncle Warren rode a mule, as the horse intended for him had a
sore back.
We got to the top of the Cumberland Mountain about 10
o'clock and had one of the most magnificent views I have ever
seen, looking to the South over the angle of Virginia almost to the
mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee, and to the North-
ward over the Harlan County, Kentucky, section that Uncle War-
ren and Davis are interested in. We continued along the ridge for
a mile or so, got lost, came over the top and started down into the
valley over what they thought was a trail. I thought otherwise
for half an hour we slipped, slid and fell down the slope, the horses
slipping, sliding and almost falling on top of us, and ended up in
a heap in the stream at the bottom. Uncle Warren said it was
about the roughest ride he has ever had here* We rode N.E. along
the creek about five or six miles, when Mr. Whiteley and Wolf
left us to recross the ridge to their mine. We had some chocolate
and spring water for lunch, at 2 o'clock, and then started up over
Black Mountain on a so-called wagon road positively the worst
road I have ever seen or imagined and one which was not really
easy to traverse on horseback. We dropped down into the valley
along Catron's Creek, and came to this house at about 6:30, hav-
ing done 22 or 23 miles in all, most of it on the roughest trail and
worst road in a county famous throughout the land for bad trails
and worse roads.
This house belongs to Mr. Henry Smith, about the most pros-
perous farmer of the county and his bottomlands along the valley
This Is My Story
are splendid. I must close this long epistle hurriedly as the mail is
going. Will add this p.m.
Harlan,
Monday p.m.
I had to close abruptly my last missive as the mail decided tc
start out to the railroad a little ahead of time. I will take this uf
where I left off.
On Sunday we breakfasted very late at Mr. Smith's, 7 o'clock
and sat around for an hour, discussing legal and political affairs
and soon after rode in to Harlan, about 3^2 miles, which means
about 7 miles anywhere else, because of the horrible conditions oi
the roads here.
On arrival at Harlan we were met by Mr. Duffield, the managei
of Kentenia, and by most of the famous men of the town sal
around "chewing the rag/* lunched at the Imperial Hotel, whicP
is conducted by the County Judge, Judge Lewis. He and his wife
do all the work and he waits on table. He is 29 only and they have
been married 15 years and have two children.
We climbed to the top of the small hill close to the town and
rode back to Smith's after a severe thunderstorm. Last night I sat
up till eleven discussing law with Mr. Lowell, and was up at t,
this morning.
We rode into Harlan again in time for lunch and are now en-
sconced here, saddle bags and all, at Judge Lewis 5 Hotel. This after-
noon we are just back from a ride of five or six miles up Martini
Fork, the most beautiful country we have seen yet. The sides oJ
the valley going up 2,000 feet, heavily wooded with great poplars,
chestnuts and a dozen or two other deciduous trees and every mile
or so a fertile bottom with fine crops and a stream of splendic
water.
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My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
I will add to this in the morning.
Tuesday. Can't add, just off for an all-day ride up Clover Fork*
JAMES' IIXNESS SEABRIGHT
In the Spring of 1908 all of our difficulties with little James
culminated in his finally having pneumonia. After weeks of
anxiety and very careful nursing he was pulled through, but
for months afterwards he was way behind the average child
of his age in every way. I felt that we should be near the doctor
that siimmer, also my husband was going to work, and it was
obvious he could not commute every day to Hyde Park, so
duty seemed to point to our taking a house within easy reach
of New York.
We finally took a house at Seabright, New Jersey, on the
boardwalk, with neighbors on either side so close that I could
hear them ordering their food for the day every morning.
I moved down with the two children, and I think it was
very healthful for them. The house was on stilts, and at first
I could not quite understand why. I was much annoyed when
little Anna pushed her baby brother in his carriage off the
edge of the piazza, which had no railing. The baby and the
carriage landed in the soft sand, and I was frightened and
annoyed with myself for not foreseeing what quite obviously
was sure to happen. We spent a great many hours on the
beach in the sun, and the children throve.
My husband had bought a litde Ford car, and my brother
came down to stay with us, bringing Julia Newbold, who was
our next-door neighbor at Hyde Park and reveled in driving.
This Is My Story
I was trying my skill with this strange new machine when, on
turning into the driveway, I ran into the gatepost. It took
some time before the car was repaired and ready again for
my husband and the others to use. I suppose the average per-
son would have taken this calmly and tried again, but I felt
so terrible at having injured something which was not my
own property and at having spoiled everybody else's pleasure
that I never again touched a car for many years.
The houses were on the ocean, a drive-way was behind
them, then a railroad crossing, and then the river dividing
them from the mainland* The boardwalk ran in front of them
as far as the eye could reach.
I played no games, I could not swim, I was feeling miser-
able again, all day long I spent with the children or walking
up and down that boardwalk.
We had one exciting week when a tremendous three-day
storm drove the ocean over the boardwalk and into our
. kitchen so that everybody "walked on duck boards. Hence the
stilts, though they were not high enough! I was away when
this first occurred, doing some things about our new house
in New York, but I was notified that my cook was leaving
at once, and in mid-summer had to find another one, not so
easy a job in those days. However, I found one, and took her
down for the rest of the summer. We bailed out the kitchen
and returned to normal living, but both my husband and I
were accustomed to the country with plenty of space around
us, with not many human beings nearby, and trees and lawns
to look at, and we decided that never again were we going
My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
to spend a summer in that particular type of place, so we left
it with few regrets.
I can see now that it was as much my own fault as the fault
of the place that I did not enjoy it, but nevertheless I have
never wanted to repeat that experience.
The end of August my husband and my brother went on a
hunting trip to Newfoundland, and I am reprinting here parts
of a few of their letters which I received while they were away
and which I think are interesting.
Truro, Nova Scotia,
Aug* 29th
Saturday
So far everything is proceeding with entire success. We had a
comfortable trip on the night before last, caught the 8 a.m. out of
Boston and played picquet most of yesterday. We just made con-
nections at S. John, N.B. at n last night and found a section
awaiting us in the sleeper. We left the latter at 7 this morning and
are waiting here until 9:20 to take the local train to North Sydney,
where we should arrive tonight at about 7.
Luckily the weather is cool, though the dust is bad as there has
been no rain for some time. This part of the country is not very
thrilling to travel through as you can imagine.
Here comes the train. Will drop you a line tomorrow from
Deer Lake before we go into the woods.
North Sydney, Cape Breton,
Sunday, August 3Oth, 1908
On board S.S. "Bruce" en
route to N.F.
I wrote you a line at Truro, N.S. this morning and since then
we have had an interesting and comfortable journey to North
Sydney and Cape Breton Island.
[159]
This Is My Story
To our surprise we had a parlor car all the way. The scenery
was not particularly interesting in Nova Scotia. Too much like
that between Washington Junction and Eastport, but at about
three o'clock we suddenly came out on one of the strange natural
waterways that one reads of in the geographies, the Gut of Canso
a "strait" thirty or forty miles long and from half a mile to a
mile wide and very much reminding me of the Hudson. The
whole train was slowly backed on a ferry boat and we sailed gaily
across to the other side Cape Breton Island. I made friends with
the Captain and went up on the bridge an affair suspended far
up between a smoke-stack on either side and I got some good
snapshots of the queer craft and the entrainment.
Almost the whole trip across C.B. Island -was skirting the shores
of one or the other of the wonderful Bras d'Or Lakes which are
salt and yet completely landlocked except for the narrow openings
into the sea. Do you remember last summer at Campo when I
spoke about wanting so much to see them?
The train took us straight to the wharf and we have a comfy
cabin on board. We have been out to get a light supper in the
town and now are waiting for the Montreal train to arrive before
steaming out into the Gulf of St, Lawrence. As there is no boat
back from Port aux Basques till Monday* I will finish this to-
morrow night when we arrive at Mr. Geo. Nichols* place at Deer
Lake. We can get our licenses all right tomorrow morning, I hear.
Nicholsville,
Deer Lake, N.F.
Sunday Night
We had a comfortable and smooth night on the boat and got
to Port aux Basques at 7 a.m. The coast and harbor were just like
the first glimpse -we had of Norway 7 years ago. We found the
license official awaiting us at the Custom House and the train left
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My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
at 8. For two hours or so we skirted the wild coast and for the
rest of the day have been coming up the Bay of Islands, the lower
Humber River and Deer Lake, getting to Deer Lake Station at 5
after a pretty rough day, but the wild scenery was well -worth it,
Mr. Nichols met us and rowed us across Deer Lake about ^
mile and another ^ mile up the Humber River to this setdement
which consists of four houses! Everything is ready for us and this
house where we sleep tonight is Mr. N's mother's. She's a nice old
lady and very anxious about our poor appetites!
We are off tomorrow about 7 in boats and go up the Humber
just as Uncle Warren did and not to Grand Lake as we had first
planned,
The following letter is from my brother Hall:
I sent you a postcard en route but I don't think you ever got it
as I probably put it in the wrong mail box. The purport was to
find some stamped envelopes left on top of my trunk and send the
one addressed to Van (Vanderbilt Webb) with a check in it.
The trip so far has been quite interesting but I am very sleepy
as the sleepers are only put on for about six hours, i.e. you get to
bed at 12 and wake up at 6 with a great deal of punching from the
porter. It is 11:40 and F. wants to go to bed so I -will say a hasty
farewell for two weeks hoping to hear from you at Groton.
Western Union Telegraph Company,
Sept. 12, 1908
Z North Sydney N.S. 12,
To Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt
Scabright
Fine trip one head each taking Plant Line boat Halifax to Boston
tonight wire me Touraine.
Franklin
[161]
This Is My Story
I moved the children for a visit to Hyde Park, and I thin
my mother-in-law and I went to Fairhaven, Massachusett
where Franklin met us with a mustache grown on the trip.
Then we went to New York, he to work and I to get th
new house in running order.
That autumn I did not quite know what was the matte
with me, but I remember that a few weeks after we move
into the new house in East 65th Street I sat in front of m
dressing table and wept, and when my bewildered youn
husband asked me what on earth was the matter with me,
said I did not like to live in a house which was not in any wa
mine, one that I had done nothing about and which did nc
represent the way I wanted to live. Being an eminently reason
able person, he thought I was quite mad and told me so gend}
and said I would feel different in a little "while and left m
alone until I should become calmer*
I pulled myself together and realized that I was acting lik
a little fool, but there was a good deal of truth in what I said
for I was not developing any individual taste or initiative
I was simply absorbing the personalities of those about m
and letting their tastes and interests dominate me.
My husband enjoyed riding, and as a girl I had ridden a]
the time. My saddle and harness had been sent down fron
Tivoli to the stable at Hyde Park, I tried riding Bobby, whicl
had been Franklin's father's horse* Franklin had trained hin
to certain habits. Franklin did not ride with me because rrr
mother-in-law felt we were not enough at Hyde Park t<
justify the keeping of two saddle horses. As a result, after ;
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My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
few efforts to ride Bobby alone, I decided that I preferred not
to ride, never divulging the fact that I was terrified because
Franklin had trained Bobby to start running at a certain place
and not to stop until he reached another place. Willy-nilly,
he did the same thing with me!
I never, even to this day, have been able to break myself of
the fear of being unable to control whatever I may be in or on,
when it goes at too rapid a speed. This holds good of horses
and sleds and automobiles, and is perhaps why I much prefer
driving myself in a motor, because at least I feel I can control
the speed. Whether this is a result of being run away with on
horseback when I was a child or not I do not know, but in any
case riding was entirely given up soon after I married. I still
drove occasionally.
Because my husband played golf I made a valiant effort at
Campobello one year to practice every day, trying to learn
how to play. After days of practice I went out with my hus-
band one day, and after watching me for a few minutes he
remarked he thought I might just as well give it up! My old
sensitiveness about my inability to play games made me give
it up then and there ! I never again attempted anything but
walking with my husband for many years to come*
For ten years I was always just getting over having a baby
or about to have one, and so my occupations were consider-
ably restricted during this period. I did, however, take lessons
rather intermittently, in an effort to keep up my French, my
German and my Italian. I did a great deal of embroidery dur-
ing these years, a great deal of knitting, and an amount of
[*<*]
This Is My Story
reading which seems incredible to me today -when other
things take up so much of my time. I doubt that there was
a novel or a biography or any book which was widely dis-
cussed in the circles in which we moved which I did not read.
This does not mean, of course, that I read in a very wide field,
for we moved still with a very restricted group of people.
On March 18, 1909, another baby was born to us, the
biggest and most beautiful of all the babies the first baby
Franklin. Because of all the trouble I had had with James, I
was very much worried about his food, and kept Miss Spring
with us for several months. The baby seemed to be getting
on well, but I loved having her with us, and insisted on keep-
ing her until after we had been in Campobello for some time.
She did not leave until some time around the early part of
August.
I had an English nurse then for the other two children. My
mother-in-law had had her as a traveling maid in Europe. She
was a well trained baby's nurse. I also had a young German
girl, and together they took charge of the three children.
THE FIRST BABY FRANKLIN'S DEATH
In the autumn we moved back to Hyde Park, and I was
beginning to go up and down between New York and Hyde
Park. All of a sudden they notified me that all the children
had the flu and that baby Franklin was really very ill. No one
knew how serious it might be. I dashed back, taking Miss
Spring and a New York doctor with me. We spent a few
harrowing days there, moved the baby to New York, but
[164]
My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
his heart seemed very much affected and, in spite of all we
could do, he died on November 8th, not quite eight months
old. We took him to Hyde Park to bury him, and to this day,
so many years later, I can stand by his tiny little stone in the
churchyard and see the little group of people gathered around
his tiny coffin, and remember how cruel it seemed to leave
him out there alone in the cold.
I was young and morbid and reproached myself very bit-
terly for having done so little about the care of this baby. I felt
he had been left too much to the nurse and I knew too little
about him, and that in some way I must be to blame. I even
felt that I had not cared enough about him, and I made my-
self and all those around me most unhappy during that winter*
I was even a little bitter against my poor young husband who
occasionally tried to make me see how idiotically I was be-
having.
My next child, Elliott Roosevelt, was born at 49 East 65th
Street on September 23rd, 1910. He suffered for a great many
years with a rather unhappy disposition, and I think in all
probability I was partly to blame, for certainly no one could
have behaved more foolishly than I did practically up to the
time of Elliott's arrival, and I should have known better,
I left CampobeUo early that summer to sit in New York
City to await his arrival. The other children returned to Hyde
Park with my mother-in-law. She was in and out of New
York and so was my husband, who was making his first cam-
paign for State Senator.
This Is My Story
MY HUSBAND'S ENTRY INTO Formes
After my husband graduated from law school and was ad-
mitted to the bar, he worked in the firm of Carter, Ledyard
and Milburn, a much respected and old established firm in
New York City. He was doing well and Mr. Ledyard liked
him, but Franklin had a desire for public service, partly en-
couraged by Uncle Ted's advice to all young men and the
glamour of Uncle Ted*s example. Mr. Ledyard was grieved
and genuinely disturbed by such a departure, but my husband
decided to accept the nomination in his district, which for
thirty-two years had never elected a Democrat. I listened to
all his plans with a great deal of interest. It never occurred to
me that I had any part to play. I felt I must acquiesce in what-
ever he might decide and be willing to go to Albany. My
part was to make the necessary household plans and to do this
as easily as possible if he should be elected. I was having a
baby, and for a time at least that was my only mission in life.
My husband came home one day with a cut elbow and
knee which threatened to become infected. This occurred as
he jumped on to a moving street car and missed the step. We
devoted twenty-four hours to keeping his elbow and knee
well soaked in disinfectant. He went back to the campaign,
a novel campaign, for no one had ever before tried visiting
every small four-corners store and every village and every
town. He took the other candidates with him and they went
by motor with a delightful character named Hawkey whom
we were to know quite well during the next few years* We
[166]
My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
owned no car ourselves at that time, so Franklin hired Hawkey
and his car. There was no top on the car as I remember it, but
they drove all over the district, rain or shine.
They talked to practically every farmer, and when the votes
were counted that election day, it turned out to be a Demo-
cratic year! My husband was elected, the first Democrat to
win since his neighbor, Thomas Jefierson Newbold, had been
elected to the State Senate thirty-two years before.
I went with Franklin to one meeting before the end of the
campaign. It was the first political speech I bad ever heard
him make. He spoke slowly, and every now and then there
would be a long pause, and I would be worried for fear he
would never go on. What a long time ago that seems!
He looked thin then, tall, high-strung and, at times, nerv-
ous. White skin and fair hair, deep-set blue eyes and clear-
cut features. No lines as yet in his face, but at times a set look
of his jaw denoted that this apparently pliable youth had
strength and Dutch obstinacy in his make-up.
Franklin made a good many friends in this campaign; one
of them, Thomas Lynch, of Poughkeepsie, was to be a dose
and warm friend and follower from then on. He believed
firmly that Franklin would some day be President, and
showed it by buying two bottles of champagne before pro-
hibition, putting them away and bringing them out in Chicago
in 1932 just after Franklin's nomination. Everybody at head-
quarters had a sip in a paper cup to toast future success.
John Mack, who had been in Dutchess County politics for
some time, served as a mentor in many ways. He was the old-
This Is My Story
fashioned type of politician whose politics and philanthropy
went hand in hand. To this day in his law office in Pough-
keepsie, rich and poor rub elbows, and you are quite apt to
meet some poor old soul who'll say: "Now, Johnnie boy, you
won't let them keep my man in jail, will ye? He didn't mean
to do nothing wrong!**
Mr. Newbold, the aristocrat in politics, was a good con-
trast. He took an academic interest in government and a prac-
tical interest in local politics. His son was very like him, and
both of them worked for Franklin.
Mr. Dick Connell, who was running for Congress again,
gave Franklin his first lessons in real oratory. To be sure, Mr.
Connell always made the same speech, but it was a grand one
ending in a peroration to the flag which never failed to thrill
his audience.
We rented our house in New York City, and I suppose I
must have gone to Albany and looked at the house which we
took on State Street, though I have no recollection of doing
so. I had a new English nurse with the children, Anna, James
and baby Elliott. I was so nervous about this new baby we
took a wet nurse to be sure of having him properly fed, as it
had been suggested that the first baby Franklin, who had al-
ways been a bottle-baby, might have been stronger and better
able to stand his illness if he had been breast-fed.
That autumn it was also discovered that James had a mur-
mur in his heart, and in order to take proper care of htm he
must not be allowed to walk up and down steps. He was a
fairly tall though thin little boy, and quite a load to carry.
[168]
My Mother-in-Law and a New Home
However, up and down steps we carried him all the rest of
that winter.
In addition to the English nurse and the German girl, we
had the wet nurse who spoke no language known to us; I
think she was a Slovak. My sense of duty made me feel a
great responsibility about her baby, so I visited dhte home
where the baby was boarded, a very poor but clean tenement^
and went through agonies for fear her child would not do so
^well when I took her up to Albany. She soon became so home-
sick and worried about her baby I had to let her go, but by
that time little Elliott seemed to be pretty strong and well.
For several years I kept in touch with her, and had a bank
account for her baby. Then she disappeared off the face of
the earth, apparently, and I was never able to trace her where-
abouts or find out anything about the baby. My conscience
was very active in these days and I was much worried. Even
though she had been married, she always seemed to me a de-
fenseless person.
[169]
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MOVE TO ALBANY
WE ARRANGED for a reception to be held in our Albany house
on the afternoon of January first for as many of Franklin's
constituents as wished to come to Albany. We arrived in the
morning, and naturally we were not very well settled. I
brought three servants besides the nurses, and caterers were
in the house arranging for the reception, which went on, it
seemed to me, interminably. The door was left open, and
people from the three counties wandered in and out for three
solid hours. When it was all over and some of the debris had
been removed and the caterers were out of the house, my
mother-in-law and I started to move the furniture around
and make the house more homelike.
I have always had a passion for being completely settled as
quickly as possible, wherever I lived. I want all my photo-
graphs hung, all my ornaments out, and evei^dhdng in order
within the first twenty-four hours. I think it was my early
training which made me painfully tidy. I want everything
[ 170 ]
The Move to Albany
around me in Its place. Dirt or disorder makes me positively
uncomfortable !
Mrs. William Gorham Rice, whose mother had known
Franklin's father and mother very well, was extremely kind
to me. Our first gift on arrival was a package from her of
Dutch "ole koeken," a kind of New Year's cake which is very
delicious and is still eaten by the old Dutch families in Albany.
She had also given me a list of shops, and I sallied forth that
next morning to do my marketing. The children had gone
out for a walk, and I received my first shock when a lady
stopped me on the street with: "You must be Mrs. Roosevelt,
for your children are the only children I do not know/* All
my life I had lived in big cities, rarely knowing my neighbors,
never expecting anyone to pay any attention to me unless he
knew me. The sudden realization that everybody up and
down the street would know what we were doing and would
pay attention to us was a great surprise.
For the first time I was going to live on my own; neither
my mother-in-law nor Mrs. Parish -was going to be within
call. One did not use the longdistance telephone in those days
as we do today. I wrote my mother-in-law almost every day,
as I had for many years when away from her, but I had to
stand on my own feet now, and I think I knew that it was
good for me. I wanted to be independent. I was beginning to
realize that something within me craved to be an individual.
What kind of individual was still in the lap of the gods !
People were kind, and I soon made friends and I was to be
very, very busy that year. Occasionally I went, as I considered
it my duty, to the gallery in the capitol and listened to what-
This Is My Story
ever might be the order of business. I came to identify inter-
esting figures. Senator Tom Grady could make a better speech
than many people who are considered great orators today.
He was a very charming Irishman, in spite of the fact that he
liked his Irish liquor somewhat too well. He once declined a
dinner invitation I sent him, and worded it so charmingly
that I kept his note for years as one of my cherished posses-
sions. Bob Wagner, "Big Tim" Sullivan, Christy Sullivan,
Senator Sage, old Senator Brackett, who looked like a church
deacon and was probably as wily a politician as ever paced
the Senate floor, all stood out as individuals on the floor of
the Senate. In the Assembly I had my first glimpse of Al.
Smith.
I was home every afternoon, and had tea with the children.
I read to them or played with them till they went to bed. I
tried having little Anna lunch with us, but after spending a
solid hour over the meal on our first attempt, I returned her
to the nursery, Anna and James and the younger nurse had
their room over the big library in the back of the house* The
baby and his nurse were in the room next to ours.
Anna was fair skinned like her father, with good features,
blue eyes and straight hair which was bleached almost white
by the sun. James was darker both as to hair and complexion,
looking in this particular more like me. Luckily for them all,
the children have inherited their looks from their father's side
of the family. One or two of them have eyes like my side of
the Roosevelts, but eyes happen to have been rather good in
that branch of the family I ba4 prominent front teeth, not a
The Move to Albany
very good mouth and chin, but these were not handed down
to any of my children.
PUBLIC AND PRIVATE LIFE
Here in Albany began for the first time a dual existence for
me, which was to last all the rest of my life. Public service,
whether my husband was in or out of office, was to be a part
of our daily life from now on. To him it was a career in
which he was completely absorbed. He probably could not
have formulated his political philosophy at that time as he
could today, but the science of government was interest-
ing and people, the ability to understand them, the play of
your own personality on theirs, this was a fascinating study to
him.
I still lived tinder the compulsion of my early training; duty
was perhaps the motivating force in my life, often excluding
what might have been joy or pleasure. I looked at everything
from the point of vie^v of what I ought to do, rarely from
the standpoint of what I wanted to do. In fact, there were
times when I think I almost forgot that there was such a thing
as wanting anything. You so obviously must want that which
you ought to do ! So I took an interest in politics, but I don't
know whether I enjoyed it! It was a wife's duty to be inter-
ested in whatever interested her husband, whether it was
politics, books or a particular dish for dinner. This was the
attitude with which I approached that first winter in Albany.
Before long Franklin was launched on a Senatorial fight.
The rights and wrongs of that fight meant very little to me,
[173 3
This Is My Story
though I think I probably contributed somewhat to its dura-
tion. Our house became the central meeting place for all the
members of this little insurgent group of some thirty or so
men led by my husband. My education was beginning in
earnest. I was learning that the first requisite of a politician's
wife is always to be able to manage anything. The men
arrived sometime during the morning. They went up to the
Senate, cast their votes, ate their lunch, and during the after-
noon they were back at our house for smoking and talk in
the library. They went out again for supper, and returned and
spent the entire evening. I spent the evenings with them.
The second stage of my education! I began to learn how to
get on with people of varying backgrounds. I still remember
the poems which Assemblyman Ed Terry from Brooklyn
used to bring and read to me.
I could not expect the maid to stay up, for she had to be up
early in the morning, and so when I thought the hour for de-
parture was drawing near I used to go into the pantry and
bring out beer and cheese and crackers, which was a gentle
hint that the time had come for everyone to eat, drink and
go home*
The Tammany leaders began to think that this fight was
going to go on for a long time, and they sent emissaries to see
my husband. Finally, my husband came home and announced
that the gentleman he was fighting against would be with us
for luncheon the next day. I shall never forget my feelings
that day. After luncheon I was to entertain "Blue Eyed Billy"
Sheehatt's wife while my husband talked to him in his study.
The Move to Albany
Lunch -was not so bad, for I had my husband to carry the
burden of the conversation, but after lunch we two women
sat and talked about the weather and anything else inconse-
quential that we could think of, while both of us knew quite
well that behind the door of my husband's study a really im-
portant fight was going on.
I was greatly relieved when finally that door opened and
our own front door closed behind our guests. I turned to my
husband and asked: "Did you come to any agreement?" He
answered: "Certainly not," and so the fight went on.
Louis HOWE MAKES His FIRST Bow
Here, for the first time, a man who was to become a very
close friend of my husband came upon the scene* I hardly re-
member meeting him. He was a newspaper correspondent,
an old hand in the Albany political game, Louis McHenry
Howe by name. He lived in Albany with his wife and daugh-
ter, but his home for years had been in Saratoga, so he knew
the countryside and had many old friends. I saw little or
nothing of the Howes that first year. I still felt myself a good
deal of a stranger. We had given some dinners, fulfilled our
really necessary social obligations, and when a compromise
was finally agreed upon and the litde group accepted Judge
O'Gorman for Senator, we gave a final dinner before the
legislature closed, to the entire insurgent group. I was not at
the dinner, for it was all men, but I made all the arrangements,
and they presented my husband with a very beautiful cup
which we still cherish among out most prized possessions.
This 1$ My Story
The fate of the men who stood with my husband in that
fight was my first introduction into the grimmer side of ma-
chine politics. One man had a little country paper and de-
pended largely on government printing of notices for his
financial success. The year after, he was given none, as pun-
ishment for opposing the Democratic machine, and his paper
failed. Similar stories came to us from various sources, and
my blood boiled. My husband was not vulnerable in any
way that we could see then, but many of his friends were not
in so independent a position. I realized that you might be a
slave and not a public servant if your bread and butter could
be taken from you, and if you grew too fond of public life it
might exact compromises even if finances were not involved.
That year taught me many things about politics and started
me thinking along lines which were completely new.
In the meantime the other side of my life, the domestic side,
had encountered one or two difficulties. One morning the
nurse came to me and announced that the children were
slowly choking to death in their room because the fumes of
the cigars which had been smoked downstairs for months had
permeated the bedroom above, so I had to move the children
one flight up into rooms which I had closed off, not wanting
so many to keep dean. I closed the room over the library,
and the move simply meant an extra flight of stairs up which
to carry Jimmy, and down, several times a day.
After the legislature closed I took the children to Hyde
Park as usual and later to Campobello, pursuing our usual
routine. My husband again had a good deal of time in sum-
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The Move to Albany
mer to be with us, though he did have to spend some time in
his district, and the legislature met again in August for a short
session. When I was along with the children at Campobello
I occasionally had Miss Spring come and stay with me for her
holiday, but I do not remember having any other friends that
year; in fact, I had very few friends who meant a great deal
to me. My family filled my life, but a few people were always
preeminently my own friends; in this category were Mrs.
Selmes, Isabella and her husband Bob Ferguson. He had de-
veloped tuberculosis in the spring of 1908, and they had first
tried the Adirondacks and then in 1910 moved to New
Mexico. Bob always wrote me long and delightful letters,
and Isabella's letters with the ^word pictures of her life in the
Southwest were entrancing to me.
When my husband came to Campobello he usually
brought some young couples, or the husbands would go
cruising and the wives perhaps came toward the end of the
cruise to spend a day or so with us, but I spent weeks alone
with the children and never minded the long evenings, for I
had plenty of reading and writing to do.
OUR OWN HOME IN CAMPOBELLO
When I had first gone to Campobello there lived next to
my mother-in-law a very charming woman, a Mrs. KLuhn,
from Boston. Her son was an invalid and died before I knew
her, but I went occasionally to read poetry to her, and she
was devoted to Mama and Franklin. When she died it was
found in her will that she suggested Mrs. Roosevelt might
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This Is My Story
The fate of the men who stood with my husband in that
fight was my first introduction into the grimmer side of ma-
chine politics. One man had a little country paper and de-
pended largely on government printing of notices for his
financial success. The year after, he was given none, as pun-
ishment for opposing the Democratic machine, and his paper
failed. Similar stories came to us from various sources, and
my blood boiled. My husband was not vulnerable in any
way that we could see then, but many of his friends were not
in so independent a position. I realized that you might be a
slave and not a public servant if your bread and butter could
be taken from you, and if you grew too fond of public life it
might exact compromises even if finances were not involved.
That year taught me many things about politics and started
me thinking along lines which were completely new.
In the meantime the other side of my life, the domestic side,
had encountered one or two difficulties. One morning the
nurse came to me and announced that the children were
slowly choking to death in their room because the fumes of
the cigars which had been smoked downstairs for months had
permeated the bedroom above, so I had to move the children
one flight up into rooms which I had closed off, not wanting
so many to keep dean. I closed the room over the library,
and the move simply meant an extra flight of stairs up which
to carry Jimmy, and down, several times a day.
After the legislature closed I took the children to Hyde
Park as usual and later to CampobeUo, pursuing our usual
routine* My husband again had a good deal of time in sum-
The Move to Albany
mer to be with us, though he did have to spend some time in
his district, and the legislature met again in August for a short
session. When I was along with the children at Campobello
I occasionally had Miss Spring come and stay with me for her
holiday, but I do not remember having any other friends that
year; in fact, I had very few friends who meant a great deal
to me. My family filled my life, but a few people were always
preeminently my own friends; in this category were Mrs.
Selmes, Isabella and her husband Bob Ferguson. He had de-
veloped tuberculosis in die spring of 1908, and they had first
tried the Adirondacks and then in 1910 moved to New
Mexico. Bob always wrote me long and delightful letters,
and Isabella's letters with die word pictures of her life in dhe
Southwest were entrancing to me.
When my husband came to Campobello he usually
brought some young couples, or the husbands would go
cruising and the wives perhaps came toward the end of the
cruise to spend a day or so with us, but I spent weeks alone
widi the children and never minded the long evenings, for I
had plenty of reading and writing to do.
OUR OWN HOME IN CAMPOBEIXO
When I had first gone to Campobello there lived next to
my mother-inr-law a very charming woman, a Mrs. Kuhn,
from Boston. Her son was an invalid and died before I knew
her, but I went occasionally to read poetry to her, and she
was devoted to Mama and Franklin, When she died it was
found in her will that she suggested Mrs. Roosevelt might
This Is My Story
want to buy her land, including a little point of land on the
Bay of Fundy side of the island, and her house with all its fur-
nishings, even china and glass and linen. She asked that it be
offered to Mrs. Roosevelt at a nominal price in case she
wished it for her son.
My mother-in-law bought it and gave it to us, and this
house became a great source of joy to me and a place with
which I tHi-nlc my children have many happy associations.
MY BROTHER, HAIX
During these years my brother had been gradually spend-
ing less and less time with us. He had gone to a ranch out west
one summer, and he spent considerable time in the Groton
School camp. He always spent a part of every holiday with
us, however, and usually brought some of his young friends
with him.
In the summer of 1911 he came to Campobello with a
group of friends, and they all tried a wild stunt. My husband
had told them that he had once climbed the "Friar," a big
rock which at low tide is entirely out of water, with a rocky
beach and large stones around its base. He had used a rope,
but the boys decided to try it without a rope, climbing on
each other's shoulders. The first we knew of the enterprise
was when we heard cries for help. Through the telescope on
our porch we could see that something was wrong on the
beach by the "Friar." My husband dashed down to the Half
Moon and went over to see what was wrong. He found that
The Move to Albany
they had fallen and one boy, Roland Batchelder, who was
champion shot-putter at Harvard that year, had broken some
bones in his wrist. Hall had broken some bones in his foot.
Some of the others were not so badly hurt, but all of them
had to be taken to Dr. Bennett's in Lubec. He took them into
his hospital, which was in a wing of his house and kept them
there for the night. They were returned to me for nursing
die next day. The results of this adventure were disastrous.
Roland Batchelder never completely recovered the use of his
wrist, and Hall felt the results of those broken bones in his
foot for years afterwards, though he would not pay any at-
tention to them.
Hall was a very brilliant student, and had been senior pre-
fect during his last year at Groton. He never really had to
-work hard, but seemed to enjoy it and had extraordinary-
powers of concentration. He could work in a room filled,
widi people all talking and laughing^ and apparently be ob-
livious of their presence.
The winter of 1912 found us back in Albany in a house on
Klfc Street. My first cousin, Theodore Douglas Robinson, was
elected to the Assembly, and came to take his seat that winter.
His wife, Helen, was my husband's halniece J. R. ("Rosy")
Roosevelt's daughter and so our relationship was extremjely
dose and complicated. Our children called diem Uncle Teddy
and Auntie Helen, and their children called us Uncle Franklin
and Aunt Eleanor. They had a house not very far from ours*
Our winter was clouded, by die fact that their little
1 179 ]
This Is My Story
had the whooping cough. They had a very small baby who
caught It and died, which was a tragedy to all of us.
Of course, Teddy and Franklin were on opposite sides po-
litically, and one was in the Senate and the other in the
Assembly. Both Teddy and Helen had a few dose friends
who were not great friends of ours, and they moved in a
gayer and younger group, on the whole.
I was always more comfortable with older people, and
when I found myself with groups of gay, young people I still
felt inadequate to meet them on their own gay, light terms.
I think I must have spoiled a good deal of the fun for Franklin
because of this inability to feel at ease with a gay group,
though I do not remember that I ever made much objection
to his being with them as long as I was allowed to stay at
home.
I remember feeling a little responsible that year for the
wives of some of the new Assemblymen and for the wives of
some of the newspaper men, who I had been told were very
lonely. I religiously called on them, and tried to have them
occasionally at my house.
I remember litde of what my husband did in the legislature,
except that he came out for woman suffrage. He has always
told a very good story, insisting that Inez Mulholland sitting
on his desk had converted him to woman suffrage, but as a
Tnaftrr of fact he came out for it two months before that
memorable visit.
I was somewhat shocked, as I had never given the question
really serious thought, for I took it for granted that men were
[ISO]
The Move to Albany
superior creatures and still knew more about politics than
women, and while I realized that if my husband were a suffra-
gist I probably must be, too. I cannot claim to have been a
feminist in those early days.
I had lost a good deal of my crusading spirit where the poor
were concerned, because I had been told I bad no right to go
into the slums or into the hospitals, for fear of bringing
diseases home to my children, so I had fallen into the easier
way of sitting on boards and giving small sums to this or that
charity and thinking that the whole of my duty to my neigh-
bor was done.
I was not a snob, largely because I never really thought
about the question of why you asked people to your house or
claimed them as friends. Anyone who came was grist to my
mill, because I was beginning to get interested in human be-
ings, and I found that almost everyone had something inter-
esting to contribute to my education.
In 1909 my brother Hall had entered Harvard College. He
was ready for graduation in 1912 and won his Phi Beta Kappa
Key, though he belonged to the class of 1913. In die Spring
of 1912 the authorities allowed him to go with my husband
on a trip to Panama. Never having beea very foxid of the
sea, and also being somewhat anxious whenever I went away
from the children for a long period of time* I did not accom-
pany them on the first part of their trip. Another member of
the legislature, Mayhew Wainwright, joined them, and they
had, from all accounts, a delightful time.
This Is My Story
JOURNEYING IN MY OWN COUNTRY
I met my husband in New Orleans on his return, and while
Hbll went back to college, Franklin and I proceeded on a visit
to Isabella and Bob in New Mexico.
The Mississippi was having one of its periodic risings, and
we were on the last train to be ferried across for some days,
[t was my first experience of being run on to a boat and cross-
ing a river in that way. I -was somewhat relieved when we
reached the other side. It was also my first trip into the west
and into the desert country, and I shall never forget my im-
pressions of space and the color of the mountains and the fasci-
nation the desert in general held for me.
The Fergusons were still in the camp at Cat Canon. We
bad to leave the train at Deming, New Mexico, for the train
into Silver City ran only three days a week. We hired an
automobile to drive from Deming to Silver City, but auto-
mobiles in those days were not as reliable as they are today.
We had no extra tubes or tires with us, and the sand seemed
to seep in and give us a puncture in one weak inner tube about
every half hour. My husband, fresh from Panama, in thin
dothes, began to feel the cold wind as the sun went down
and it looked for a time as though we were going to spend
the night in the open, and he was going really to suffer from
the cold. We had passed one green oasis and several mesas,
and, once a solitary man on a cow pony had ridden by. We
had seen a few cows and a good many skulls, records of dry
seasons when cattle had died for lack of water, and I did not
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The Move to Albany
relish the thought of a night lost on the desert. Suddenly an-
other car came in sight; Mrs* Selmes, growing anxious, had
driven out to meet us. We "were transferred to her car and
drove back to Cat Canon, arriving late at night.
Our stay was short, but long enough for us to get a picture
of camp life. Our tent had a floor and half sides, even win-
dows with netting across, and a little stove. Before we got up
in the morning a boy arrived and left water on our porch.
We lit our stove and adapted our city ideas of a bath to the
conditions of camp life.
With the extraordinary gift which both Bob and Isabella
always possessed of imparting charm to any house they lived
in, their living tent in this camp was as attractive as any living
room I have ever sat in. The children were "well, and my city
ideas had to be rapidly adjusted when I saw them eating pork
and beans and all kinds of canned food which would have
been considered absolute death to children of their age in
eastern surroundings. *
Isabella and I wandered down the canon and into town,
calling on her friends, and because this was a colony of people
who were there from necessity for the most part, I realized
that behind the apparently pleasant lives of several people
whom we saw lay stories of tragedy and of heroism.
I think I have some of die novelist's gifts in that I can al-
ways build up in my own mind the story that lies behind the
bare facts of existence as they are usually told us.
That visit opened up a whole vista of stories in lives of types
of people such as I had never known before. As we wandered
This Is My Story
along, Isabella told me casually of some of her domestic diffi-
culties, and laughingly said: "Last week I thought I had a
really good boy to do the work, but I found he was wanted
for the murder of his brother, so I had to let him go to jail/*
As we "wandered down the Silver City streets I saw my
first cowboys riding in and throwing their reins over their
horses* heads. Instead of reading of it in a book I was seeing
it, and I was thrilled* Before we went home we spent a day
in the canon twenty-five miles away, where Isabella and Bob
were planning to homestead* Isabella and I drove over the
road, which in spots could hardly be called a road, some of it
winding through the dry bed of a stream which when it
rained would be a wild and rushing torrent, making it im-
possible for any automobile to get through until the water
subsided. In another place it was so narrow that you wondered
how two cars could pass, and she told me that one place was
known as "Dead Man's Gulch" because so many had gone
off the edge of the road down into the gulch below.
Our drive was uneventful, and I remember only that
neither of us was a very good cook, and that it took me hours
to peel a few potatoes, which should have been done in a
very few minutes.
When we started back to Deming, Bob and Isabella drove
us over themselves, and we had another exhibition of Frank-
lin's remarkable memory. Bob had wanted to take us to see
a certain view. When we came out on the flat desert, two
roads crossed, and as far as one could see, whichever way one
went made little difference. Bob hesitated for a minute and
The Move to Albany
said, "I really do not know in which direction Deming lies/'
My husband looked around and calmly said, "You go straight
ahead; I remember the contour of those mesas the day we
drove over." He was right, and we reached Deming and took
the train for home.
[185]
CHAPTER NINE
MY BROTHER'S WEDDING
IN JUNE of 1912 my brother was married to Margaret Rich-
ardson of Boston. Hall was not quite twenty-one and she was
twenty when they started off on their honeymoon to Europe.
Of course, both Hall and Margaret were too young. He
had money of his own, and very naturally a great desire to
have a home of his own, for he had always lived either with
my grandmother or with me. I do not think he had been
really unhappy, but I think he had a curiosity about life much
as I had had* and a desire to possess something which was
really his own.
The wedding was a great family gathering of the Richard-
son and Roosevelt clans. I can remember my aunt, Mrs.
Douglas Robinson, as the life of the party. One of my father's
most intimate friends, Mr, Frederic Delano Weeks, who was
my brother's godfatiher, presented him on this day with a
ring which my father had given bitn with the understanding
[186]
My Brother 's Wedding
that his son Hall was to have it either on his coming of age or
on his wedding day. So on this memorable day Fred Weeks
made an appropriate litde speech and gave the ring to my
brother.
From the time I was a little girl perhaps from the time
when my father had first talked to me in the old 3yth Street
house after my mother's death I had always wanted to take
care of my little brothers. After Ellie died, I yearned over
Hall, which didn't prevent me from being disagreeable to
him very often when we were both small! As I grew up I felt
a great responsibility for him* and thought about him a great
deal, loved him deeply and longed to mean a great deal in his
life. I think at this \vedding I felt as though my own son and
not my brother was being married. I did have sense enough
even then, however, to know that from then on he and his
wife must lead their own lives, and I hope I was never an in-
terfering sister-in-law!
MY FIRST NATIONAL POLITICAL CONVENTION
This was an eventful month in more ways than one, and
we jumped from personal interests to public affairs that same
month. The latter part of the month, June 1912, my husband
took me to my first political convention. I was very much
excited. We had taken a house in Baltimore with Mr. and
Mrs. Montgomery Hare and Mr. and Mrs. James Byrnes.
None of us had ever seen the house, so when we arrived we
discovered that if we expected to eat any meals there we
would have to buy spoons, cups, etc. There was supposed to
This Is My Story
be a maid in the house and she was there, but not very com-
petent. Everything nice had been taken out of the house, anc
I never slept in more uncomfortable beds. My husband anc
I had a room at the back of the house where there was an
alley. The first night, if I remember rightly, my husband was
very late and I was alone, and the most unearthly sounds
emanated from that alley. I was frightened to death and la^y
thinking that murder was being committed and wondering
what I should do about it, until I fell asleep !
That convention was an exciting one. In front of me in the
convention hall sat Mrs. August Belmont, who registered
righteous indignation and said she would go out and fight
the party when Air. Bryan practically read her husband out
of the party.
I understood nothing of what "was going on, but I watched
with keen interest the demonstration for Champ Clark, and
was appalled when his daughter -was carried around the room.
Such things simply did not happen to ladies, in my code ! The
demonstrations all seemed rather senseless to me, and my
opinion of conventions changed very little, I fear, for a num-
ber of years. "Why do we have to make so much noise about
what should be serious deliberations?" was my attitude, until
I began to take a more active part mysel I ended in Balti-
more by considering it all very amusing, however, which
was a step forward in my political attitude!
It "was extremely hot* I understood litde about the fight for
Woodrow Wilson's nomination, though my husband, I
[188]
My Brothers Wedding
knew, was deeply interested and was spending a great deal of
time trying to bring It about.
Finally, I decided my husband would hardly miss niy com-
pany, as I rarely laid eyes on him, and the children should go
to Campobello, so I went home and took them up there and
waited to hear the result. I received a wild telegram of tri-
umph when Mr. Wilson was finally nominated. It read:
Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt
Campobello Eastport Maine
Wilson nominated this afternoon all my plans vague splendid
triumph*
Franklin
ISABELLA
During that summer I had several letters from Isabella.
Though we were so much apart -we have always been dose
in heart, and while I had some guests that summer I would
often have been lonely in my life if it had not been for letters.
I have always had many people about me but few dose
friends, and those few, for one reason or another, have often
had to be away, so writing to them and hearing from them
has meant much to me.
Bob, who had been a "Rough Rider/* and Isabella were
working for Unde Ted, who was running for President as a
Progressive; and Franklin, of course, was helping the Wilson
campaign, but that never disturbed Isabella or me!
At Campobello I had my Unde Eddie Hall, his wife and
three little girls, for a visit. Josie had been ill and unhappy for
This Is My Story
some time, and she died suddenly soon after they left me
Eddie was not the kind of person to bring up the three littl<
girls, who were now left largely in his mother-in-law's care
The eldest one, Mary, is my god-daughter, and from then or
I took a great interest in her, though she was with her Za-
briskie family and later at boarding school.
We came down early from Campobello, because my hus-
band had another campaign on hand. We went by boat, anc
neither of us gave much thought to the fact that we brushec
our teeth with the water in our stateroom pitchers. We settlec
the children at Hyde Park. Franklin laid his plans for the cam-
paign, and then we went down to an entirely "put up" hous<
in New York City, which we had taken back from the people
who had rented it the winter before. We were to spend onl}
one night and our old friend, Ronald Ferguson, -who was ovei
from Scotland, was to dine with us*
The evening came, but my husband was too ill to go oui
to dinner. He had a low fever and was feeling very miserable
I did all I could for him, and took Ronald out to a restauram
by myself. As I remember it, we had a very pleasant evening
He was a very charming man, and though I dreaded th<
thought of taking him out alone, once embarked on thai
dinner I enjoyed it very much.
TYPHOID FEVER
My husband was still miserable the next morning, so I goi
a strange doctor, as our regular doctor was out of town. He
My Brothers Wedding
could not explain his fever. No one could understand what
was the matter with him. I was taking complete care of him.
We had a caretaker in the house who did what cooking was
necessary, and I ran up and down stairs with trays, made his
bed, gave him his medicine, and all went well except for the
fact that at certain times of the day I felt very peculiar. My
husband had to take a nap after lunch every day, and I was
glad enough to do the same, for the back of my head ached
and I was hardly able to drag myself around. It never occurred
to me that I might be really ill.
After this had gone on for about ten days, my mother-in-
law came to town one evening, having grown anxious about
her son, and I told her that as she was there, I thought I would
have my hair curled and go to bed, because I felt miserable.
She kissed me, and exclaimed: "You must have a fever!" I
blithely responded that I thought I probably had, but that it
"would be all right in the morning.
She insisted that I take my temperature and we found that
it was 102. The doctor came, and I went to bed, and the next
day tests were taken and it was discovered that I had typhoid
fever. Franklin had had it before when he was a litde boy, so
he was running only a low temperature, but they now
thought he had it, also. I proceeded to have a perfectly nor-
mal case, and with my usual ability to come back quickly I
was up and on nay feet while Franklin was still in bed and
feeling miserable and looking like Robert Louis Stevenson
at Vailima.
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This Is My Story
Louis HOWE'S SECOND APPEAHANCB
In the meantime, the campaign was on, and now Louis
Howe, the quiet, even dben rather gnome-like looking little
newspaper man from Albany, came to the rescue. He had
grown interested in my husband at the time of the Senatorial
fight, and when Franklin asked him to run the campaign he
accepted. Going to Dutchess County, he laid his plans and
carried the district for a man who was flat on his back all the
time.
Louis was an astute politician, a wise reader of newspapers
and of human beings, but he was somewhat impractical, in
spots. A check book was one of the things Louis did not
understand very well. My husband gave him a check book
and a certain amount of money in the bank. Each time Louis
came to see my husband he insisted that he still had money in
the bank. Finally, the bank notified my husband that the ac-
count was overdrawn, Louis still insisted he had money on
hand, and when Franklin looked over die check book he
found that Louis always added the balance instead of deduct-
ing it, so of course, the amount always went up instead of
down.
I was not favorably impressed with Louis at this time be-
cause he smoked a great many cigarettes I Remember, I was
still a Puritan! I felt that his smoking spoiled the fresh air that
my husband should have in his bedroom, and I was very dis-
approving whenever he came down to report on the cam-
paign. I lost sight entirely of the fact that he was winning the
My Brothers Wedding
campaign, and that "without him my husband would have
worried himself to more of a wreck than he was and r rcb-blv
lost the election* I simply made a nuisance of myself over
those visits and his cigarettes. I often wonder now how they
bore with me in those days. I had no sense of values whatso-
ever and was pretty rigid still in my standard of conduct.
It was not until Dr. Delafield told my husband to go up to
the country and forget about his temperature and lead a nor-
mal life that my husband began to pick up again.
My husband was reflected, thanks to Louis Howe. I put
the New York house in order and moved the children there,
as it was too late to rent it and we had decided not to take
a house in Albany for the winter, but to live in two rooms at
the Ten Eyck Hotel. We commuted between New York and
Albany. I went to Albany every Monday afternoon and re-
turned to New York every Thursday morning to be with the
children.
Hall and Margaret came back from Europe in September,
1912, and settled down in Cambridge, and they had their first
baby that winter. I went to Cambridge when I heard die baby
did not thrive. After weeks of anxiety this child died without
our ever really being entirely sure what was wrong with it.
At the same time Hall was in the Hospital with appendicitis,
which made everything much harder for them both*
During 1913 he studied engineering, and by dint of going
to the engineering camp during the summer holidays he gract-
uated from the engineering school, obtaining his M. E. degree
in 1914.
I
This Is My Story
Hie winter of 1913 I put Anna into Miss Davidge's school.
Interestingly enough, this was the school which years later
Miss Dickerman was to take over and where I was to teach
and to be vice-principal.
During the winter there was some talk of the possibility of
my husband's being invited to join the administration in
Washington, but I was too much taken up with the family
to give it much thought.
CHAPTER TEN
WASHINGTON
IN APBTL, Franklin was sent for by the President, and I stayed
in New York waiting to hear what would be our fate. I was
really -well schooled now, and it never occurred to me to
question where we were to go or what we were to do or
how we were to do it. I simply knew that "what we had to do
we did, and that my job was to make it easy. In a short time
we got word that my husband had been appointed Assistant
Secretary of the Navy. He resigned from the State Senate and
took up the work in Washington. There was an epidemic of
smallpox at the time, so we were both vaccinated.
My husband had taken rooms at die Powhatan Hotel in
Washington, and wanted me to come down for a time that
spring. I dashed to Auntie Bye, who was in Farmington, Con-
necticut, to ask her what were the duties of an Assistant SCCDO-
tary's wife. I think my heart sank somewhat as she gave me
careful instructions on my calls, but I doubt if I registered as
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This Is My Story
much dismay as did my little daughter-in-law Betsy the other
day when I gave her the list of people she was supposed to
call on. Her face dropped and she said, *Tm feeling very ill,
mama, I know I shall have to go to bed/'
One thing Auntie Bye impressed on me was that as the wife
of the Assistant Secretary of the Navy my duty was first, last
and all the time to look after the Navy itself. She said: "You
will find that many of the young officers* wives have a hard
time because they must keep up their position on very small
pay. You can do a great deal to make life pleasant for them
when they are in Washington, and that is what you should
do."
I must have come a long way since I moved up to Albany,
for then I never could have paid those first calls and repeated
that formula which I can remember to this day: "I am Mrs.
Franklin D. Roosevelt. My husband has just come as Assistant
Secretary of the Navy." House after house I visited and ex-
plained myself in this way. My shyness was wearing itself off
rapidly.
The summer of 1913 I took the children to Campobello,
but Franklin was not able to come for such long periods of
time as before.
The autumn of 1913 we took Auntie Bye's house at 1733
N Street. It was a comfortable old-fashioned house that I had
stayed in many years before, and tine two old colored servants,
Millie and Francis, who had taken care of Uncle Will when
Atmtie Bye was away, agreed to take care of it in summer and
look after Franklin, when he was there alone.
[is*]
Washington
There was a little garden in the back with a most lovely
rose arbor on the side where one could have breakfast in the
late spring or summer days, and even dine on summer eve-
nings. This little garden was kept in order by a delightful man,
William Reeves, whom I got to know very well. His reticence
was really remarkable. We lived in that house four yeairs, and
though I talked with him often it was not until I came to the
White House in 1933 that I discovered that Mr. Reeves was
the head gardener at the White House, and that it had been
because of his position there that he had gone to Auntie Bye
during Uncle Ted's administration! He had kept it up be^-
cause of his affection for her and his interest in her garden-
When we moved down to Washington my mother-in-
law, as usual, helped us to get settled. We had bought a car
and brought a young chauffeur with us from Hyde Park, and
I had to begin in earnest to pay my calls.
My husband had asked Louis Howe to come down as his
assistant in the Navy Department, and he also moved his wife
and two children, one of them a fairly well grown gpurl and
the other only a baby boy, into an apartment not very far
from us. I now called on Mrs. Howe, and, realizing that she
had no car, I made arrangements by which. I frequently picked
her up in the afternoons and took her with her baby on my
round of calls. I always had one or two of my own children
in the car.
Anna was going to school with the Misses Eastman, and
James began his schooling that autumn in the litde Potomac
SchooL I remember that winter primarily as one in which I
This Is My Story
spent every afternoon paying calls. We lived a kind of social
life I had never known "before, dining out night after night
and having people dine with us about once a week.
I already knew a few people in Washington, and my great-
est joy was Mrs, Leavitt, a most enchanting, white-haired
lady who had been a friend of my Grandmother Roosevelt's.
You never thought of her as old; her skin was soft as a baby's
and her eyes were young. Isabella Ferguson once said; "It
must be nice to live where, when you want to see an angel,
you can call on Mrs. Leavitt." She had that soothing effect
on everyone, with her gende voice and manner, but back of
it was plenty of character and she taught me many a lesson,
in discussing my children. My husband knew Mrs. Charles
Hamlin well; she was a younger sister of our Albany friend,
Mrs. William Gorham Rice. Full of fun, she aided and abetted
her daughter in pkying practical jokes on their guests. She
enjoyed these as much as did her young and charming daugh-
ter, and my husband and I found them delightful. Mrs. Ham-
lin was very kind to us both, and I was most grateful.
We very early discovered that unless we made some at-
tempt to see a few people at regular intervals, we would never
see any one informally, and so once every two weeks or
thereabouts a few of us dined together regularly. This group
consisted of die Secretary of the Interior and Mrs. Franklin
K. Lane, a charming couple who appealed to young and old;
Mr. and Mrs. Adolph Miller, old friends of die Lanes; Mr.
and Mrs. William Phillips, and ourselves, William Phillips
was in the State Department, and he and Caroline were old
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friends of ours. She was the Caroline Drayton of St. Moritz
days. We put formality behind, us for these evenings, and did
not even seat the Secretary of the Interior according to rank
Franklin and I still stayed home on Sunday evenings and con-
tinued the informal Sunday evening suppers which we had
always had since our marriage. I cooked eggs on the table in
a chafing dish, served cold meat and salad, a cold dessert and
cocoa,
I tried at first to do widiout a secretary > but found that it
took me such endless hours to arrange my calling list, and
answer and send invitations, that I finally engaged one for
three mornings a week.
OUR FIRST OEHCIAL TRIP
The first trip my husband took that autumn was an inspec-
tion trip that took him to New Orleans and back to Biloxi
along the Gulf to Pensacola, and to Brunswick, Georgia, He
invited his cousin, Miss Laura Delano, to go with us and this
was my first taste of a really strenuous trip.
We arrived in New Orleans early one morning, went out
at once to inspect a more or less deserted navy yard, looking
into every nook and corner, then we had alitde rime in which
we were driven around the town to see the cemeteries. We
saw die old skve block in the Cabildo, we saw the Vieox
Carr, the "old square," of French houses with wrought-iron
balconies. Franklin was whisked off to dinner and we were ine
vited by a delightful retired navy gentleman to dine in one
of the restaurants on delicious food and drink cajl bruU which
This Is My Story
was brought in, after the restaurant lights were turned out,
in a silver bowl, and served from a silver ladle which hung
on the edge of the bowl. Only the light of the burning brandy
in the coffee illuminated the room.
After this feast we went to the opera, and afterwards we
had supper with a party, finally getting to bed about two
o'clock, only to be told that we must leave on someone's
yacht at five o'clock in the morning. I packed, and I think had
less than two hours' sleep. We were routed out in the morn-
ing, taken down to the boat and started off without any break-
fast. In a litde while some warm champagne was brought
around to us. Of course, I could not drink champagne! Hours
went by before we got anything more to eat or drink, and I
was feeling faint and miserable in spite of the fact that we
were steaming along on completely landlocked waters.
Somewhere around three o'clock in the afternoon we
reached Biloxi, where Franklin was taken off on a side-wheel,
flat-bottomed boat to be shown the harbor, which they hoped
to induce him to consider for a naval base*
Laura and I were driven in a procession through the town,
shown Jefferson Davis* old home and various other things.
Finally, we were reunited in the hotel, where a banquet was
being held. By this time we three were so sleepy we could
hardly hold our eyes open, yet I could not help chuckling at
seeing Laura taken in to dinner by a gentleman who had on
patent leather shoes of the high, buttoned variety, with all the
buttons on both shoes completely unbuttoned so that the
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uppers flapped as he walked. I saw her horrified but fascinated
eyes upon them!
It seemed to be the fashion for husbands to take their "wives
in and sit by them. Franklin soon confided in me that he was
practically going to talk in his sleep. He said encouragingly
that when we got on the train we could sleep as late as we
liked, for though our train got into Pensacola at five a.irL we
would not have to get off until we were ready.
The banquet -was over, and Franklin had made his speech
and really had been half asleep. We were about ready to go
to the train when word came that the train was over an hour
late. After Franklin and I had shaken hands with everybody
present, Laura and I retired to a room upstairs to wait until
word came that it was time to go to the train. Finally, we got
on board. Laura and I -were asleep in our stateroom when
Franklin knocked on the door and said we were not in the car
which stayed in Pensacola, and we would have to get off at
five a.m. ! It was 4:45 !
Laura, who usually takes some time to dress, was nowhere
near ready when we pulled into the station, so Franklin came
in to help! Between us we finished dressing her, packed her
bags, and shoved them off the train. She was exhausted* and
when she found we were expected, by the family that met us,
to sit down for a preliminary breakfast with them and to re-
appear for a second larger and more formal breakfast after
two hours in our rooms, she calmly announced fr^t she 'was
going to bed and would attend no second breakfast! I left her
when I went down to do my duty as pleasantly as possible.
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This Is My Story
After this we went to a picnic on an island, with no shade
and a blazing sun, but everyone seemed comfortable and
cheerfuL On the way I had been driven around the town, and
so I was surprised and pleased when I reached the island to see
Laura there evidently recovered from her morning exhaus-
tion. Franklin and the gentlemen joined us.
The picnic was very pleasant, and we got off again that
evening for Brunswick, Georgia, Traveling on the train with
us was a rather mediocre theatrical troupe. I listened to their
conversation at breakfast with a great deal of amusement.
When we arrived in Brunswick and were told that Franklin
was going to a stag dinner party and we would be entertained
by the ladies and taken to the theater I was quite interested to
see our traveling troupe perform.
At his dinner Franklin was given several kinds of possum.
He made one speech, and it turned out to be too short, so he
got tip and made another one to satisfy his audience.
We lived through this evening, but were very sleepy, for
we had gone over to Jekyll Island during the day and had
been driven along the beach. Plenty of fresh air on top of a
somewhat exciting and exhausting trip and you can im-
agine how sleepy we were! When we left Brunswick and
headed for home, Laura remarked that she thought she had
had all she wanted of official travel. I said nothing, for I had
an inkling that my years of this kind of travel had only just
began.
I think I knew instinctively, that these trips were just one
of the tests that life puts in your way as a preparation for the
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future. They were feats of endurance, and, in the doing, they
built up strength. I learned that I could be tired and that it did
me no harm. Sometime or other I had to catch up on sleep,
but I learned that if I kept myself well, when I had an exhaust-
ing strain to endure, it could be borne.
I could never say in the morning, "I have a headache and
cannot do thus and so/' Headache or no headache, thus and
so had to be done, and no time could be wasted. I could not
be a burden and add any care to a man who bad plenty of
official things to do, when the point of my going was to malr^
life pleasanter!
I knew that I did not actually have to go, but I was interested
in seeing my own country, and there was a sense of pride and
obligation which made me feel that I must not add to the diffi-
culties of the trip. At the time I was not conscious of all this,
but as I look back upon it now I realize that the very streuu-
ousness of some of these experiences built up a confidence in
my ability to stand things which has stood me in good stead
throughout the rest of my life.
A COIXECTOR s CHARACTISRISTICS
When I was first married I discovered that my husband
was a collector. I had never before come in contact with a
collector. In every other aspect he was both careful and eco-
nomical, I never knew him in those early days to take a cab
when he could take a streetcar. I have often seen, him carry his
bag down the street and board a car at the comer. He took
great care of his clothes, never spent a great deal on himself,
This Is My Story
and there were many things in those early days that we felt
we could not afford. After our first little car we went without
one for some time; and when we moved to Washington the
first two cars that we had were secondhand, until I finally
persuaded my husband that we spent more on repairs and had
less use out of them than we would have out of a new car.
The new car which we finally bought lasted until we left
Washington, when he again decided that we did not need a
car and sold it.
As a collector he was careful too, and much of his collec-
tion was acquired at most reasonable prices, because of the
fact that not many people were interested in his field when he
began to collect, and his interest extended over so many years.
He really knew about everything which he bid for at auctions
or acquired after spending hours in old bookstores or print
shops.
His interest was in the American Navy and he collected
books and letters and prints and models of ships. The collec-
tion was fairly sizable and interesting when he "went to Wash-
ington as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, but those years in
the Navy Department gave him great opportunity to add to
it. I remember, for instance, that he was offered and acquired
an entire trunkful of letters which included the love letters of
one of our early naval officers. He also acquired a letter written
by a captain to his wife describing the receipt of the news of
George Washington's death and his subsequent action on
passing Mk Vernon. He is said to have instituted a custom
which every Navy ship has followed from that day to this,
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Washington
and which varies only according to the personnel carried by
the ship. All the ships lower the flag to half mast, man the
rail, toll the bell and, if a bugler is on board, blow taps*
During this time Franklin also acquired a very good model
of the old Constitution, and his collection grew apace. At
different times he has collected other things. For instance,
there was a period when he was very fond of small chap-
books, children's books and classics published in diminutive
editions, and first editions of every kind have always attracted
him, though he has never followed any one line. Stamps were
also an interest of long standing*
I have often wondered why he never handed down this
love of collecting to any of our children. My only explanation
is that living in the house with a collector may give everyone
else the feeling that only one person in a household can in-
dulge this taste, and even then it is always a question of
whether the family will have to move out in order to keep
the collection intact and properly housed!
All through the first years in Washington I wondered
where the additions to the naval collection would find a
home on our return to New York, where the house seemed
already full, but it was managed, and I wasted rnncH time
trying to restrain a collector which simply cannot be done!
Widi the autumn of 1913, my life in Washington as the
wife of a minor official really began. I could have learned
much about politics and government, for I had plenty of op-
portunity to meet and talk with interesting men and women.
As I look back upon it, however, I think the whole of my life
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This Is My Story
remained centered in the family. The children were still small
two more were to be born during this period, and, outside o
the exclusively personal life, there was the social aspect, whid
seemed to me then most important.
Nearly all the women at that time were the slaves of th<
Washington social system. There were two women whc
broke loose. One was Martha Peters, wife of Congressmai
Andrew J. Peters, of Massachusetts, and a sister of Willian
Phillips. She did not care for large social functions, and sh<
did not think it was her duty to her husband's career to spenc
every afternoon of her life paying calls on the wives of othe
public men.
The other woman was Alice Longworth, quite frankly toe
much interested in the political questions of the day to wast<
her time calling on women who were, after all, not importan
in her scheme of life. She liked the social side, but she likec
her own particular kind of social life. She wanted to knov
all the interesting people, but she certainly did not want to b<
bored doing uninteresting things. Her house was the cente:
of gaiety and of interesting gatherings. Everyone who cam<
to Washington coveted an introduction to her and an invita-
tion to her house.
I was appalled by the independence and courage displayec
by these two ladies. I was perfectly certain that I had nothing
to offer of an individual nature and that my only chance o
doing my duty as the wife of a public official was to do exactly
as the majority of women were doing, perhaps to be a litd<
more meticulous about it than some of the others were
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Washington
Whatever I was asked to do must be done, and it was not al-
ways conducive to comfort on my part or on die part of
anyone else.
TARGET PRACTICE
One of the first experiences of the autumn of 1913 will re-
main with me for many years. I had always been a particularly
bad sailor, so I dreaded the fact that I would undoubtedly
have to be occasionally on naval ships. Sure enough, we were
invited to go to target practice by the Secretary of the Navy
and Mrs. Daniels, My husband was delighted. All the gentle-
men went on the ship that was doing the firing; -we ladies
went on the battleship which was towing the target. We
went down the river and back and spent the whole day in
Chesapeake Bay. I dreaded disgracing ray husband by being
ill.
To the others I imagine the day seemed calm; to me it
seemed extremely rough. As the morning advanced I grew
greener until finally a young officer noticed my plight and
asked if I would like to climb the skeleton mast. The skeleton
mast was a new device at this time, and though I had very
little interest in anything, I thought to do something would
be a relief. I climbed the mast and had to hold on carefully;
as the fall to the deck below was not inviting. Miraculously,
my seasickness disappeared. Somehow or other I lived
through that trip, but it took me many more years before I
ceased to dread dinner or luncheon on board a battleship.
I can remember one trip on the Sylph a little boat often
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This Is My Story
used by the Assistant Secretary of the Navy with Anna and
James aboard, when both of them were ill. I held their heads
and put them to bed. Some of our guests were miserable so
I had no time to be ill myself!
Gradually I became a good sailor, but to this day I like the
sea from the land, and if I must cross it to get somewhere,
well and good; but I have not yet learned to enjoy myself on
board a ship. I suppose I could learn to loaf on a ship in a
calm sea, but the incentive to make me try it would have to
be greater than any I have thus far experienced.
OFFICIAL LIFE
My calls began the winter of 1914 under poor auspices, for
I was feeling miserable again, as another baby was coming
along the following August. Somehow or other I made my
rounds every afternoon, and from ten to thirty calls were
checked off my list day after day. Mondays the wives of the
Justices of the Supreme Court; Tuesdays the members of
Congress. How many times I have wondered why my New
York congressmen moved from place to place so frequently !
They rarely had houses, their wives came down seldom, and
to leave cards on them I had to climb up stairs in rooming
houses and search every large and small hotel! Wednesdays
the Cabinet, and here was a problem to be met. If Mrs.
Daniels invited me to be with her that afternoon I could not
be calling on the other members of the Cabinet. Thursdays
die wives of Senators, and Fridays the diplomats. Miscel-
laneous people were wedged in on whatever days were
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printed on their cards or, if they had no days, on any days
you happened to be near their homes. Saturdays and Sundays
were free for the children.
Just as Mr, Daniels was a kind and understanding chief,
Mrs. Daniels was a kind and understanding wife, and did not
expect me to be with her every Wednesday, Later in the
winter, when my calls were paid, I tried to stay at home on
Wednesdays and receive anyone who came to call on me. I
had my first experience then of entertaining ladies who spoke
in three different languages and of being the only person able
to communicate what -was being said from one to the other!
Situations of so many varieties were forcing themselves
upon me that, willy-nilly, I was getting to the point where I
felt I could cope with almost any social event. My household
had long since ceased to give me any trouble; it ran smoothly,
and only now and then did I have any difficulty. I had
brought with me four servants whom I had had for some time
in New York, and a nurse and a governess. They stayed with
me for all my first years in Washington. I learned to combine
regularity in the children*s lives with elasticity so fi*r as our
own lives were concerned.
My husband frequently came home for luncheon and
brought some men "with him, more often when the war be-
gan than in the first years, when he had had more time for tite
Metropolitan Club and games of golf. This was the game
which he enjoyed above all odiers. However, when he did
come home he wished a short lunch aiid no time wasted.
They must be able to talk freely, so I developed a habit which
This Is My Story
I have always retained. I have a litde silver bell put beside
my place at every meal. It belonged to my mother and is part
of the recollections of my earliest days Old Mother Hub-
bard with her dog tinder her arm. It is never very far from
my hand at meals. When I ring, the servants come in and
take the plates away, pass the next course and then withdraw
to the pantry and stay there until I ring again. This was made
the rule in Washington and will be continued wherever we
are, I imagine, for conversation can flow more freely. It was
necessary during the World War, when frequently con-
versations were held which must not go beyond the people
seated at the table; and I have found it always relieves a certain
restraint at the table not to have someone standing behind a
chair or hovering in the room,
Here, as in Albany, I tried to get in from my calls by five
o f clock so as to have tea at home, and the children were al-
ways with me for an hour before their own supper and
bedtime.
Somewhere around the middle of this winter I think in
early March my husband was sent on an inspection trip to
the West Coast and I accompanied him. I had never been all
the way to the Coast and I was thrilled; besides, we would
have an opportunity to see Bob and Isabella for a day or two
on the way. It was a short visit, but even a few days meant a
great deal to me. We took the Santa Fe and I had my first
experience with the Harvey restaurants. At this time on cer-
tain trains you got out for your meals. The food was excel-
lent; they rang a bell when it was time to get back on the
Washington
train so you did not even have to watch the clock. The only
difficulty lay in the fact that trains were sometimes late and
then your meals came at odd hours.
Everything -was new, everything was interesting and I was
feeling very well again, but little did I realize what strenuous
traveling it was going to be once we reached the West Coast.
A year or so before I had had to send my German girl, who
had been for some time with the children, out to die West
Coast because she had such very bad sinus trouble, and had
decided that only in a milder climate could she be cured. I
-was devoutly thankful for the fact that she came at once to
see me and did my pressing and packing in San Francisco.
When we arrived in each place, a naval aide appeared and
told us what we should do, for which I was very thankful. I
was still new at getting on and off naval ships, with all the
ceremony attached thereto.
The first time that Anna "was with us when we bobbed up
and down in a little boat and my husband received the seven-
teen-gun salute fired for the Assistant Secretary of the Navy,
she buried her head in my lap, because she was very sensitive
to noises. Afterward she carried cotton to put in her ears! I
was totally unprepared when this first salute came, but, as I
was somewhat deaf even then, the noise did not bother me.
When it came to boarding a battleship, I had to wait to be
told -whether I went ahead of my husband, or whether he
went ahead of me. What did I do while he stood at salute,
whom did I shake hands with, and what parts of the ship
should I not visit; and when we came to leave, did I go first
This Is My Story
or last? All these questions and many more seemingly foolish
questions came up to worry me during those first inspection
trips. Gradually I learned my way about. Somehow my hus-
band seemed to know all this without coaching, and I have
always wondered how he absorbed knowledge where I had
to struggle and ask innumerable questions. Perhaps he grew
curious earlier in life. In any case, he has always been able to
answer most of the questions we have asked him; and when
we thought on occasions we had him trapped and went to
an encyclopedia to prove him wrong, almost invariably he
was right!
On this trip, as on most other official trips, our engage-
ments began at nine or ten o'clock in the morning and ended
somewhere around midnight. After that I wrote my letters
and packed my bags. We went all the way up the coast to
Portland, Oregon, and Seattle, "Washington, and I loved the
navy yards there, with their roses blooming so early in the
spring.
We came back via the Northern Pacific and from what
seemed like spring we suddenly woke one morning to a
winter landscape. All about us was virgin forest, and a blanket
of snow below and on the branches of the giant evergreens.
The beauty and magnificence of the scene was something I
shall never forget. When my grandchildren were going West
this winter, I told them to remember to look at these big
trees and only hoped that man had not already done away
with them*
On all these trips I started out with a great deal of appre-
Washington
hension, in spite of the fact that I loved seeing new places. I
hated to leave my children; but once out, my fears were
quiescent until we 'were about two days from home, and
then they revived in full force, and the last night I usually
imagined all the terrible things that might happen to the
children before we saw them again. They might fall out of a
window, or into the fire, or be run over! Those last nights
were certainly bad ones and I was relieved to get home and
find everything running smoothly. My mother-in-law al-
ways had an eye to the children when we went away, so
there really was no cause for anxiety, but during these years
they bad the usual run of colds and earaches and tonsils which
are the lot of children, and in addition many of the less serious
childish illnesses.
Elliott was bowlegged and had to wear braces for a while,
and the summer before, at Campobello, he had fallen into a
bonfire on the beach and burned his little hands badly. Some
of the coals had got under the braces and burned places on
his legs. I can remember now my terror when I came back
from a sail to find him swathed in bandages. How grateful
I was that his face had not been burned and that the braces
had come off quickly enough to prevent the burns from being
too deep. Anyone "with children knows that she must be pre-
pared for all kinds of vicissitudes, but it takes you some time
to accustom yourself to these things. At first you feel that
you or someone else should have prevented whatever goes
wrong. Later you learn that no amount of care will ward off
This Is My Story
the accidents and all you can do is to meet them, as they come
along, with a calm and steadfast spirit.
That summer of 1914 the children and I went to Campo-
bello, as usual, but war clouds were gathering over Europe
and Washington was full of anxiety. My baby was due to
arrive sometime in the month of August and plans had been
made for the doctor, who had taken care of me with my four
other children, to fly up and be with me for the event. Miss
Spring, the same nurse who was always with me on these
occasions, and who managed to come as often as possible
when the children had any ailments, came up to keep me
company. My husband came for a short holiday, my mother-
in-law was in her own cottage near by. But instead of waiting
until the right time, I woke my husband on the night of
August sixteenth, to tell him I thought he had better go to
Lubec and get our old friend, Doctor Bennett. My mother-
iit-law heard my husband call down to the men on the Half
Moon to bring in the little boat so he could sail over, so she
came running over from her cottage to find out what was
wrong.
Instead of behaving as I always had before and giving them
only a few hours to wait, I proceeded to make everyone wait
around for the whole of the next day, and the baby did not
arrive until early evening on August seventeenth, I felt very
guilty, for I knew Doctor Bennett had many other patients,
probably much more in need of his care than I was, and I
tried to make him leave, but he felt very responsible and in-
sisted on sitting around. At last it was all over and he re-
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marked to Miss Spring: "Why, she is just like one of us* ]
never took care of summer people before/* Evidently h<
thought that having a baby was different if you lived in Main*
all year around or if you spent part of the year somewhere
else, and I think he expected me to give him a great deal o1
trouble and was pleasantly surprised that I proved to be nc
more difficult than any of his other patients.
Franklin, Junior, the second baby to be given this name
progressed very satisfactorily and I never had a pleasantei
convalescence, though we had one scare. Miss Spring put 2
blue veil over the baby one day in order to shield him froir
the bright light and he sucked it, and 'when she went to look
at him she found him dyed blue and was petrified dbat some-
thing in the dye had poisoned him. The color "was on the out-
side for the most part, however, and washed off and h<
suffered no ill effects.
Franklin had arrived on July twenty-fifth, but on the
twenty-ninth he had a telegram to return to Washingtor
because war seemed so imminent. He wired me from there
the various events as they occurred before he returned tc
Campobdlo. None of us quite realized due years of war thai
lay ahead. This is best illustrated by the fact that a youn
banker, who was married to my husband's cousin, said re-
assuringly to us that summer that Afc war could not last long
the bankers of the world could control it by refusing credits
When my husband remarked that people had always bees
able to find money 'with which to carry on war, more thai
one man in the fman/jat world smiled knowingly and saic
This Is My Story
it could only be a question of a few months before Europe
would be at peace again. I think my husband had a premoni-
tion that it was not going to be over so quickly, perhaps be-
cause he saw so much of Navy people, who naturally were
planning what might happen if we were drawn in.
AN ASSISTANT SECHETARY AND A SEAMAN
While I was still in bed one of the destroyers came up and
spent a few days cruising around the coast. My husband gave
all the young officers heart failure by insisting on taking the
ship through a place which looked to them extremely danger-
ous, but which his intimate knowledge of these waters made
safe for navigation,
I remember one occasion when he brought a destroyer
through the Narrows. This is a passage running between
the mainland at Lubec, Maine, and the island of Campobello.
The tide runs through at great speed, except when it is slack,
and at low water it would be entirely impossible to take a
destroyer or any big ship through; but at high tide, if you
know the passage, it can be done. My husband did it on a
number of occasions, though the officers with him thought
he would surely scrape the bottom.
That autumn, though he did not resign as Assistant Secre-
tary of the Navy, my husband ran in the September primaries
against James W. Gerard for United States Senator and was
defeated. I remember very little about the campaign. I had
to stay in Campobello until September was well on, and had
such a small baby that most of my attention was focused on
Washington
him at the time. I do not think that my husband ever had
any idea that he was going to win out, and I have often
heard him say that he did not think himself suited to serve
in the United States Senate; and, therefore, it was probably
a great relief to find himself back at his desk in the Navy
Department.
Life was beginning to assume more serious aspects, and
when we got back to Washington that autumn many things
had begun to change, though on the surface the social life
went on as usual.
From Campobello I usually took the children to Hyde
Park and left them for a time with my mother-in4aw, while
I went back to Washington, until it seemed advisable to bring
them down. Sometimes I left the youngest ones even after
I moved Anna and James back, but this year we paid my
mother-in-law only a short visit and then moved back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MY BROTHER GOES TO THE YUKON
MY BROTHER, Hall, had spent the summer of 1913 as an as-
sistant professor in the Harvard Engineering Camp, and in
June, 1914, he graduated and with his wife, Margaret, he
started for the West, He wanted to go to Russia but the
European situation seemed so threatening that when he
reached California he decided to take a job with the Guggen-
heims in the mines near Dawson City in the Yukon. He had
to get there as soon as possible, and they had to come out
again before the winter set in or else spend the entire winter
up there. They stayed there in the end, and as a baby was to
arrive in April, I was asked in the autumn of 1914 to send
up a nurse during the following winter. I felt a bit hopeless
but found a woman from Norway or Sweden who consented
readily to go in by dog sled and she reached them safely,
It seemed very strange to have this brother, who had been
more like my child, so far away. In a way it was good train-
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My Brother Goes to the Yukon
ing for me, for I learned early that children leave home and
lead lives of their own and that it is well not to cling to them
too much, for that is sometimes the surest way of losing them
altogether*
One letter from my sister-in-law amused me very much.
She had never done any real housework before and here she
was obliged to do even her own washing. She had dumped
everything into the boiling water together, and all the dye
from the black things had run into the various other things
in the tub. She wrote bemoaning the color that had emerged
therefrom, and the shrinking almost to the vanishing point of
such things as woolen socks and underclothes,
She had great courage because never once did she suggest
that she would rather have left the Yukon and come back to
civilization before the birth of her second baby. I must say I
was vastly relieved when I got a wire on April u, 1915, say-
ing that Henry Parish Roosevelt had safely arrived and that
all was welL
THE SAN FRANCISCO FAIR 1915
In the spring of 1915, President Wilson appointed as com-
missioners to the San Francisco fair Mr. "William Phillips, who
was Assistant Secretary of State, and my husband, Mr.
Phillips went out ahead of us. I was to go with my husband
and we were to accompany Vice-President and Mrs. Marshall,
who were the personal representatives of the President at dbe
fair.
Much to our joy, the Secretary of the Interior and Mrs,
E
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Franklin K. Lane, and Mr* and Mrs. Adolph Miller, decided
to go out at the same time. They, of course, were going back
to their homes, for the Millers still owned a house in Berkeley,
and a ranch in Southern California. The Lanes had lived for
many years in California, and Mr. Lane had rendered great
service to that state as a public servant and to the City of San
Francisco during the earthquake and the fire that followed it,
Vice-President and Mrs. Marshall were to join us in Chi-
cago; and as I had never known either of them very well, and
the Vice-President had the reputation of being extremely
silent, I looked forward with some trepidation to being
thrown with them on what of necessity must be rather in-
timate terms. I cannot say that even after this trip I felt that I
knew either of them very well, but I liked them both very
much, and while I struggled through a number of meals with
rather a silent gentleman, I discovered that he had a fund of
dry humor and that there was no pretentiousness about him.
When he did not know a thing he said so. When he did not
like a thing he said so, and usually had some really amusing
remark to make. We were on the back platform of the train
when we crossed Great Salt Lake. Everyone was exclaiming
at the beauty around us. He removed the cigar which was
rarely out of his mouth and remarked, "I never did like
scenery/*
When at last we crossed the mountains and came down into
California, I waked in the morning to find that Secretary
Lane had been up bright and early and at our door was an
enormous basket of flowers, every kind he could purchase at
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My Brother Goes to the Yukofi
the station, with a card saying: "The land of flowers wel-
comes you." This was the kind of thing which Frank Lane
was always doing and was one of the reasons why people
loved him and found him such a charming companion.
Once arrived in San Francisco, we found ourselves im-
mersed in the usual round of official engagements* I remem-
ber one big New York State dinner in the State Building at
which I sat next to Mr. William Randolph Hearst. This was
the first time I had ever met him, though I had heard a great
deal about him. He would have been surprised to know that
I was really not interested in him at all, but very much in-
terested in meeting his mother, for someone had told me a
little about her and I had always been fascinated by tales of
the people who had gone out to California in the early days*
Old Mr* D. O. Mills, Jean Reid's grandfather, had occasion-
ally told us, when we were girls, some of the stories of the
forty-niners who had been in the first gold rush in California,
and I was always anxious to hear more about that period and
the times that followed.
To my joy, I found myself one day seated next to Mrs.
Phoebe Hearst, The table was decorated with the most beau-
tiful tulips and she told me that they came from her ranch,
where she made a specialty of importing every variety she
could obtain from Holland. I succeeded in getting her to tell
the story of her first trip to California, when she left the train
at Kansas City, where the line ended, and with her six chil-
dren made the rest of the trip by stagecoach. She had a scorn
for any modem woman who complained of the hardships of
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today, and she felt they had no realization of what hardships
really were; and even at the time I saw her, I sensed the spirit
of energy and determination which must have been hers as a
young woman.
Of course, die fleet lay in San Francisco harbor, so on two
occasions, at least, we went aboard the flagship and I remem-
ber with keen amusement the consultation between aides
carried on in our sitting room as to the order in which the
Vice-President, a Cabinet member, an Assistant Secretary of
the State Department and an Assistant Secretary of the Navy
should go on board the flagship. The Vice^-President was not
in the least concerned and felt the entire responsibility lay
with his aide. There were moments, however, when his aide
did not realize how detailed should be the information he
imparted. The Vice-President, who came from Indiana, could
hardly be expected to know much about rules of etiquette in
the Navy, and so when left to his own initiative would act in
a manner which did not always conform to Navy regulations.
However, all these difficulties of precedence and salutes were
solved as they always are.
The one thing I remember at the San Francisco fair as a
really outstanding experience was Franklin Lane's speech at
the dedication of the arch which pictured the advance of the
pioneers.
There were many lovely buildings, and beautiful effects
were created by landscaping and the use of artificial pools. It
was particularly lovely at night with the lights on the
jeweled tower.
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My Brother Goes to the Yukon
Both Mr. Phillips and my husband had been assigned to
visit the San Diego exposition also, so after spending a mem-
orable day at Senator Phelan's beautiful place overlooking
the Santa Clara Valley, we journeyed on to San Diego. This
was a smaller exposition, but the flowers and trees looked as
though they had always been there and gave the buildings a
more permanent and finished aspect. I look back upon this
as even more beautiful than the San Francisco exposition.
We spent one day at Coronado, and a more wonderful
beach I have never seen. Then the official part of the trip was
over. The Vice-President and Mrs. Marshall had left us in
San Francisco. Secretary and Mrs. Lane, Mr. and Mrs. Adolph
Miller and Assistant Secretary and Mrs. Phillips stayed on in
California. Other friends who had joined us Mr. and Mrs.
Livingston Davis, from Boston, Mr. and Mrs. Owen Winston,
from New York left us on the Coast also. Both these men
were Franklin's classmates at Harvard, and Livy Davis had
done much cruising with him on the Half Moon.
They could hardly be talking a minute without breaking
into some reminiscence. One of their favorite stories that I
remember was of another friend, Tom Beal, who frequently
went cruising too. On one famous occasion he was returning
to the boat, and in climbing over the side, the rough sea
proved too much for his stability and instead of landing on
board with the provisions he had bought, he landed unex-
pectedly in the bottom of the little boat with everything
which he fe>^ bought on top of him ? and I gather he was a
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mixture of eggs, berries, butter, cream, and so on. I am afraid
le did not enjoy the joke as much as his fellow sailors, who
stood along the deck and roared with laughter and probably
sent him back to do the marketing all over again!
My husband has a really good sense of humor and can en-
joy a joke on himself as well as those on other people, but I
used to be very much amused in those early days at the evident
relish with which some of the young men laughed at some-
one else's expense and how much more forced was the
laughter when they themselves were the victims!
RETURN JOURNEY
After bidding everyone farewell, we started back to Wash-
ington, stopping on the way to see Bob and Isabella Ferguson
at their new home, called the Burro Mountain Homestead,
near Tyrone, New Mexico. It seems incredible now, but
their big living room might have been, except for a few
distinctively Western touches, a room in Scotland or on Long
Island. They had brought all their furniture beautiful Adams
and Chippendale pieces out to this adobe house built on
three sides of a courtyard, in the middle of which was a
swimming pool, on a site in Southwest New Mexico. The
house fitted perfectly into the landscape and was entirely
suitable to its surroundings, and somehow or other the furni-
ture belonging to such a very different type of living was
amalgamated into the general comfort and beauty of the
interior.
They had a Chinese cook who reigned over a range big
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My Brother Goes to the Yukon
enough for a hotel kitchen. In the morning we all break-
fasted in the kitchen, Bob, of course, staying in his room.
When I think now of the endless care that went into the
upbringing of two children in the same house with a man
who was slowly dying of tuberculosis, I marvel at the fact
that Isabella was able to create the impression that life was
joyous, that die burdens were not heavy, and that anyone
who was not living that kind of life was missing something.
Isabella's mother was able to give a great deal of help for a
few years, at least, until she herself became ilL Of course,
everyone far and near loved and admired Isabella. At one
time or another she had people helping with the education of
her children. Because they -were devoted to her, they lived
what was after all a lonely life, out of admiration for the gal-
lant fight which she was waging. You could not pay for sudh
devotion but you earned it, nevertheless.
Some of Isabella's neighbors who lived some twenty miles
away drove over to see her one afternoon, and she casually
remarked to me that at Christmastime some of the cowboys
had ridden thirty miles for Christmas dinner with them and
many of them had not seen a woman for months.
Bob was no longer his old self, and in spite of the charm
which was always his, his illness was taking its toll; and these
were sad days for those who loved him and could realize
what a burden Isabella was carrying.
I will never forget my first glimpse of the train of small
burros with packs of wood on their backs followed by a
Mexican coming along the mountains outlined against a SUBL-
Tliis Is My Story
set sky, nor have I seen anywhere else in the world anything
more beautiful than the colors that the desert and the moun-
tains take on at sunset and sunrise. I think on that visit I began
to get a little of the feeling of the love of the wide open spaces
which I have today,
Our visit had to be short and we hurried back to our chil-
dren and our duties in Washington.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GROWING INDEPENDENCE
I WAS beginning to acquire considerable independence again
because my husband's duties made it impossible for him to
travel with us at all times, and so I was growing accustomed
to managing quite a small army on moves from W^ashington
to Hyde Park and to Campobello and back.
I remember one summer I tbink it was the summer of
1915 when my husband came with us as far as Boston.
After seeing us on the train he returned to Washington. We
had a drawing room, two sections and a lo wee bertbu I meant
to put one of my maids in the lower berth but before tfae
train started a poor, emaciated-looking Tnan ? accompanied by
a rather burly gentleman, was brought in and hoisted into
the upper berth above it. It was quite evident he was in the
last stages of tuberculosis, going back to his home to die. He
coughed incessantly, and I soon discovered that the two men
were going to occupy that upper berth together and I realized
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whoever slept in the lower berth would be more or less se-
cluded with that ceaseless cough, to say nothing of germs!
My maids were young and I did not feel that I could sub-
ject them to this experience, so I put as many children as I
could with a nurse in the drawing room, turned the other
sections over to the remaining children and servants and slept
myself in that lower berth or, rather, lay and listened to the
poor creature over my head. You may be sure I was up early
in the morning.
When the station came where the man got out, I was quite
shocked to find that he could swear volubly, which seemed to
me inappropriate in anyone so near his end! I then watched
with great interest what was done to fumigate his berth. They
stripped off the sheets and pillowcases but left the blankets
and pillow and then brought a little squirting machine and
squirted everything very thoroughly. I asked what they were
nsmg and was told it was a disinfectant, but I must say that
even at that I did not feel very well satisfied that all the germs
had been removed! I thought of the people who frequently
take drawing rooms because they have some contagious dis-
ease and decided that it was remarkable that we did not all of
us catch diseases on trains more frequently than we do. I dis-
covered later that once arrived at its destination that berth
was thoroughly fumigated, which has allayed my fears ever
since.
I was glad to arrive that morning, however, and breathe
the cold dear air of Maine. Once you get accustomed to that
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Growing Independence
tonic in summer there is no other place in the world ths
quite gives you the same feeling.
I had not been long in Campobello when there came a wit
telling me that Franklin had been operated on for appendicit
in Washington. I got off by the first train, changed in Bosto
in the morning, and in New York in the afternoon, and ws
on my way to Washington when one of the men on the trai
came through calling my name. He handed me a. telegrar
which said: "Franklin doing well, your mother-in-law wit
him, Louis Howe/* I could cheerf ally have slain poor Loui
who 'was trying to be kind and relieve my anxiety, simpl
because I had to claim that wire and eyes were turned on m
from all over the car!
So my shyness was not entirely cured! In fact, it never Its
been and there are certain things which bother me even tc
day, and the people "who know me best are conscious of i
Years later I remember Louis Howe taking me out to dinnc
at a restaurant, sitting at a table he did not like, and eatia
food he did not like, simply because he said he knew I woul
be uncomfortable if he made me conspicuous by getting u
and changing to another table or complaining about the foot
I don't suppose that kind of shyness ever really leaves on
and to this day it sweeps over me occasionally when I face
crowd, and I wish the ground would open and swallow m<
Habit has a great deal to do with what one actually does o
these occasions, and the next few years were going to gi\
me a very intensive education along many lines.
I found Franklin's mother in Washington at his bedsic
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and we spent some time there together. Our two colored
maids, Millie and Frances, took good care of us; and as it was
hot, we had our meals under the little rose arbor in the gar-
den. We even did such frivolous things as to wander out one
day while Franklin was taking a nap, and let a gentleman tell
us the future by answering our questions which we wrote on
paper and held in our hands or tightly folded against our
foreheads. As usual, I was entirely too much of a skeptic to
get results, but if I remember righdy, my mother-in-law
asked if we would go to war and he told her we would.
She finally felt her son was well enough to leave and I
stayed on alone until Franklin was able to leave the Naval
Hospital and go on board the Dolphin for the trip up the
coast. George Marvin, an old friend of ours who had been
more than kind to Franklin at this time, traveled with us and
stayed a week or so enjoying the absolutely quiet life at
Campobello and the air, which was extremely revivifying
after the heat of Washington.
THE WAH IN EUROPE AND REACTIONS HERE
Ever since the beginning of the World War in Europe our
country was becoming the battleground of opposing ideas,
and our family was being torn by the differences between
Theodore Roosevelt's philosophy and that of President Wil-
son and his Administration in general- I had a tremendous
respect for this uncle of mine, and for all his opinions. I knew
that he felt we should take sides in the European war. He was
such a definite person that he could not understand how one
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Growing Independence
could sit by without making up one's mind that one side or
the other -was right, and if one side was right this country
must throw its strength on the side which was right. I do not
know that he felt in the beginning that we should actually
go to war to help out the Allies, but a neutral position was a
difficult thing for him to hold for any length of time.
Woodrow Wilson, on the other hand, was determined that
our nation should not be dragged into this war if it could
possibly be kept out, and above everything else he did not
wish our country to go in until the nation itself felt the urge
to take a stand which would undoubtedly cost it much in
men and money. No one had any realization of how much,
however, and few if any saw far enough into the future to
visualize the results that "would come years later.
We had already begun to send ambulances and food to
European nations. Mr. Herbert Hoover was feeding the
Belgians- My husband was conscious of the pull of varying
ideas and standards and I think, being young, there were
times -when he wished a final decision could be readied more
quickly. I have often thought in recent years, when be has
waited while younger advisers champed at die bit for action,
of these early days when he played the role of a most youthful
and fiery adviser.
William Jennings Bryan, Secretary of State, was a wett-
fcnown pacifist. I was always fond of Mrs. Bryan, but in spite
of my admiration for Mr. Bryan's powers of oratory, there
were certain things that did not appeal to me so much in him
at this time.
This Is My Story
Antiwar germs must have been in me even then, however,
for I had an instinctive belief in his stand on peace. I remem-
ber Mr. Bryan had miniature plowshares made from old guns
and given to many people in the Government. They were
greeted by some with ridicule, but to me they were not in
the least ridiculous. I thought them an excellent reminder
that our swords should be made into plowshares and should
continue in this useful occupation.
Many people were already making fortunes out of the
war: those who made munitions, for instance; the growers of
cotton and of wheat were finding a ready market in the na-
tions who required more raw materials and foodstuffs than
they could grow themselves, with most of their men at the
front and much of their land out of activation.
Distinguished groups came from foreign nations to look
after the interests of their own countries over here, and the
social life of Washington became, if anything, busier and
more interesting.
In the winter of 1915-16, a large economic conference for
South and Central American commerce was held in Wash-
ington, and the State Department arranged for every Gov-
ernment official to entertain some of the delegates and their
wives at different times.
The dinner that we gave I remember very vividly because
we never could find out how many people were going to
dine with us or what their names were. A list was furnished
us, but as the people arrived many of the names were quite
different from the ones on the list. However, we finally sat
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Growing Independence
down and had enough places at table! I was getting on very
well because the men on either side of me spoke English and
French. I suddenly looked toward the other end of the table
and saw that my husband was having a rather difficult time
making conversation with the lady on his right. On his left
he had a man who seemed able to tallr to him. Later that
evening I inquired how he had enjoyed his dinner companions
and he answered that they were charming; the lady had been
a trifle difficult to talk to as she could speak only Spanish and
all he could say was: "How many children have you,
madame" To which she always responded smilingly with
the number and nothing more!
Lily Polk, whose husband, Frank Polk, was counselor in
the State Department at this time, had a great deal more of
this entertaining to do than we had, and she had begun to
study Spanish diligently. For a while we took lessons to-
gether, but she was a far better student than I was. Perhaps
my handicap was somewhat greater because I knew a certain
amount of Italian, not well enough to keep the Italian and
Spanish words separated, so I acquired a somewhat scrambled
vocabulary! However, I finally did achievean ability to under-
stand and read the language, which stands me in good stead
today, even though I would not dare to formulate a sentence.
The German ambassador was conscious, I think, of the
general antagonism growing around him, particularly after
the sinking of the Lusitania, but he had a few warm friends
and went his way serenely enough in Washington society.
The French and English ambassadors were under great pres-
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sure; many people wanted them to undertake the same kind
of propaganda which the German ambassador was carrying
on. The French ambassador, M. Jusserand, had been so many
years in this country that he had a great knowledge of the
United States and its people, and the same was true of Sir
Cecil Spring-Rice, the English ambassador, and neither of
them would consent to much active propaganda. Perhaps they
felt that there was enough interest among certain United
States citizens to bring about all the propaganda which was
really needed, and events later vindicated their judgment!
Sir Cecil Spring-Rice had been in this country as a young
man and had become a great friend of Theodore Roosevelt's
family, and retained that friendship through the years, so
that when we went to Washington one of the first houses that
opened to us was the British embassy. He was a great reader
and student of American history; one of the things he asked
me the first time I sat by him at dinner was which of the
American histories did I feel was the best. When I hesitated he
casually remarked how strange it seemed that we citizens of
the United States read so little of our own history! Sir
Eustace Percy, one of the younger members of the embassy
staff at the time, was making an exhaustive study of our Civil
War and had visited all the battlefields. Few young Americans
do as much.
Stories of "Springy," as he was called by his intimates, and
his peculiarities were current in Washington. They said that
one day he came in from a long walk in the rain, went up-
stairs and dressed for dinner, came back to his study and sat
Growing Independence
down to read by the fire. In a short time the dressing bell rang
and he arose and 'went back and put on all the wet clothes
and came down thus dressed for dinner!
One thing I do know: that without Lady Spring-Rrce many
official engagements would not have been met on time. I have
been at the embassy when she has gone into his sitting room
and said: "Your appointment with the French ambassador is
in ten minutes and the car is at the door," and a very reluctant
Springy would get up from his book and his fire, put on his
hat and go to meet the French ambassador or the Secretary of
State or "whomever it might be.
Our two eldest children, Anna and James, and later Elliott,
our second boy, attended a dancing class at the embassy and
so Lady Springy, as she was called, and I had a number of
contacts, and my admiration for the quiet way in which she
managed her life was great. She never seemed to interfere,
and yet she saw that her husband's absorption in books or
study did not lead him into some diplomatic lapse which
would hurt his relationship with his colleagues and reader
his contacts less effective.
The French ambassador and fits c^?immg wife had many
friends. M. Jusserand had been one of Theodore Rooseve$t*s
" walking cabinet*** He was a small IT"> and had grown tip in
the mountains of France and was an ecspert dfimber and all his
life had taken long walking trips, so he was not in theleast
daunted by Theodore Roosevelt's esxnjrsions through Rock
Greek Park, even when the excursion required crossing the
brook in some deep spot.
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Here, too, we were welcome because of our family con-
nections, and before long -we had found a very congenial
couple in the second secretary of the embassy, M. de Labou-
kye, and his wife. Marie de Laboulaye and I became great
friends. She had had an extremely strict bringing up, as her
father was in the French army and gave the girls a deep sense
of duty. This was her most marked characteristic and co-
incided in some ways with the results of my own early train-
ing. Our lives and ideas ran along similar lines. "We have re-
mained friends and though life has changed me more than it
has her, I think, still I understand and respect the ideals and
principles which make Marie de Laboulaye one of the finest
characters it has ever been my good fortune to know.
One other person stands out among the people we knew
well in these first years in Washington. While I cannot say
that I knew him well, the few opportunities we did have to
be with him left a great impression upon us. The Theodore
Roosevelts and Mrs. Cowles had known Mr. Henry Adams
well and were constant visitors at his house on Lafayette
Square. We knew some of the people who were his intimate
friends and so occasionally we received one of the much-
coveted invitations to lunch or dine at his home*
Aileen Tone, who was a friend of mine, was with him as a
young friend and secretary, and my first picture of this sup-
posedly stern, rather biting Mr. Adams is of an old gentleman
in a victoria outside of our house on N Street. Aileen Tone
and I were having tea inside the house, but Mr. Adams never
paid calls. He did, however, request that the children of the
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Growing Independence
house come out and join him in the victoria; and they not
only did join him, but they brought their Scottie dog, and
the entire group sat and chatted and played all over the vic-
toria. No one was ever able thereafter to persuade me that
Mr. Adams was quite the cynic he was supposed to be.
One day after lunch with him, my husband mentioned
something which at the time was causing him deep concern
in the Government, and Mr. Adams looked at him rather
fiercely and said: "Young man, I have lived in this house
many years and seen the occupants of that "White House
across the square come and go, and nothing that you minor
officials or the occupant of that house can do will affect the
history of the world for long !" True, perhaps, but not a very
good doctrine to preach to a young man in political life I
Henry Adams loved to shock his hearers, and I think he
knew that those who were worth their salt would understand
him and pick out of the knowledge which flowed from his
lips the things which might be useful, and discard the cynt-
asm as an old man's defense against his own urge to be an
active factor in the work of the world, a role which Henry
Adams rejected in his youth.
There were other people, who, on account of Uncle Ted
and Auntie Bye, were kind to us. Among them, Senator and
Mrs. Lodge, She was one of the loveliest women I have ever
known and always made me feel really at home. We went
occasionally, too, on Sunday afternoons to the Misses Patten,
whose house was always a popular center. They were an in-
teresting group of asters who knew everyone, and because
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one of them could always manage to be present when any-
thing interesting was going on, they were the source of rapid
dissemination of news.
So much for all the recollections of a social life which
seemed above everything else important to me during the
first years when we lived in Washington. It is hard for me
now to realize that dinners or contacts with people in society
could ever have seemed to me so important as they did in
those first years. I can only explain it by the fact that, so far
as I could see, they were the only connection I had with the
work which my husband was doing, and which I felt was
important, though I knew nothing about it at that time.
I always put my children first, in that their lives were
planned in a manner which I felt was right for them, but I
think for the good of our own relationship and of my hus-
band's work we did far more of the social round in Wash-
ington than was either necessary or wise. Why I had this feel-
ing of compulsion about it, I cannot now understand, but it
was undoubtedly there at the time and I simply never thought
I could do anything else.
Ckcumstances, however, occasionally forced me bade into
a more peaceful, normal existence.
1*38]
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OUR YOUNGEST CHILD IS BORN
IN MARCH, 1916, our youngest child was to be born, and I
had a faint hope that he might arrive on our wedding art-
niversary, the seventeenth of March, which was also my
mother's birthday. Now in early March I was naturally see-
ing more of my intimate friends, and particularly Mrs,
William Phillips, who was waiting for her second baby- Her
first child had died and so we were all very anxious that
everything go well with. her. She expected her baby ahead of
mine. We were dfning together one evening and my husband
had gone out after dinner to some business meeting. She and
I sat quiedy together until ten o'clock, when she went home.
I went upstairs and called Miss Spring, who called the doctor.
When my husband came home my youngest son was almost
in the world and soon after made: his appearance.
We named this youngest boy John Aspinwall, after Frank-
lin's uncle, who was many years younger than
father*
This Is My Story
That winter of 1916 had been rather a hard winter on my
husband, because of a throat infection. He had had such a bad
time with this throat that he had had to go to Atlantic City,
where his mother met him. He was supposed to take a two-
weeks vacation, but the inactivity was more than he could
bear, and in a week he was back at work again. I hoped we
were through with serious illness.
However, the baby was scarcely two days old when Elliott
developed a bad cold and swollen glands. I thought this would
amount to very litde but in another day we had a trained nurse
for him and he was worse instead of better. Anything more
trying than to be in bed and have a child in a room on the
floor above you who is very ill, I do not know, so I look back
on this spring as another trying experience. Finally we sent
for an old friend of Miss Spring's, who came down from New
York to take charge of Elliott and gradually nurse him back
to comparative health.
From that time on until he went to boarding school at the
age of twelve, he was a delicate small boy whom we had to
watch very carefully. Sometimes when I look at the strong
man he has grown to be, it is hard to realize the years of
anxiety which went into his upbringing. From the spring of
1916 on he seemed to have everything more seriously than the
others, I suppose his resistance was lowered, and I often won-
der if he remembers the days and weeks that he spent in bed.
Whatever else it may have done for him, it gave him a taste
for books; and I think of all the children, he had through-
[ 240 ]
Our Youngest Child Is Born
out his earlier years, at least the greatest pleasure in reading,
and developed a real appreciation of literature.
All our babies -were christened in the house or in the litde
Episcopal Church at Hyde Park, so when we moved up this
summer the usual christening took place. All the boys in the
family have worn their father's christening dress, Anna was
christened in the dress in which I had been christened and
which was made for me by my father's Aunt Ella, whom you
will remember my having first visited in Liverpool when I
went abroad to school. All the children have worn on their
christening day a litde Russian gold charm which my mother-
in-law' keeps carefully put away because it was given to my
husband by his godmother, Miss Eleanor Blodgett, when he
was christened. Some of the grandchildren who have been
brought to Hyde Park for their christening have been privi-
leged to wear t-Vik charm also, but my mother-in-law guards
it very carefully and I do not think she would allow it to be
taken from Hyde Park to be used in any other place!
THE FERST INFANTKE PARALYSIS EPIDEMIC
That summer of 1916 I went up with the children as usual
to Campobello. Franklin came occasionally. Toward the end
of the summer everybody with litde children began to won-
der how, if they had to move them, they were going to get
them from wherever they might be to any other place. That
was the summer when we had a very bad infantile-paralysis
epidemic among children. I had never stayed in Campobdtto
late into September, but there I was entirely alone with the
[ 34* 1
This Is My Story
children, marooned on the island, and apparently I was going
to be there for some time. Finally Franklin was allowed to
use the Dolphin again, and in early October he came up, put
the entire family on board and landed us on our own dock
in the Hudson River.
There were beginning to be wild rumors of German sub-
marines crossing the ocean and being seen at different places
along the coast, and on the one stop which we made on the
way down we heard the news that a German submarine had
been sighted, and I believe its officers had landed.
The children remained at Hyde Park until it was safe for
them to travel, and I went back to Washington. From a life
centered entirely in my family, I became conscious, on re-
turning to the seat of Government in Washington, that there
was a sense of impending disaster hanging over all of us.
FRANKLIN IN HAITI
The various attacks on our shipping -were straining our re-
lationship with Germany and more and more the temper of
the country was gradually turning against the Germans.
Stories drifted in of the atrocities in Belgium and were be-
lieved, but in spite of an increasing tenseness -we had not
actually broken off our diplomatic relations with Germany
and that winter my husband started on a trip to Haiti. The
Marines were in control. Franklin took with him the presi-
dent of the Civil Service Commission, Mr. John McDhenny.
Mr. MdQhenny was an old friend of Theodore Roosevelt's
and one of his Rough Riders. His family owned large planta-
tions in Louisiana. Later he was made financial adviser to
MRS. FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
*" We were married on St. Patrick's Day* 1905, because Uncle Ted C Theodore
Roosevelt}, who was to give me away, was coming on for the tnrade "
THE PRESIDENT AND MRS. ROOSEVELT ON THEIR HONEYMOON
* We spent our firft honeymoon in Hyde Park We had cwo honeymoons,
because my husband had to finish his year at law school "
\
FRANKUN E> ROOSEVELT
* My husband -was a very good sailor and pilot; as a rule he sailed
into the harbor ahead of his schedule "
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT AT TWENTY ON BOARD THE " HALF MOON *
Miss SPRING WITH THE FIRST BABY FKANKLIN AMD ANNA
FOUR GENERATIONS, 1913
Grandmother Hall, Aunt Tissie Mortimer,
Eleanor and Anna Roosevelt
ANNA, JAMES, AND ELLIOTT ROOSEVELT
"The children have inherited their looks from their father's side of the family "
MRS. FRANKLIN D, ROOSEVELT AND FRANKLIN, JR., 1915
Our Youngest Child Is Bom
Haiti and managed his rather difficult job extremely well,
with, the ultimate result that we later returned to the Haitian
government the control of their own financial affairs.
This trip of my husband's was an extremely interesting trip
and took him on horseback through a good part of the island.
He was far away from the coast of Santo Domingo, up in the
mountains, when a cable came from the Secretary of the Navy
announcing that political conditions required his immediate
return to "Washington, and that a destroyer would meet him
at the nearest port. We had severed diplomatic connections
with Germany and the ambassador had been given his papers
and asked to leave the United States. The naval attache, Cap- *
tain Boy-Ed, and others finally succeeded in thoroughly
arousing the antagonism of the American people by spying
into American affairs. This, however, my husband did not
know. When he went to the dinner -which was given him by
the Marine officers in charge of this station, he showed the
decoded telegram which he had just received to the lady who
sat next to him. She had lived so long in the parts of the
world where revolutions were uppermost in people's minds,
that she promptly said: "Political conditions! Why, that must
mean that Charles Evans Hughes has led a revolution against
President Wilson."-
Without any knowledge of what had occurred, my hus-
band and his party started down the mountains on a rather
perilous trip, but reached their destination safely and sailed
for home, hearing the news on the way of the severed diplo-
matic relations.
E 243 ]
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WAR PREPARATIONS
BACK in Washington, my husband plunged into intensive
work, for the possibility of the United States' being drawn
into the war seemed imminent. The Navy must be ready for
action immediately on this declaration of war.
We found it necessary to move the autumn of 1916 because
five children were more than Auntie Bye's (Mrs. William
Sheffield Cowles) house on N Street was designed to hold
comfortably. No. 2131 R Street was a pleasant house. It had
a small garden in the back where Anna and James, with their
friends, often played ball. I remember one shattering experi-
ence when the ball went over the Avail, through the window
of an apartment house across the street and landed in an
elderly lady's lap. It took many apologies to reinstate us in
good favor; and I went through the struggle which I imagine
every family goes through, with every small boy, trying to
make James pay for that window out of his allowance so
[ 244 ]
War Preparations
that he would not forget to be careful of the direction in
which he threw a ball in the future!
All too soon we were to find ourselves actually in the war,
and during these spring months of 1917 my husband and I
were less and less concerned with social life except where it
could be termed useful or necessary to the work which tad
to be done. My husband frequently brought people home
for luncheon because he had to talk to them, and we often
entertained particular people who came from other nations
because it was necessary that they should get to know the
people with whom they were dealing.
Everyone was anxious, and, finally, after weeks of tension,
I heard that the President was going to address Congress as a
preliminary to a declaration of war. Everyone wanted to
hear this historic address and it was with the greatest difficulty
that Franklin got me a seat. I went and listened breathlessly
and returned home still half dazed by the sense of impend-
ing change, but continued the daily routine in much the same
way as usual. Some protective instinct makes us all attempt
to keep our everyday lives on an even keel though we feel
the world rocking all around us.
THE DECLARATION OF WAR
War was declared on April 6, 1917, and from then on the
men in the Government worked from morning until night
and late into the night. The women in Washington paid no
more calls. They began to organize at once to meet the un-
usual demands of war time. Mrs* J. Borden Harritnan called
This Is My Story
a meeting to form a motor corps for Red Cross work. I at-
tended that meeting but at that time I could not drive a car,
so I decided that that was not my field of work.
No work was fully organized until the next autumn, but I
joined the Red Cross canteen, helped Mrs. Daniels to organize
the Navy Red Cross and began to distribute free wool for
knitting provided by the Navy League.
I found myself very busy also, that spring, entertaining
members of foreign missions who continued to come to *-Vns
country to talk over the type of co-operation that we were to
give the Allies. Mr. Balfour came over with a mission from
England and arrived three days before the French mission.
This was a quiet, unspectacular mission, but he had men with
him who had served at the front and been wounded. They
found their way at times to our home.
In the first French mission were Marshal Joffre and former
Premier Viviani. They arrived in this country on April 25,
1917.
Franklin's cousin, Warren Robbins, was at that time at-
tached to the State Department and was given the responsi-
bility of accompanying the French mission and making their
trip in the country as comfortable and pleasant as possible. A
great crowd greeted them in Washington, and Joffre, who
had been the hero of the stand at the Marne, was received
everywhere with the greatest enthusiasm. People knew that
his soldiers had called him "Papa Joffre/* and his whole ap-
pearance suited this name so well that the crowds over here
would often hail him in this way.
[246 ]
War Preparations
Viviani was not an agreeable personality, but he was a
brilliant speaker. They had, of course, a number of people in
their party, and the man who appealed to me most was
Lieutenant-Colonel Fabry, who walked with a cane. He was
Joffre's personal aide, and was known as the Blue Devil of
France. Before and after the war he was a newspaper editor,
a gentle, quiet person to whom this nickname seemed hardly
appropriate! Badly wounded many times, when he was in
Washington he was in constant pain.
Before our entry into the war many foolish people like my-
self said that only our financial resources would be needed and
that the only branch of the service which would be called
upon to fight would be the Navy. However, on our entry
into the war both services were called into action, and the first
plea made by the French mission was that some American
soldiers be sent to France in July instead of in October, as our
Government had planned. The argument "was that the Allies
were tired and that the sight of new uniforms and of fresh
men at the front would restore their morale, which was being
subjected to such a long strain.
The one thing I remember most vividly are die trips from
Washington down to Mt. Vernon on the Sylph, especially
the first one with Mr. Balfour, Marshal Joffre and Premier
Viviani. Secretary and Mrs. Daniels and my husband and my-
self, with other members of the Cabinet, accompanied them,
and their first duty was to lay a wreath on the tomb of George
Washington. It was a ceremonious occasion, and as we gath-
ered around the open iron grille at the tomb each man made
This Is My Story
a speech. It struck me suddenly how odd it must seem to Mr.
Baifour to be paying honor to the memory of the man who
had severed from the mother country some rather profitable
colonies, but Mr. Baifour was graceful and adequate, as al-
ways, in this rather peculiar situation.
Only when someone on the lawn at Mt. Vernon told him
the story of George Washington throwing a silver dollar
across the Potomac to the other shore, did his eyes twinkle as
he responded, "My dear sir, he accomplished an even greater
feat than that. He threw a sovereign across the ocean!" (Note
a sovereign is an English piece of money and also a tide for
i >\
king. )
Unfortunately, during that spring the three older children
had developed whooping cough. I was terrified on account
of the baby and promptly fell back upon my mother-in-law,
who took all three older children, with their governess, into
her New York house until she moved to Hyde Park, when
she took them up there with her. In this way the two young-
est boys, Franklin, Junior, and John, escaped the disease,
which I have always dreaded for babies.
I was distressed that Anna and James and Elliott, who were
old enough to remember seeing some of these celebrities,
should not be given the opportunity to meet Marshal Joffre.
I confided my regrets to Colonel Fabry, who kindly told the
marshal, and when they went to New York City Colonel
Fabry remembered to ask nay mother-in-law and the three
children to come to the Frick ho^se and meet the marshal.
In spite of the whooping cough, the marshal kissed all the
[ 248 ]
War Preparations
children and was extremely kind to them, and to my mother-
in-law. I really doubt, however, whether meeting celebrities
makes much impression on children, for though. I know my
mother-in-law told them at the time what a remarkable man
this French general was, being kissed by a stranger was the
only thing which made much of an impression, and the fact
that an organ -was playing in a private house as they went up
the stairs intrigued them more than all the celebrities.
These two missions sailed back one day apart, the French
on May twenty-fourth, and the English on May twenty-
fifth.
Immediately after the declaration of war, Uncle Ted came
to Washington to offer his services to the President. He had
already a large group of men who wished to go to the front
with him. He felt he could easily raise a division and in it
would be many of the best officers in the Army who wished
to serve under him, such as General Wood, and many of the
old Rough Riders and probably the pick of American youth.
Uncle Ted could not bear the thought that his boys should go
and he be left behind. He was strong and able enough, he con-
tended, to fight in this war as he had in the Spanish War, and
as he tad urged the people to enter on the side of the Allies
he wanted to be among the first to enlist.
On this visit he stayed with his daughter, Alice Longworth,
and I went with Franklin to see him. Though he was kind to
us, as he always was, he was completely preoccupied with the
war; and after he had been to see President Wilson and the
President had not immediately accepted his offer, but had said
[ 249 1
This Is My Story
he must think it over, Uncle Ted returned in a very unhappy
mood. I think he knew from the noncommittal manner in
which he had been received that his proposal was not going
to be accepted. I hated to have him disappointed and yet I was
loyal to President Wilson, and was much relieved later on,
when I knew that Uncle Ted's offer had been submitted to
General Pershing and the War Department and that the con-
sensus of opinion had been that it would be a grave mistake
to allow one division to attract so many of the men who
would be needed as officers in many divisions. Uncle Ted cer-
tainly did his best to go overseas, but it was felt that the prom-
inence of his position and his age made it unwise for him to
be in Europe. I think the decision was a bitter blow from
which he never quite recovered.
I did very little war 'work that summer beyond the inevi-
table knitting which every woman undertook and which be-
came a constant habit. No one moved without her knitting.
I had always done a certain amount but never had achieved
the ease which the war brought as a natural result. Even if
your life seemed to call you away from where you could
render some kind of direct service, you could be knitting all
the time.
The Navy Department was co-operating so closely with
England and France that my husband hardly left Washington,
but I went back and forth. He came for short periods of time
only to the coast of Maine. It was decided that we had no
right to keep the boat which we had always used at Campo-
bdlo, and so the Half Moon was sold, much to the regret of
[250 ]
War Preparations
both my husband and my mother-in-law. The latter had a
real sentimental attachment for it on account of the pleasure
her husband had had in sailing her.
My brother, Hall, who was at this time working for the
General Electric Company in Schenectady, had a second litde
boy, borninjuly of 1917. Hall was forbidden to enlist, under the
rules which barred a man from everything but aviation if he
was responsible for the production of war materials in the
General Electric Company plant. He had been so close to
Uncle Ted and his family that he felt when all those boys en-
listed he must join also. He slipped away from -work on the
plea that he wanted to visit his uncle, and he and Quentin
Roosevelt went together on July fourteenth, and enlisted in
the only branch of the service which was permissible for Hall
under the circumstances aviation.
I think both Hall and Quentin must have memorized the
card for the eye test, because neither of them had eyes -which
would allow them to pass the test otherwise. They were both
brilliant, and a little thing like remembering all the letters on
the card meant nothing to either of them.
Hall was called to the first school of aviation in Ithaca in
late July or August. My grandmother felt very strongly that
he should not leave his wife and little children, and I remem-
ber my feeling of utter horror when I went to see her one day
and she demanded of me why he did not buy a substitute! I
had at that time never heard of buying a substitute and said
that no one did such a thing. Her old eyes looked at me curi-
ously and she said: "In the Civil War many gentlemen bought
This Is My Story
substitutes. It was the thing to do/* I hody responded that a
gentleman was no different from any other kind of citizen in
the United States, and that it would be a disgrace to pay any-
one to risk his life for you, particularly when Hall could leave
his wife and children with the assurance that at least they
would have money enough to live on.
This was my first really outspoken declaration against the
accepted standards of the surroundings in which I had spent
my childhood, and marked the fact that either my husband,
or an increasing ability to think for myself, was changing my
point of view.
[252 ]
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A CHANGING EXISTENCE
THAT autumn, back in Washington, real work began in ear-
nest, and all my executive ability, which had been more or
less dormant up to this time, was called into play. The house
must run more smoothly than ever, we must entertain and
I must be able to give less attention to it than ever before.
The children must lead normal lives; Anna must go to the
Eastman school every day, and James and Elliott must go to
the Cathedral school, which was out in the opposite direction.
All this required organization.
My mother-in-law used to laugh at me and say I could pro-
vide my chauffeur with more orders to be carried out during
the day than anyone else she had ever listened to, but this was
just a symptom of developing executive ability. My time was
now completely filled with a variety of war activities, and I
was learning to have a certain confidence in myself and in my
ability to meet emergencies and deal with them.
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This Is My Story
WAR WOKK FOR THE WOMEN
One afternoon of every week I gave out wool from my
own house and took in finished articles. Marie de Laboulaye
and I went over them, for she volunteered to help in Ameri-
can war work, feeling that that was a way of showing her
gratitude for the help which our Government was giving her
country. Mrs. Charles Munn was a young and very pretty
bride at that time and drove her own car. She collected the
bundles of knitted garments and delivered them to their desti-
nation.
Two or three shifts a week I spent in the Red Cross canteen
in the railroad yards. During the winter I took chiefly day
shifts in the canteen, for I was obliged to be at home, if pos-
sible, to see my children before they went to bed, and I fre-
quently had guests for dinner* I can remember one or two
occasions when I arrived in my uniform as my guests arrived,
and I think it was during this period that I learned to dress
with rapidity, a habit which has stayed with me ever since.
We had some wonderful women in charge of the canteen and
were very fortunate in the direction which they gave us. Miss
Mary Patten worked on a number of shifts with me and I
would often stop for her in the car, so I came to know her
very well, and I grew to have great affection and respect for
her character and willingness to work.
Everyone in the canteen, however, was expected to do any
work that was necessary, even mopping the floor, and no one
remained long a member of this Red Cross unit who could
A Changing 'Existence.
not do anything that was asked of her. I remember one lady
who came down escorted by her husband to put in one after-
noon. I doubt if she had ever done any manual labor before
in her life, and she was no longer young. The mere suggestion
that she might have to scrub the floor filled her with horror
and we never again saw her on a shift.
We had an army kitchen in a little tin building where we
made coffee. We cut the bread with the cutting machine,
spread it with jam, and wrapped the finished sandwiches in
paper. Large caldrons of coffee and large baskets of sand-
wiches were ready for the trainloads of men as they went
through.
I had one disastrous experience with the bread-cutting ma-
chine. On a particularly busy day, rather early on my shift,
I cut part of my finger almost to the bone. There was no time
to stop, so I wrapped something tightly around it and pro-
ceeded during the day to wrap more and more handkerchiefs
around it, until it finally stopped bleeding. When I got home
late in the afternoon, I sent for the doctor, and asked him if I
should have it sewed up; he said it would probably be too
painful so long after cutting it, and though it might leave a
scar, it would heal. The doctor bandaged it and left it as it was
and I still have the scar!
We sold post cards, candy and cigarettes to the boys and
we had to censor the cards so they would not give any for-
bidden information. Later on, as the warm weather came, we
had some showers in a building near us, a very make-shift
This Is My Story
arrangement, but very welcome, as the heat increased, to the
boys who had spent days and nights on trains.
Once a week I visited the Naval Hospital and took flowers,
cigarettes and any little thing that might cheer the men who
had come back from overseas. There were a number of Navy
units stationed in different parts of France; for instance, those
who went with our Navy guns; those stationed at Dunkirk
and various other places on the coasts of Europe; those with
the destroyers and the transports, besides our Marines who
fought with the Second Division in some of the hottest fight-
ing of the war, in Belleau Wood and the Argonne.
The Naval Hospital filled up very rapidly and we finally
took over one building in St. Elizabeth's Hospital for the so-
called shell-shocked patients. The doctors, of course, ex-
plained that these were men who had been submitted to great
strain and cracked under it. Some of them came back to san-
ity, others remained permanently in our veterans' hospitals
for mental care.
St. Elizabeth's was the one Federal hospital for the insane
in the country and I had never seen it before. A fine man was
at the head of it, but he always had been obliged to run his
institution on an inadequate appropriation, and as yet the
benefits of occupational therapy were little understood in the
treatment of the insane. I did, however, know that in some
hospitals this work was being done with a measure of success
for the patients.
I visited our naval unit there and had my first experience
of going into a ward of people who, while they were not vio-
[256]
A. Changing Existence
lent, were more or less incalculable because they were not
themselves. Those who were not under control -were kept in
padded cells or in some kind of confinement.
When the doctor and I went into the long general ward
where the majority of men were allowed to move about dur-
ing the daytime, he unlocked the door and locked it again
after us. We started down that long room, speaking to differ-
ent men on the way. Quite at the other end stood a young
boy with fair hair. The sun in the window placed high up,
well above the patients' heads, touched his hair and seemed
almost like a halo around his head. He was talking to himself
incessantly and I inquired what he was saying. "He is giving
the orders," said the doctor, "which were given every night
in Dunkirk, where he was stationed." I remembered my hus-
band telling me that he had been in Dunkirk and that every
evening the enemy planes came over the town and bombed
it and the entire population was ordered down into the cellars.
This boy had stood die strain of the nightly bombing until he
could stand it no longer, then he went insane and repeated the
orders without stopping, not being able to get out of his
mind the thing which had become an obsession.
I asked what chances he had for recovery and was told that
it was fifty-fifty, but that in all probability he would never
again be able to stand as much strain as before he had had
this illness.
The doctor told me that many of our men in the Naval
Hospital unit were well enough to go out every day, play
games and get air and exercise, and that we had sufficient at-
This Is My Story
tendants to do this; in the rest of the hospital, however, they
were so short of attendants since the war that the other pa-
tients practically never got out. The doctor also told me that
in spite of the fact that wages had gone skyrocketing during
this period, the hospital had never been able to pay its attend-
ants more than thirty dollars a month and their board, which
was low wages in comparison with what men were getting
in other occupations.
I drove through the grounds and was horrified to see poor
demented creatures with apparently very litde attention being
paid them, gazing from behind bars or walking up and down
on enclosed porches*
This hospital was under the Department of the Interior, so
I could hardly wait to reach Secretary Lane, to tell him that
I thought an investigation was in order, and that he had better
go over and see for himself. He confided to me that the last
thing he wanted to see was a hospital for the insane. He did,
however, appoint a committee which later appeared before
Congress and asked for and obtained an increased appropria-
tion. I believe this action of the secretary enabled Doctor
White to make this hospital what every Federal institution in
Washington should be a model of its kind which can be
visited with profit by interested people from the various parts
of our country.
In the meantime, I was so anxious that our men should
have a meeting place that I went to the Red Cross and begged
them to build one of their recreation rooms, which they did.
Then, through Mrs. Barker, I obtained five hundred dollars
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A Changing Existence
from the Colonial Dames, which started the occupational-
therapy work, and in a short time they "were able to sell what
they produced and to buy new materials for themselves.
In the Naval Hospital I was seeing many tragedies enacted.
There was a woman who sat for days by the bed of her son
who had been gassed and had tuberculosis. There was a chance
that he might be saved if he could get out West. She could
not afford to go with him but we finally obtained permission
to send a nurse. Only a few years ago I had a letter from her
reminding me of our contact in the hospital and telling me
that her boy had died.
Another boy from Texas, with one leg gone, wanted so
much to get home; finally, with the help of the Daughters of
the Confederacy, some of whom were our most faithful
workers, he achieved his desire and I think became self-sup-
porting.
These are just examples of the many things touching the
lives of individuals which came to all of us in those days; and
so far as I was concerned, they were a liberal education. Some
of the stories were sordid, all of them filled with a mixture
of the heroism in human nature and its accompanying
frailties.
I think I learned then that practically no one in the world
is entirely bad or entirely good, and that motives are often
more important than actions. I had spent most of my life in
an atmosphere where everyone was sure of what was right
and what was wrong, and as life has progressed I have gradu-
ally come to believe that human beings who try to judge
This Is My Story
other human beings are undertaking a somewhat difficult job.
When your duty does not thrust ultimate judgments upon
you, perhaps it is as well to keep an open and charitable mind,
and to try to understand why people do things instead of con-
demning the acts themselves.
Out of these contacts with human beings during the war
I became a more tolerant person, far less sure of my own be-
liefs and methods of action, but I think more determined to
try for certain ultimate objectives. I had gained a certain assur-
ance as to my ability to run things, and the knowledge that
there is joy in accomplishing a good job. I knew more about
the human heart, which had been somewhat veiled in mystery
up to now.
By 1918 there were many men in Europe or in training in
whom I was deeply interested. Little by little it seemed as
though some of our interest must turn to the other side of the
ocean as weU. My youngest aunt, Maude, had some years
before finally made up her mind that she could no longer
stand the physical and mental strain of the uncertainty of life
with Larry Waterbury. She finally -went to live in Maine and
obtained a divorce. After a time David Gray, who had long
known her and had been devoted to her, persuaded her to
marry him. He was a writer, and life in Maine was possible
for him, and they settled down to peace and quiet.
The war disrupted their existence. He went to France, she
went to work for a time in one of the intelligence bureaus of
the Post Office Department in New York City. My aunt
Tisab, Mrs* Stanley Mortimer, had a son doing naval patrol
A Changing Existence
work out of Newport, so she was living in Newport, giving
lessons in French to our boys who might find a knowledge
of the language useful when they went overseas.
One by one all of Uncle Ted's boys sailed. Auntie Corinne's
two sons were enlisted, and Monroe Robinson went overseas,
as did another cousin, James Alfred Roosevelt. Harry Hooker,
one of my husband's former law partners in New York City,
sailed with his division.
My brother, when his period of school was over, had been
sent first to a new aviation field in Lake Charles, Louisiana.
Having developed into a good aviator, he was made pursuit
instructor and transferred to a camp in Florida, where they
were establishing the first pursuit school for aviators. Margaret
and the little boys joined him and she again managed what
seemed like a very difficult life very well. I "was fearful lest the
children should be bitten by snakes when she wrote me how
cozily the snakes lived under their little house. Luckily noth-
ing of that kind happened.
Over and over again my brother tried to be assigned to
work overseas. Over and over again he was refused, with the
admonition that his value was greater where he was. He
pulled every wire possible, besought my husband to use his
influence, got Unde Ted to use his, and ate his heart out be-
cause he could not get to the other side of the ocean. In spite
of the fact that we pointed out to him that he took his life in
his hands more frequently in instructing novices than he
would at the front, he was never satisfied. I think he has al-
ways felt that if some of us had just tried a litde harder we
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could have put him on a transport and given him his heart's
desire.
I will have to own up to the fact that though I never lifted
a finger to prevent him or anyone else from going, I certainly
never lifted a finger to send him over! I felt that if he was not
killed over here, it must mean that he was intended to do
something else in life and it was not up to me to make a de-
cision in the matter.
All the rime I knitted incessantly and worked in various
ways. I wished that I might offer my services to go overseas.
I was very envious of another Eleanor Roosevelt Col. Theo-
dore Roosevelt's wife, who had gone over before her husband
and, in spite of the regulation against wives of officers going
to France, was serving in a canteen in France. Many other
women whom I knew were there, and I felt as though the
work which we did in this country was of comparatively
little importance. Yet I knew that no one would help me to
get permission to go, and I had not acquired sufficient in-
dependence to go about getting it for myself. I think I also
felt that my first obligation was to stay with my children and
do what work I could at home. I did not want to feel this or
to acknowledge it, but down in the bottom of my heart I felt
it, nevertheless.
My husband was engaged in naval operations and of neces-
sity had to keep in close touch with the members of the Eng-
lish and French embassies. Gradually the foreign offices of
England and France began to feel that their representatives
were not being active enough, and Sir Cecil Spring-Rice was
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A Changing Existence
recalled by his government, much to the regret of his many
friends in this country, who realized that he and his wife were
rendering a great service to the Allied cause.
They were followed, in January, 1918, at the British em-
bassy by Lord and Lady Reading. Everyone in Washington
recognized his great ability and liked them both. Our contact
with them was casual but we did know a great number of the
younger members of the embassy staff quite well, and with
some of them we have always kept in touch. Mr. Hohler,
who came over for a while as counselor; Mr. Nosworthy;
Mr. and Mrs. Barclay (she is now the charming Lady Van-
sittart); and two really young attaches, one from Australia
and one from England, come to mind at once. Mr. Hadow,
the Englishman, had enlisted at eighteen and been through
the retreat at the Mame, the fighting at Gallipoli and in the
Allenby campaign in Palestine. Because of his wounds he was
transferred to the diplomatic service.
One incident in connection with these two youngsters I
will always remember with amusement. Mr. Hadow confided
to us that it was his duty to write the reports on the labor sit-
uation in this country and he had to glean all his information
from the newspapers. We suggested mildly that the American
Federation of Labor had a building filled with officials in the
city of Washington. We knew, however, that a diffident
young Englishman would never dream of calling on people
whom he did not know. We arranged a luncheon for the two
of them and they met Mr. Morrison and a number of the
heads of various unions, and from that time on they were
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This Is My Story
able to write more comprehensive reports, as they could
verify newspaper stories by actual contact with the people
involved.
We saw a good deal of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Willert and
their young son. Mr. Willert was a correspondent for the
London Times and they spent ten years, I think, in Washing-
ton. The Willerts were a delightful couple and we came
eventually to know them very well, and have seen something
of them ever since and have kept in fairly close touch. He has
been a member of the foreign office and only lately retired
to write and lecture. They are now Sir Arthur and Lady Wil-
lert, and the little fat boy whom I knew is in the publishing
business. With his wife and baby they are now living in New
York, as his firm sent him over to represent them in this
country. It seems he is following rather closely in his father's
footsteps.
M. Jusserand remained French ambassador until after the
war was over, but a special envoy, M. Tardieu, was sent over
in 1918 to take up certain financial questions. My recollection
is that this was not an entirely happy arrangement. M. Tardieu
was an able map., but had not, perhaps, the temperament
which appealed to the French ambassador. However, the
mission was successful in carrying through its business and
M. Tardieu returned to France.
The winter of 1918 wore away and remains to me a kaleido-
scope of work and entertainrnent and home duties, so crowded
that sometimes I -wondered if I could live that way another
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A Changing Existence
day. Strength came, however, with the thought of Europe
and a little sleep, and you could always begin a new day!
Wlien summer came I decided that I would spend most of it
in Washington to help out at the canteen, for so many people
had to he away.
Hot though the Hudson River was I felt the children were
old enough to stand it, particularly as my mother-in-law had
built a large addition to the old house and the rooms which
the children occupied were less hot than they had been, be-
cause of the ne^v insulation. I took the children with theii
nurse to Hyde Park for the summer and stayed with them a
-while to get them settled.
FRANKLIN GOES OVERSEAS
I was making preparations to return to Washington, for I
had promised to be on duty during the month of July. In June
my husband got word that he was to go to Europe. Franklin
had spoken and written to various people ever since we had
entered the war, seeking to get into uniform. He stated that,
"Even though this means doing far less important work for
the Navy than if I continue the organisation and operations,
supervision, not only in the department itself, but also in the
patrol bases, in the transport service and in the many ship-
yards, I will be in active service." Then came these orders to
go overseas and report on the operations and needs of the
many American naval and aviation bases and ships in Euro-
pean waters. He obtained a promise that when this was done
he would be permitted to return to Europe as a lieutenant-
{2.6s}
This Is My Story
commander attached to the naval railway battery of fourteen-
inch guns under Admiral Plunkett.
Of course I waited until his preparations were made, and
he sailed on the destroyer Dyer July 9, 1918. The Dyer was
convoying a number of transports taking troops to France.
Franklin was naturally much excited at the prospect of this
trip, and I think it gave him great satisfaction to feel that he
was going to the front.
Neither his mother nor I could see him off, because they
sailed under secret orders; and I realized at the time that it
was for her a fearful ordeal, for he was the center of her ex-
istence. Luckily, she had the grandchildren with her to keep
her busy, and there were numerous wartime activities in
which she took her full share in Hyde Park and Poughkeepsie.
I went back to Washington and stayed a month in the
empty house with one maid as sole company. I needed very
little attention, for I spent all day and most of the night at the
canteen. I had nothing else to do. Many of the members were
away, and in the heat, to which I was quite unaccustomed, I
was anxious to keep busy. No pkce could have been hotter
than the little corrugated-tin shack with the tin roof and the
fire burning in the old army kitchen. We certainly were kept
busy, for we were sending troops over just as fast as we could
train them, and we knew now that it was man power that the
Allies "wanted as much as our financial resources or the assist-
ance of the Navy.
It was not an unusual thing for me to work from nine in
the morning until one or two the next morning, and be back
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A Changing Existence
again by ten A.M. The nights were hot and it was possible to
sleep only if you were exhausted. When my month was up
and others came to take my place, I went to Hyde Park to be
with the children and my mother-in-law.
In early September -we began to expect to hear of my hus-
band's start for home; but before that news came I received
word, on September 12, 1918, that my uncle, Douglas Robin-
son, had died. I went to the funeral. I joined the family and
friends in Poughkeepsie on the train which, took us all to
Herkimer for the services. "We drove the nine miles up the
mountain and after the services assembled in the litde family
burying ground, "where every member of the Robinson
family has been laid to rest. It is a very sweet pkce surrounded
by "woods; the birds come in great numbers in the spring; and
of all the cemeteries I know, it is the least lonely place to leave
someone you love.
FRANKLIN'S RETURN
We finally heard that my husband had sailed from Brest
to return to this country. A day or so before the ship was due,
my mother-in-law and I received word through the Navy
Department that Franklin had pneumonia and that we were
to meet him on arrival with a doctor and an ambulance. We
left the children at Hyde Park and went to my mother-in-
law's house in New York, for our own house was rented. Our
doctor was away, but we got Dr. William K. Draper to meet
us at the dock with, an ambulance. The flu had been raging in
Brest and Franklin and his party had attended a funeral before
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leaving in the rain. The ship on which they returned was a
floating hospital men and officers died on the way home
and were buried at sea.
When the boat docked and we went on board I remember
visiting several of the men who were still in bed. My husband
did not seem to me so seriously ill as the doctors implied, but
Doctor Draper went up with him in the ambulance and we
soon had him settled in his mother's house.
All but one member of my husband's party were seriously
ilL Fortunately, they all recovered. With them on the boat,
coming to this country for a visit, were Prince Axel, of Den-
mark, and his aides. When they felt the flu coming on they
consulted no doctor but took to their berths with a quart of
whisky each. In the course of a day or two, whether because
of the efficacy of the whisky or whether because of their own
resistance, they were practically recovered.
Franklin was still fairly ill in New York City when we re-
ceived a wire from our daughter, who was then twelve years
old. She had a great love of animals and never had had a dog
of her own. Our Scotties had always belonged to the family
as a whole. The Saturday before leaving to meet my husband,
my mother-in-law had taken Anna up to a fair held in Rhine-
beck, a village about fifteen miles from us, where every Satur-
day morning things were sold for the benefit of the Red Cross
and everyone donated what he could to the fair. Someone had
donated a polico-dog puppy and my mother-in-law had
taken one chance on it Her brother, Warren Delano, had
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A Changing Existence
donated one of his Norwegian ponies. She felt she would be
glad to have a pony and so took four chances on that.
The wire from my daughter said: "I have won the puppy.
He is here in my lap. May I have him for my own?" Of
course, the answer had to be yes, and from that time on he
spent the greater part of his young life in her lap. He was
named Chief and became a member of the family. We never
made a major move without him, and I have never known
a gentler or more intelligent dog. That telegram arrived at
the turning point of her father's illness and caused him a great
deal of amusement, for it was the first thing he had been
really able to enjoy.
Elliott's birthday was approaching, and naturally, since her
anxiety about Franklin was relieved, my mother-in-law felt
she could return to Hyde Park, at least for a short time. She
went up and down from Hyde Park at short intervals until
we were able to move Franklin, up there.
The question of the children's schooling was beginning to
weigh heavily upon my mind, so soon after Franklin was bet-
ter I moved the children who had to be in school back to
Washington and commenced commuting back and forth
until the whole family was settled together again.
Franklin improved steadily but he required good nursing
and care for some time, for the pneumonia left him very
weak. He went to Hyde Park for two weeks, and about the
middle of October was well enough to return to Washington
and turn in his official reports. These were his firsthand ob-
servations of naval activities in the North Sea, the Irish and
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This Is My Story
English Channels, and portions of the Belgian, British and
French ports. He was preparing to resign and join the naval
battery in France when word came late in October that Ger-
many had suggested to President Wilson that peace "would
be discussed.
As soon as we returned to Washington the flu epidemic,
which had been raging in various parts of the country, struck
us with full force. The city was fearfully overcrowded, the
departments had had to expand and take on great numbers
of clerical workers. New bureaus had been set up, girls were
living two and three in a room ail over the city, and when the
flu came to us there were naturally not enough hospitals to
accommodate those who were stricken. The Red Cross or-
ganized temporary hospitals in every available building, and
those of us who could were asked to bring food to these vari-
ous units, which often had no kitchen space at all.
Before I knew it, all my five children and my husband
were down with the flu, and three of the servants. We suc-
ceeded in getting one trained nurse from New York, as Miss
Spring was not available. This nurse was put in charge of
Elliott, who had double pneumonia. My husband was moved
into a little room next to mine, and John, the baby, had his
crib in my bedroom, for he had bronchial pneumonia. There
was very litde difference between day and night for me, and
Doctor Hardin, who worked as hard as he possibly could
every minute of the time, came in once or twice a day and
looked over all my patients. He remarked that we were lucky
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A Changing Existence
that some of us were still on our feet, for he had families with
nobody able to stand up.
In the intervals of cooking for this galaxy of invalids, my
cook prepared food to go out, as we had pledged ourselves to
send it regularly every afternoon. If all the children were
asleep I went in the car and visited the Red Cross unit I had
been assigned to supply and tried to say a word of cheer to the
poor girls lying in the long rows of beds. More often, how-
ever, the chauffeur had to take the food and deliver it at ttie
door. Like all other things the flu epidemic finally came to
an end.
These little emergencies of domestic and family life were
extremely good training. Gradually I was learning that what
one has to do usually can be done, and my long association
with Miss Spring and her friends, who had come to us when
we needed trained nurses, had made of me a fairly practical
nurse. Fear of being left alone to care for my children had
vanished. In fact, I had had sense enough in the past few years
to send my nurse away in the summer for short vacations and
take charge of my last two babies myself. This proved to be
an easy enough task, except for the fact that I could not just
be a nurse. I had to appear at stated times for meals, dressed
like a lady, and with the manner of a lady who had nothing
to do which, was not always the easel At least I was no
longer the inexperienced, timid mother, and the older chil-
dren say that in consequence the younger ones were never so
well disciplined as they were! Of course, the truth of the mat-
ter was that I had gained a sense of values and no longer fussed
]
This Is My Story
about unessentials, nor allowed myself to be stampeded, by
the likes and dislikes of a nurse or governess.
I tried two French governesses with the older children.
They taught the children the language, but they were very
bad for their dispositions, and I returned to English and
Scotch nurses.
The feeling was growing everywhere that the end of the
war was in sight. President Wilson's messages to the people
of other nations made a deep impression. Ever since the Allied
armies had been under the supreme command of Marshal
Foch a turn had come for the better in the military affairs of
the Allies. Suddenly, on November seventh, we got word
that an armistice had been signed and pancj^momum broke
loose, but a few hours later it was declared a mistake and
everybody's spirits sank.
Four days later, on November n, 1918, the real Armistice
was signed and the city of Washington, like every other city
in the United States, went completely mad; bells rang,
whistles blew, and people went up and down the streets
throwing confetti or anything else which they could find at
hand. The feeling of relief and thankfulness was beyond de-
scription*
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ABROAD TOGETHER
SOON after the Armistice ray husband, heard that he would
have to go abrctd after the New Year to wind up Navy
affairs in Europe; dispose of what could be sold and ship home
what could be used here again.
It was so soon after his recovery from pneumonia that it
seemed a trifle dangerous for trim to be subjected to the winter
climate of either France or England and therefore it seemed
wise for me to sail with him. Now that the war was over, I
obtained permission to go though there was still a dislike on
the part of our government to grant passports to any women
except those who went over for some special piece of -work.
We were not to sail until early January so we could be home
for Christmas with the family. My mother-in-law usually
came to spend Christmas with us if we did not go to her. Our
only other guests as a rule were Louis Howe and his family.
As I remember it -we were in Washington this year and just
This Is My Story
before leaving Franklin's cousin and godchild, Sally Collier,
was married to Charles Fellowes-Gordon, a very charming
young Scotchman who had come over with a visiting Eng-
lish Admiral. Franklin gave her away and then we left, on
the first of January to sail for Europe on the second from
New York City.
Uncle Ted was til in the hospital when we sailed, but
neither of us dreamed that it was anything really very serious.
We started and quite a party went with us. Mr. and Mrs.
Thomas Spellacy of Hartford, Connecticut, he was to be the
counsellor on any legal questions that might arise; John Han-
cock, paymaster in the Navy a most efficient officer from
Admiral McGowan's and Admiral Peoples' division of Sup-
plies and Accounts; and Mr. Livingston Davis, an old friend
of my husband's whom he had taken on as his special assistant
during the war.
A special Marine Corps aide was to meet my husband on
arrival in Brest.
Our ship was the George Washington with Eddie McCauley
in command who had been my husband's aide on his previous
trip. "We had most comfortable quarters. It was the first time
that I had ever occupied a two room and bath suite on an
ocean liner and I felt extremely luxurious. In spite of this I
can not say that I was extremely happy or comfortable on this
trip, but I had ceased to be a prey to seasickness. I could sit
at table, eat or dress or do whatever life required with a cer-
tain amount of assurance that I would get through the ordeal
without being really ill!
Abroad Together
There were a number of interesting people on board, I re-
member Mr. Charles Schwab and Walter Camp who took
all the gentlemen on the upper deck in the afternoons and put
them through setting up exercises. "We had on board two
Chinese delegations going over to join the Peace Conference
for President Wilson had already sailed some time before, and
the negotiations which were finally to terminate in the Treaty
of Versailles "were already in full swing.
These two Chinese delegations belonged to opposing
Chinese factions. As far as we could see that made no differ-
ence in their personal relations.
Another very interesting man was a Belgian, ML de Codt
who was counsellor to the Chinese Minister of Foreign
Affairs.
The Navy provided us with plenty of entertainment. We
had movies, concerts, some given by a string quartette and
some by the entire Navy Band. There was much talent in
this particular band for we found several members had be-
longed to well known orchestras and even to church choirs.
I walked miles, and sat for hours reading*
On the way over we were saddened to receive by radio on
January sixth, the news of Uncle Ted's death. I knew what
his loss would mean to his dose family, but I think. I realized
even more keenly that a great personality had gone from
active participation in the life of his people. The loss of his
influence and example was what I seemed to fed most keenly.
Of course when the picturesque town of Brest came in
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This Is My Story
sight I was thrilled. We did not go ashore on arrival but spent
an extra night on board after everyone else had landed. Secre-
tary Daniels* son who was an officer in the Marines stationed
at Brest at the time, came on board to greet us. Major Kilgore
of the Marines who was to be my husband's aide during his
entire time in Europe, also joined us here. I liked him at once
and more and more as time went on. I have always regretted
his untimely death a few years later.
Admiral Wilson, in command at Brest, came aboard with
Admiral Moreau when we arrived. Admiral Wilson boasted
that he had the best apartment to be obtained in Brest, in
which he had the only bathtub of the town, but the water ran
only during certain hours of the day! Most of the people in
the town carried all their water from taps which you saw at
intervals along the streets. One could not wonder that living
conditions were somewhat dirty in the poorer sections of
the town.
The Chinese and Mexican delegations left the ship at three
o'clock, first lunching with us, and then we all went ashore
for the afternoon.
Admiral Wilson took me to see something of the country
while Franklin returned Admiral Moreau's call and worked
with Captain Craven. General Smedley Butler had finally
succeeded in lifting the camp somewhat out of the mud by
building duck board paths everywhere but constant rain still
made it no paradise,
, Admiral Wilson and I drove along the coast and saw some
Abroad Together
old churches and houses; then went to see some of the German
submarines tied up at the dock and the French Naval Acad-
emy. The most striking building, however, was the old cha-
teau or fort where we landed.
The next morning we had another and most interesting
drive, for it was market day and the roads were crowded
with two wheeled carts, picturesquely dressed women with
their coiffes and men with broad brimmed black hats. All
Frenchmen over forty were already demobilized. The weather
was better. We had arrived in such a cold gray atmosphere
that I heard the sailors on our boat murmuring: "Sunny
France indeed," with subdued scorn. In our first brief after-
noon we glimpsed the sun fleetingly, had thunder, lightning
and hail!
On the second day at twelve-thirty we lunched with the
French Commandant, Admiral Moreau and his wife. It was
a delicious luncheon, but I became acutely conscious of the
fact that knowing French customs, I should have forewarned
my compatriots that the little glass holders beside the plates
were meant to rest their knives and forks on between courses,
because the frugal French people do not give you a fresh knife
and fork with each change of plates. I had lived with a French
family and knew this, but all the other Americans were bliss-
fully unaware of it and all I could do was to whisper to the
old butler that the Americans would not understand and
please to bring fresh knives and forks and spoons with each
course.
In the afternoon I visited the hospital in Brest, a gloomy
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enough building, an old church and monastery taken over
for this purpose but with few conveniences. The sisters -were
doing all they could. In the garden at the back was an enor-
mous tent house in which the meningitis patients -were put.
I was not allowed to go beyond the door of this tent but it
made me feel very unhappy to think how lonely those young-
sters must be so far away from home and so seriously ill I
PAMS
My husband's business completed, we proceeded to Paris
late in the afternoon, and we went at once, of course, to see
my husband's aunt, Mrs. Forbes, where we found his Uncle
Fred (Mr, Frederic Delano) who held a colonel's commission
in the army in charge of transportation. In Paris my husband
spent some very busy days.
Of course, my first duty was to call on all our superiors.
Luckily, they all lived in the same hotel except, of course,
President and Mrs. Wilson. My husband and I went together
to call on the President of France and sign his book. Later we
went again to be received formally and pay our respects. We
lunched with Admiral de Bon and his family in an apartment
on the Entresol of the Ministry of Marine.
We were staying at the Ritz Hotel and I was thrilled one
day to see at luncheon Lady Diana Manners, for she had al-
ways been to me a character in a storybook. She was very
beautiful, but some of the glamour of my storybook princess
was gone after I had actually seen her.
There were many French people to sec whom we had
Abroad Together
known in Washington. Captain and Madame de Blanpre, a
former naval attache in Washington; Colonel Fabry; M. and
Madame Le Chartiers who had been for some time news-
paper correspondents in Washington and innumerable others.
Madame de Laboulaye and her husband -were there, but
Madame de Laboulaye was ill and very sad for the eldest
daughter in the family had died since their return to France.
A great effort was being made to revive the same beautiful
gay city Paris had once been. The city itself was unchanged
but practically every French woman was dressed in black,
and though the tradition of long black mourning veils was
supposed to be forbidden the older French women could not
be prevented from wearing them.
I went with my husband's aunt, Mrs. Forbes, to the oldest
military hospital in Paris, the Val de Grace, where the most
remarkable plastic surgery was being done. I dreaded this but
it was not quite as bad as I feared, though I saw all I cared
to see of people whose faces were being made over by one
operation after another.
We also visited what is known as the Phare, the hospital for
the blind where the blind were being taught to manage for
themselves as best they could and perhaps acquire a skill that
would enable them to earn a living or at least keep their
hands busy.
We dined one night with Belle and Kermit Roosevelt and
Teddy Roosevelt who was a colonel in the Army left their
apartment that night to go to the American hospital to have
an operation on his leg. This hospital I visited later with Mrs.
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Woodrow Wilson and Miss Edith. Benham, her secretary.
Miss Benham later married Admiral James Helm and today
is in charge of our social secretarial work at the White House.
I knew her slightly at this time, but we made the rounds of
the hospitals together and I remember how kind she was to
me. Mrs. Wilson left a few flowers at each boy's bed, and I
was lost in admiration because she found something to say
to each one. I stood tonguetied and thankful that all that
could possibly be expected of me was a smile.
I did, however, pay a special visit to Ted Roosevelt and to
David Gray my uncle who had a leg broken in two places.
David said he would be out soon and would drop in at our
hotel to see us. I felt that if possible he should go home with
us and went back and begged my husband to see if some
arrangement could be made by which he could accompany
us home.
Very few people came to France at this period without
picking up some kind of germ, and the day before we left
for London, I realized that I was running quite a temperature
with considerable pain in my side. We were to be on our
way the next day, driving over the front where our soldiers
had fought with the British, and nothing, if I could help it,
was going to prevent me from taking that trip, I packed my
trunks that evening and never murmured about my temper-
ature and pain!
THE FRONT
I got up the next morning at six-thirty, dressed and left,
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sitting on the back seat of a car between my husband and
Livy Davis, feeling whenever the road was rough that a knife
was stabbing my side, but the rest of the rime, on the whole,
I was fairly comfortable.
Two young American Army officers, Major Manning and
Captain Cook, accompanied our party. They had been on the
Somme front and told us the story of the fighting as we went
along. Our route was via Senlis, Compiegne, Noyon, Ham,
St. Quentin, Cambrai, Bapaume, Albert and Amiens.
We made a number of stops, one at the St. Quentin Canal.
They wished to show us what our troops had done and so
we walked to the bottom where the canal runs between steep
banks. The cut is about sixty feet deep and the sides were
lined with dugout^. I wondered if the state of my feelings
would give me an approximate idea of the way the soldiers
felt on the cold, gray, foggy morning that they, with full
packs on their backs and rifles in their hands, plunged down
one side of the canal and climbed up the other. The enemy
was afraid to fire until they were well under their guns for
fear the approaching army might be their own men. In that
way while armoured tanks plowed the plain, the canal itself
with its high banks, was taken.
We drove along the straight military roads with churned
mud on either side of us, and deep shell holes here and there.
Along the road there were occasional piles of stones with a
stick stuck into them with the name of a vanished village. On
the hillsides occasional stumps showed that once there had
been a forest there.
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We stopped for lunch in St. Quentin. It was pointed out to
tis that during the German advance every bit of iron around
the fountain or on public buildings had been removed and
sent to Germany. We sat around that fountain and ate our
lunch, "which consisted of sandwiches procured by Major
Kilgore from the Army commissary. They were made of
grayish French bread and had some kind of beef mixture as
filling. I decided that the pain in my side would not allow of
my making the effort to chew that sandwich so I made an
excuse that I had to see what was left of the church. I was
cautioned against going inside for fear something might fall
on me, but I managed to steal away by myself long enough
to bury that sandwich!
In Albert we passed under the figure of Christ swung out
over the street from its niche over the church door and held
by one wire. They told us that the soldiers were very super-
stitious about these religious images and they did not dare
take them down. The streets and roads were almost painfully
tidy and clear of obstruction, but the houses for the most part
were mere shells.
When we reached Amiens that night, I had to confide in
my husband that I had a pain and thought I might have
caught cold. However, I was not so far gone that I could not
enjoy a little incident which occurred as we entered the city.
A young English officer, Lieutenant Makin, announced that
he was detailed to look after us, take us to the hotel and
show the party around the battlefields on the next day, but
that unfortunately women were not allowed to go, and there-
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fore I would have to stay in Amiens. Very quietly my
band explained that we had already been over the battlefields
and were proceeding on our way to Boulogne the next day,
but we would be delighted to look at the cathedral before
we started. The young officer was visibly annoyed but agreed
to take us to see the cathedral in the morning. This young
Lieutenant would not ask the French sergeant who had also
been sent to escort us, and who knew the town, how to find
our hotel and so we wandered all over the town before we
stumbled on it by some lucky chance!
After dinner I obtained a hot water bottle and managed
to sleep fairly well and was up and able to be interested in the
cathedral when we started out at eight o'clock the next
morning. The bags of sand which had been placed around
the cathedral to protect it made it a little difficult for us to
appreciate its beauty*
When we started, our route lay through Doullens and
Hesdin, and on the way we turned off to lunch with Colonel
Robert Bacon in a French country house which he had taken
near the headquarters to which he was attached as an inter-
preter. He was the kindest and most charming host im-
aginable.
We almost missed the boat at Boulogne because one of our
cars broke down. Finally we were on the boat and though,
it was crowded I obtained a little stateroom where I could lie
down during the passage which was quite a long one.
Commander Royes met us at Folkestone and when we
reached London at seven-ten, we were met by Admiral Sims
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and Naval Constructor Smith who took us to the Ritz Hotel.
The next day an English doctor came and looked me over.
I had pleurisy and he told me to stay in bed. I attempted to
obey his orders for one day, but as the men all had to be about
their business and the telephone and doorbell rang incessantly,
I was in and out of bed so often that I decided, even if I could
not go out, it was better to be up and dressed.
In the course of a few days I began to feel better. The
doctor, however, shook his head gloomily and was quite
convinced I was going into a rapid decline. In fact, he told
me to be examined for tuberculosis as soon as I reached home.
He was fooled by the fact that I did not have a pink-and-
white English complexion.
I was quite sure, however, that I was recovering, and Major
Kilgore and Commander Hancock did everything possible
to make me comfortable. These two men realized that a fire
would mean a great deal to my comfort, so they brought in
cannel coal in their suit cases to burn in our sitting room and
make a little pleasanter atmosphere. Soon I began to enjoy the
friends who came to see us at the hotel. England was living
under war restrictions as far as food -went. We were fortunate
in that we could get sugar from the Navy commissary.
Franklin's cousin, Muriel Martineau, lived in England with
her children and came in almost every day. Finally I was able
to take a short walk with her and then osdy did I realize how
weak I was as a result of that foolish illness. I thought I would
never get home and at that time if you did not have a car of
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your own it was impossible to pick up a taxi, for they simply
did not exist in the streets of London.
Frances Archer-Shee, another old friend of iny husband's
and my mother-in-law's, and many of my old school friends
came to see us. My old friend Magorie Bennett Vaughan
had lost her husband and seemed frailer but Leonie and Helen
Gifford and Hilda Fitzwilliams seemed litde changed.
Finally his work was done and Franklin with his aide left
to cross to Belgium and then go down to see the Marines who
were stationed at Coblentz on the Rhine. Major Archer-Shee
joined him on the way.
Livy Davis knew that he could not go all the way with
my husband but he went as far as Zeebrugge.
I could not, of course, go on this trip. Commander Han-
cock was remaining in London to finish up certain details.
Mrs, Spellacy had trouble with her eyes and she and her hus-
band had not been able to do many of the social things nor
any of the sight-seeing which they might have enjoyed. They
had returned to France.
I moved over from the hotel to Muriel's house and spent
four days there. It was an interesting experience to be in a
family, for I discovered what it meant to live on restricted
war rations. Everything was rationed butter, meat, sugar,
and so forth, and books were given out to you according to
the number- of people in your household, and you could buy
nothing except with these litde books. This gave me a far
better understanding of the real deprivations the people of
England had been through. I diought that when we had been
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asked to do without things such as certain foods and gasoline
by our Food Administrator, Mr* Herbert Hoover, that we
had undergone hardships. I realized now that we had lived
in an unrestricted land, for in England you could not buy
more than a certain amount of any kind of food. We were
only asked not to drive our cars on Sunday, but here you
could at no time buy more than a given quantity of gas nor
could you run a car that consumed a large amount unneces-
sarily. Rich and poor alike obeyed these rules.
The day came when Commander Hancock and I were go-
ing to travel back to Paris. We made the crossing easily and
reached the Ritz Hotel in Paris at the same time that Livy
Davis walked in. He had been obliged to leave Franklin in
Brussels but had found a young officer and had motored with
him back to Paris through miles of devastation which made
the little episode which occurred as we met even funnier.
A very polite manager assured me that though his diffi-
culties were many, for he had to retain a certain quota of
rooms for officers who might turn up, still my husband and
I were to have our same suite a sitting room, bedroom and
bath. The other people with us were to be housed in other
hotels except that he had a room for Mr. Davis but not the
one Mr. Davis wanted. I suddenly realized that Livy was
much upset. He expected to have a room immediately next
to ours and the fact that the hotel had to Hve up to Govern-
ment orders was something which life in the United States
had not accustomed Livy to understand! He felt if he had
asked them to reserve a room in a certain place that that was
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sufficient. We did our best to persuade him to take his dis-
appointment cheerfully, urged him to join us at dinner but
nothing would cheer him up and he went gloomily to the
only room the manager could give him !
Of course, he did come in later and I think it dawned on
him how funny it was to fuss about a particular spot -where
you wished to have a room when you had just been driving
through areas of complete devastation where a whole popu-
lation could find no shelter of any kind, and hardships of
every kind were endured by men, women and children alike.
Being a most generous person he had probably given much
of his money to alleviate just such suffering. Yet with the in-
consistency which all of us have when a little discomfort
touches us for a brief period, he was as much upset as though
he had been a refugee in one of the devastated areas. His dis-
comfort did not last long for he obtained the room he wanted
within twenty-four hours I think and his sense of humor
came to his rescue. I am sure he bore with great equanimity
the many discomforts which he must have endured in Czecho-
slovakia where he was later sent by Mr, Hoover. Instead of
returning with us, Livy Davis volunteered to help in Mr.
Hoover's organization which by this time was feeding a good
part of Europe. He was an excellent executive and I am told
that he proved an extremely efficient administrator.
Two days after I returned to Paris, Franklin arrived. I knew
there would be several people with my husband when he
came, and as the hour grew late, I ordered cold food brought
upstairs and placed in our sitting room and several people
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settled down there to talk until Franklin appeared around
twelve-thirty. Sir Martin Archer-Shee and Major Kilgore
were with him.
They were laden with souvenirs from the battlefields and
the next day two of our enlisted men came to pack the various
helmets, empty shells and souvenirs collected on this trip.
I sat for hours at my desk and listened to the hacking
coughs which both of them seemed to have, and finally in-
quired if they were ill. They said it was just the French
climate and that they would be glad to be home again. No
one could get rid of the cough while in France, they said.
It is a curious fact that the little French soldiers, tinder-sized
and looking undernourished, could stand the hardships better
than could our men who were accustomed to greater com-
forts in their homes and better food and perhaps a less trying
climate.
TRAVELLING WITH THE PRESIDENT AND MRS. WILSON
We were to sail for home on the same ship with President
and Mrs. Wilson, and on February fourth we left by train for
Brest. Our train ran twenty minutes ahead of the President's.
I remember our great excitement when Mr. Grasty, the New
York Times correspondent, brought us a copy of the League
of Nations. What hopes we had that this League would really
prove the instrument for the prevention of future wars, and
how eagerly we read it through! Litde did we dream at that
time what the future held.
President Wilson had been acclaimed by the French people
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as a Saviour, his position in his own country seemed impreg-
nable. No organized opposition tad developed over liere as
yet. His trip had been a triumphant one, and now the people
stood everywhere to watch for his train in the hopes of getting
a glimpse of him.
Our first glimpse of the President and Mrs. Wilson and
their party was when they came on board the George Wash-
ington. We were already on the ship and stood back of the
captain to welcome them. One funny little incident occurred
"which threw the naval officers into quite a bustle of excite-
ment. Instead of following the prescribed procedure, the
President refused to go ahead of his wife and Miss Benham,
and they boarded the battleship first, a situation unheard of in
navy regulations. Nothing happened, however, and when
the President came over the side, ruffles rolled out from the
drums and the Star Spangled Banner was played and nothing
really essential was left out of his -welcome.
We lunched one day with the President and Mrs. Wilson.
At the table was Ambassador Francis, returning from Hs
post in Russia, a kindly humorous man, giving one a feeling
of latent strength. The other guests were Captain McCauley,
Doctor Grayson and Miss Benham. In my diary I noted that
the talk was, as usual on such occasions, largely an interchange
of stories, but the President spoke of the League of Nations,
saying: "The United States must go in or it will break the
heart of the world, for she is the only nation that all feel is dis-
interested and all trust/* Later he said he had read no papers
since the beginning of the war, that Mr* Tumulty clipped
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them all for him, giving him only important news and edi-
torials, and my diary comment was: "This is too much to
leave to any man/*
Miss Benham came in often to talk to us in our little sitting
room. David Gray came home with us as I had hoped and
also Sheffield Cowles, Auntie Bye's only son. There were
other young people whom we knew on the ship. We pro-
gressed steadily enough along our way for the George Wash-
ington was a very steady boat, though our escorting ships
had a hard time and finally had to be told not to try to keep
up with us.
On February 22nd, a great celebration took place. They
had boxing bouts which the men enjoyed. I did not enjoy
them as much as I should, but I never would have had the
courage to say so. President Wilson, however, was firm and
when invited to look on announced that he neither cared for
boxing nor had he the time to waste. He seemed to have very
little interest in making himself popular with groups of people
whom he touched, though he had such a remarkable sense
of the psychology of the people as a whole.
Charles Schwab had captivated the entire personnel of the
ship going over. He made a speech to the men at their mess,
and presented them with the money for the movie machine,
and the applause was deafening. He had an easy popular
appeal which President Wilson lacked in his personal con-
tacts, though he had it when viewed from afar. The President
came down under pressure to watch the show which the men
put on just before we approached the end of our trip. He re-
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ceived only perfunctory applause and seemed very little in-
terested in that, but his understanding of young people and
his innate sense of fairness was to be exemplified before the
evening "was over.
He sat on the aisle and directly back of him sat the com-
manding officer of the ship, Captain Edward McCauley. At
the end of one of the popular songs, the "ladies" of the chorus
attired in pink tulle and pink socks in spite of hairy legs, arms
and chests, still most coy, ran down into the audience. One
boy, carried away by the spirit of the play apparently, as he
passed the President chucked him genially under the chin, I
thought Captain McCauley would have apoplexy and every-
one held his breath. You almost heard the unspoken order:
"Put him in irons on bread and water/* When it was over
and the President's party had retired, Captain McCauley re-
ceived a message from the President to the effect that he hoped
the young man would receive no punishment.
The day before we landed we had been enveloped in a fog
for some time. I was reading in my deck chair when suddenly
the bells began to ring, the engines stopped and people began
to run along the deck. Someone passed me and said, "We are
almost on the beach.** Franklin "was below, and I knew that
he would want to know whatever was going on, so I dashed
down to find him already conscious that something was
wrong and preparing to make for the bridge. I might have
known he would need no word from me !
I went back on deck to find that the fog had lifted just in
time and we could see our escort of destroyers apparently sur-
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rounded by rocks and land just ahead. We backed out,
changed our course, and proceeded -without any further mis-
haps to make for Boston. Everyone with any pretense of sea-
manship continued to argue out how our course had been so
much out of the way.
HOME AGAIN
We landed in Boston and proceeded through the streets
in a long procession. Our car was fifth in the line and we had
with us Miss Benham, Mrs. Spellacy and Mrs. Livingston
Davis who had come to meet us. We had left Commander
Hancock to wind up the details in France, and as I said, Mr.
Davis had remained under Mr. Hoover. Major Kilgore also
remained on duty overseas. Our party was considerably
depleted.
We could see the President and Mrs. Wilson ahead of us,
the President standing up and waving his hat at intervals to
the crowds which lined the streets. Everyone was wildly en-
thusiastic and he never sat down until we reached the Copley
Plaza Hotel.
At the hotel word was brought to us that Governor and
Mrs. Calvin Coolidge would be glad to have us lunch with
them and Mayor and Mrs. Andrew Peters, The President was
to make an after luncheon speech and he and Mrs. Wilson
did not feel that they could attend a social gathering before-
hand.
Thus it fell to my lot to meet a future President of the
United States and to know perhaps before the rest of the
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country did how silent the gentleman could be! I regarded
his silence on that occasion as a sign of the disappointment he
felt at not having Mrs. Wilson to talk to, but I have since
decided that even Mrs. Wilson would not have brought forth
a flow of conversation!
Immediately after lunch we went to Mechanics Hall and
the Mayor in greeting the President came out for the League.
We were all very much stirred by the President's speech
which was one of the best I ever heard him make. Strange as
it may seem, the Governor of Massachusetts, Mr. Calvin
Coolidge, committed himself to "feeling sure the people
would back the President/*
We proceeded to Washington and in the confusion some
of the luggage was lost and I still have the wire sent to my
husband which reached us on the train assuring us that one
of his bags had been found and forwarded.
At every station cheering crowds greeted the President rill
long after dark. My first experience of the kind and very
moving, because the people seemed to have grasped his ideals
and to want to back them.
Before dinner we went to say goodbye and Mrs. Wilson
gave Mrs. Spellacy and myself some of her flowers. She had
the same gracious manner which characterizes her today.
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
READJUSTMENT
WE HAD been gone not quite two months, but it was a great
relief to be back with the children. I soon discovered that cer-
tain things were not running smoothly. You cannot go away
and leave a household without a head and have the various
personalities composing it not rub up against one another
when there is no direction. I frequently found this to be the
case after a new baby arrived and I spent several weeks in bed.
Nearly always it took a few weeks to restore the machinery
to its smooth-running efficiency. On this trip abroad I had
been gone a little too long and drastic steps had to be taken.
Two of the servants who had been with me about seven years
decided that they would prefer to return to New York, and
I decided that life in Washington would be simpler if I took
colored servants who could be obtained there, which would
obviate my having to go to New York to find new white
ones.
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In a day or two I had a new cook, Htchenmaid, butler and
housemaid. Perhaps it is my early association with Auntie
Grade, and her tales of the old and much-loved colored
people on the plantation, perhaps it is just the Southern blood
of my ancestors, but ever since I had been in Washington I
had enjoyed my contact with such colored people as came to
work for me. I have never regretted the change which I made
when I completely staffed ray house with colored servants in
the spring of 1919.
Mrs. Selmes, years ago, told me that, properly trained, the
colored people were the most faithful and efficient servants in
the world, and I had always known and admired Isabella's
mammy . She was a fine character and had a strong and arrest-
ing personality.
I acquired in the person of my cook, Nora, a real person-
ality "who more or less ran the other servants, with occasional
appeals to my higher authority, and who looked upon my
children with as much affection and indulgence as though
they had been her own. Many years later I was obliged to
retire her and supplement her savings with a small pension, but
until that time arrived she gave us all the greatest devotion,
and I think every member of the family remembers her with
gratitude.
The colored race has the gift of kindliness and a fund of
humor. Many difficulties of life are met with easy laughter
and a kindly tolerance toward other people's failings. Though
their eyes may mirror the tragedies of their race, they cer-
tainly have much to teach us in the enjoyment of the simple
3
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things of life and the dignity with which they meet their
problems.
My household soon functioned as smoothly as ever and my
life was not so filled with war work, though much of the
hospital work continued unabated and the pathetic funerals
in Arlington were frequent in the spring. The Government
brought back the bodies of many of our men from the battle-
fields or hospitals in Europe. Sometimes men died on the
transports. The funerals were held in Arlington Cemetery if
the family desired, and some members of the family usually
attended. The Red Cross would detail some of its members
to attend and take flowers, and I can never go to a military
funeral today without the vision of these scenes and the pic-
ture of certain faces rising before me.
We did have more time to spend with the children, and
our pleasant custom of that year I remember well. Several
young American couples, with their children and a number
of the British-Embassy people, made it a habit to play field
hockey on Sunday afternoons, and we occasionally joined
them. On Saturday afternoons we often went on paper chases
and picnicked for lunch or supper somewhere in the park,
ending up with an occasional game of baseball.
That spring of 1919, on the side of my official duties, I had
my first personal contact with the cause of woman suffrage.
Back in the Albany days, you will remember, my husband
had been for woman suf&age. Through the years courageous
women carried on a constant fight for ratification of woman's
suffrage by the different states. It looked as though their fight
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was nearing a successful end and, therefore, the opposition
rallied its forces*
Coining down on the train one day to Washington from
New York, I happened to meet Alice Wadsworth, wife of
Senator James Wadsworth, who, with her husband, had al-
ways been much opposed to woman suf&age. We lunched
together and she spent the time trying to persuade me to come
out against the ratification, I was very noncommittal, for I
considered any stand at that time was quite outside my field
of work. I think she had hopes that she might make a convert
of me. Fortunately, before she succeeded, the amendment was
ratified, and soon after I undertook work which proved to
me the value of a vote. I became a much more ardent citizen
and feminist than anyone about me in the intermediate years
would have dreamed possible.
The Navy Department was, of course, busy liquidating a
war setup as rapidly as possible. Secretary and Mrs. Daniels
went abroad in March, which left my husband in charge dur-
ing their short trip. Any absence on the part of the Secretary
made the Assistant Secretary acting head and gave him oppor-
tunity for closer contact with the President when the Presi-
dent was in Washington.
The president after presenting his plan to Congress, was
having a very hard fight. Senator Lodge felt that Congress
should have been consulted sooner; in fact, should have had
representatives on the European delegation. Lodge became
the leader of the criticism of the President's plan. The fight
went on all through the spring.
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President Wilson went tack to Europe on March 6, 1919,
to sign the Treaty of Versailles, feeling sure that the people
were with him. The tension between the President and Con-
gress during this period was very great and thoughtful people
both here and abroad were wondering about a situation in
which the Executive, charged with the duty of dealing with
foreign nations, might come to an agreement and the agree-
ment be turned down by the Senate, as had been done before.
Perhaps the answer is that these agreements should always
be worked out in conjunction with the leaders of Congress
instead of by the Executive alone, but one cannot always be
sure that even the leaders in Congress can carry all their fol-
lowers with them. It is interesting, however, to find out how
often Congress has not agreed with the Executive and has
refused to ratify treaties negotiated by the President and the
Secretary of State, and it leads one to wonder if some more
satisfactory means should not be found.
The President returned July 8, 1919, and on September
third he started out on a campaign to take the cause of the
League of Nations to the American people. The President was
first taken ill on this trip, but recovered enough to be able to
walk off the train and into his car and into the White House
when he returned on September twenty-eighth.
That spring and summer we followed much the usual
routine, on leaving Washington when the children's schools
dosed first to Hyde Park and then, instead of going to
Campobello, I took the children to Fairhaven in July. I de-
cided to be a little more in Washington, so after settling the
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children and nurses I joined my husband on July twenty-
eighth in Washington. A nice hot time and the street in front
of our house positively sizzled in the sun, but I had the satis-
faction of knowing that Mrs. Charles Hamlin, who had a fine
beach in Mattapoisett, near Fairhaven, was letting the children
bathe there and spend a good part of every day*
MY GRANDMOTHER'S DEATH
This same spring many of us realised that my Grandmother
Hall was failing and on August fourteenth, word came that
she had died at her home in Tivoli, where she would have
wished to be. I was in Washington, and Franklin and I went
on to Tivoli to help my aunts in the last few things that could
be done.
My grandmother had been devoted to her own children,
and she treated my brother and myself more like her children
than her grandchildren. Her interest had always been centered
in her family and even my children, her great-grandchildren,
were never forgotten by her. I used to take them to see her
in her little apartment in Gramercy Square during the last
years of her life, and she always had a toy or a game for them
to play with. She always expected Mrs. Winter, her com-
panion, or her Irish maid, Molly, to have some particular
treat which "would please them.
I tbinV as my grandmother grew older she developed a
stronger character, and there was certainly no sign of weak-
ness in her bringing up of my brother and myself. With her
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own children, however, she was obstinate in certain things,
but her love clouded her judgment; and particularly as a
young woman, the responsibilities thrust upon her without
any preparation were too great, and she was not strong
enough to cope with her young and growing family in an
adequate way. Her life was a sad one in many ways, and yet
those who were closest to her mourned her deeply and sin-
cerely when she died, and perhaps that is more than many of
us can expect.
I wondered then and I wonder now, if her life had been a
little less centered in her family group, if that family group
might not have been a great deal better off. If she had had
some kind of life of her own, what would have been the re-
sult? I think I remember that when she was young she painted
rather well. Could she have developed that talents I know
that when she was young she might have had friends of her
own, might even have married again. Would she have been
happier and would her children have been better off? She was
not the kind of person who would have made a career inde-
pendently, but she was the kind of woman who needed a
man's protection. Her willingness to be subservient to her
children isolated her, whether they realized it or not; and it
might have been far bettor, for her boys at least, had she in-
sisted on bringing more discipline into their lives simply by
having a life of her owru
My grandmother's life had a considerable effect on me, for
even when I was young I determined that I would never be
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dependent on my children by allowing all my interests to
center in them. The conviction has grown through the years.
In watching the lives of those around her, I have felt that it
might have been well in their youth if they had not been able
to count on her devotion and her presence whenever they
needed her.
Up to a certain point it is good for us to know that there
are people in the world who will give us love and unques-
tioned loyalty to the limit of their ability. I doubt, however,
if it is good for us to feel assured of this without the accom-
panying obligation of having to justify this devotion by our
behavior.
My grandmother could judge others, but never her own
children. She seemed to be able to wipe their faults out of her
consciousness and to let them begin after each failure with a
clean slate. Her gratitude for their affection was something
almost pathetic and showed how little else she had in life. It
is hard sometimes to realize what factors in our experience
have influenced our development, but I am sure that my
grandmother's life has been a great factor in determining
some of my reactions to life.
Immediately after the funeral Franklin and I left for Fair-
haven and reached there late at night in order to have the next
day, which was little Franklin Junior's birthday, with our
son. I stayed on with the children while Franklin returned to
Washington. He came up again for the following Sunday.
On August twenty-eighth I moved Elliott, Franklin Junior,
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and John and their nurses back to Hyde Park, and on Sep-
tember first I went back to Washington with Franklin.
As I go over these years I find that I did a great deal of trav-
eling back and forth, taking the children from one place to
another. Franklin did even more than I did. We evidently
thought very litde of a trip from Washington to Hyde Park,
and I find that I journeyed back to Hyde Park on the tenth of
September to take Anna to Herkimer to stay with my aunt,
Mrs. Douglas Robinson. Franklin, with a naval aide, came up
to Herkimer on the fourteenth in order to speak on the fol-
lowing day in Utica, New York. This must have been a
county fair, I imagine, for I noted in my diary that one of the
speakers failed to hold the people's attention because the con-
test to climb the greased pole was going on and that proved
a successful counterattraction.
On the thirtieth of September I took Anna and James and
Elliott back to Washington to start school on the first of
October, and that very night Franklin and I returned to New
York, and to Hyde Park the next day. We were leaving
Franklin Junior and John and their nurse at Hyde Park, with
my mother-in-law, hence this constant moving backward
and forward. The following Sunday we took the midnight
back to Washington.
About the eighteenth of October, Franklin left Hyde Park
and joined Livy Davis and Dick Byrd in Boston, and they
proceeded to New Brunswick on a hunting trip. I divided my
time between the babies at Hyde Park and the children in
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Readjustment
Washington and, judging from my diary, I was considerably
torn as to where I should be the greater part of the time.
ROYALTY AND OTHERS IN WASHINGTON
On October twenty-eighth, I went to the House of Repre-
sentatives when the King and Queen of the Belgians and the
Crown Prince were received there. It was an interesting oc-
casion and I was particularly impressed by the soldierly bear-
ing of the King, and the Queen's graciousness.
My husband arrived back from his hunting trip in time to
take the usual trip down the Potomac with the royal party.
Franklin had visited them at the front and again on his trip
in 1919, and felt great admiration for them. He had been
much drawn to their daughter, the Princess Marie Jose, who
reminded him of his own daughter, Anna. "When we went
to Mt. Vernon my husband was most anxious that the older
children should meet die King and Queen. We arranged that
the children should motor down. The road was not so good
as it is today, but they arrived in ample time. I had instructed
them very carefully, telling Anna she must kiss the Queen's
hand and curtsy, and James that he must he sure to bow.
When they finally did meet the King and Queen on the lawn
at Mt. Vernon, they were so concerned with their own be-
havior that I think they forgot to really have a look at the
faces of the King and Queen, the first crowned heads they
had ever seen.
I could not help feeling a little sorry for the Crown Prince.
He was so very carefully watched and his constant com-
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panion was an army officer many years older than himself.
If he was out of his parents* sight for a few minutes, they were
sure to inquire where he was. There were no "off the record"
trips or entertainments for this young prince, and we had
glimpses of what it meant to be trained to be a king.
In October, also, I had my first contact with women's
organizations interested in working conditions for women.
The International Congress for Women Workers, with
representatives from nineteen nations, met in Washington.
Because of the number of foreign delegates to be present,
they tried to find wives of Government officials who could
speak foreign languages to attend various social functions,
and so Lily Polk and I went to tea one afternoon. I liked all
the women whom I met very much indeed, but I had no
idea how much more I was going to see of them in the future.
On November 10, 1919, the Prince of Wales, later King
Edward VDI, arrived in this country and there was again the
usual wreath-laying at Mt. Vernon, and we met the young
Prince at several formal dinners. I shall never forget how I
marveled at the ease with which he conversed with older
people. His usual neighbors at dinner were the Vice-Presi-
dents wife, Mrs. Marshall, and Mrs. Lansing, wife of the
Secretary of State. He did, however, manage to break away
and go to some dances with younger people when formal
official things were over.
There was great excitement in my household, because I
had two British subjects, a governess and a nurse, and they
longed to see the Prince and perhaps shake hands with Mm.
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Readjustment
My English nurse, Ada Jarvis, and my Scotch governess, Miss
Elspeth Connachie, finally achieved their hearts* desire. The
opportunity came for them when it was arranged that the
Prince of Wales should start early one morning for Annap-
olis by a special electric train. My husband was to accompany
him, together with various other officials, and they were all
to meet at the station at nine o'clock.
Franklin took in the car with him our youngest son, John,
and the two excited Britishers. They arrived in plenty of
time. Connie, as we called her, with Ada, stood behind Frank-
lin and John, John was barely able to reach his father's cane,
but he dung to it with all his might. When the young Prince
came and made the round of officials, John was introduced
and then my husband asked if two of the Prince's loyal sub-
jects might also shake hands with him. They came forward
and had the thrill of thek lives.
Lord Edward Grey had come over that autumn to take up
the \vork at the British embassy for a short time. He was al-
most blind and was being treated by Doctor Wilmer, our
great eye doctor. Lord Grey had insisted that he could not
take over the responsibility of this office unless his old friend
and colleague, Sir William Tyrrell, came with him, and so
this delightful pair spent a few months in this country.
On account of Sir Edward Grey's affection for Uncle Ted,
the name of Roosevelt was a key to his affections and we saw
a good deal of him.
We invited Sir Edward Grey and Sir William Tyrrell to
have their Christmas dinner with us and attend our Christmas
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This Is My Story
tree, our only other guests "being my husband's mother and,
as usual, Louis Howe and his family. He was of English
descent and always got on well with our English cousins.
They accepted, much to our joy.
Alice Longworth, Mrs. Leavitt, my Grandmother Roose-
velt's old friend, and Miss Spring, -who was now with her
most of the time, came over to join us for our Christmas
party. Everything went very well until I noticed that James
seemed very quiet. When I went over and put my hand on
his forehead, I discovered that he -was not only quiet but
very hot. I took him upstairs and isolated him in a spare room.
The party went on and everyone went home, and then I dis-
covered that James had German measles.
When I later telephoned Sir Edward Grey, he remarked
that he did not thinlc he was subject to childish diseases. I
think we were even fortunate enough not to give it to the
Howe children. If any of our other children had it at that
time, it was so light that we 'were entirely unconcerned
about it.
[306]
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TRAGEDY
ON FEBRUARY 4, 1920, 1 received a telegram in Washington
from Forbes Morgan. Pussie, who had been away in Califor-
nia for some time, on her return to New York had taken over
an old stable on Ninth Street, which had been done over into
a house. She made the house charming, as she always did,
but as usual she could not make life in it an easy matter. I
remember on one occasion going to see her and having the
door opened by the youngest girl, Eileen, who told me that
they had no maid and that she "was doing everything as best
she could at the age of nine, I think ! For the practical things
of life Pussie had no gift, but she still had all her charm and
much of her beauty, and her spell fell on everyone who came
in contact with her*
The wire I received stated simply that the house had burned
and Pussie and the two little girls had died in it, I realized
what a tragedy this would be to Forbes, and took the next
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This Is My Story
train to New York, getting there before Maude Gray could
get down from Portland, Maine. It was one of those horrors
I can hardly bear to think o and it made a deep and indelible
impression on me* To this day I cannot bear any funeral
parlor.
New York was enveloped in a blizzard, and while you
could still manage to get up or down town, getting across
town was practically impossible; so from my mother-in-
law's house, on Sixty-fifth Street, I walked across Central
Park on necessary errands several times. Finally all the details
were arranged and a sad little group went up to Tivoli and
placed the three bodies in the vault where, the summer be-
fore, we had laid my grandmother. I could not help being
devoutly thankful that my grandmother was dead. One more
tragedy in her life had been avoided.
Times of trouble always bring out such kindly feeling, and
I remember still how grateful we were for the hospitality ex-
tended to us that day by the De Peysters, our neighbors in
Tivoli, who took the entire party into their house, warmed us
and fed us before the train came to take us back to New York.
One child was left to Forbes. We called him "Boy/" al-
though his name was W. Forbes Morgan, Jr. Unfortunately,
he had been so much away from his father that it was almost
like being with a stranger, and it put his father at a great
disadvantage. He was saved because Pussie had placed him in a
boarding school to which he returned after the funeral. In
spite of all the disadvantages which circumstances brought
about in his early life, this boy is one of the most lovable and
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Tragedy
attractive of young people. He seems to combine much of
his mother's charm and looks with his father's ability and
balance, and I think his mother, if she can look down upon
him, must be grateful and proud of the way he has conquered
his difficulties and found his place in life today*
It is a curious thing in human experience, but to live
through a period of stress and sorrow with other human be-
ings creates a bond which nothing seems able to break.
People can be happy together and look back on their con-
tacts very pleasantly, but such contacts will not make the
same kind of bond that sorrow lived through together wiH
create. Happiness will not lead you to feel that your presence
is always welcome should an emergency arise, but a period of
stress lived through together "will give you this assurance. In
all our contacts it is probably the sense of being really needed
and wanted which gives us the greatest satisfaction and creates
the most lasting bond. For this reason I have always felt that
those few tragic days in the winter of 1920 lived through with
Forbes and Maude created a bond between us that no tempo-
rary periods of separation can ever break.
[ 309 ]
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NOMINATION FOR VICE-PRESIDENT
IN JUNE, 1920, my husband went out to the San Francisco
Convention of the Democratic National Party and I took the
children to Campobello while he was off on this trip. I was
quietly in Campobello when I received a telegram saying
that my husband had been nominated as candidate for Vice-
President to run with Mr. James M. Cox, who was the
Democratic nominee for President. Secretary Daniels wired
me as follows to Washington, and the wire was forwarded to
me at Campobello:
WASHINGTON JULY 7 I92O IOOO AM
MRS FRANKLIN D ROOSEVELT
CAMPOBELLO NB
IT WOULD HAVE DONE YOUR HEART GOOD TO HAVE SEEN THE
SPONTANEOUS AND ENTHUSIASTIC TRIBUTE PAID WHEN FRANKLIN
WAS NOMINATED UNANIMOUSLY FOR VICE PRESIDENT TODAY STOP
ACCEPT MY CONGRATULATIONS AND GREETINGS STOP WELL YOU BE
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Nomination for Vice-President
GOOD ENOUGH TO SEND MY CONGRATULATIONS AND GKEETENTGS ALSO
TO HIS MOTHER AS I DO NOT KNOW HER ADDRESS
JOSEPHUS DANIELS
I am sure that I was glad for my husband, hut it never oc-
curred to me to be much excited. I had come to accept the
fact that public service was my husband's great interest and
I always tried to make the necessary family adjustments easy.
I carried on the children's lives and my own as calmly as
could be, and while I was always a part of the public aspect
of our lives, still I felt detached and objective, as though I
were looking at someone else's life. This seems to have re-
mained with me down to the present day. I cannot quite
describe it, but it is as though you lived two lives, one of your
own and the other which belonged to the circumstances that
surround you.
My husband stopped to see Mr. Cox on the way home.
Both of them later visited President Woodrow Wilson, pre-
paratory to laying the plans for the issues which would be
fought out in the campaign. It was decided that the League of
Nations should be the main issue.
My husband sent me word that his notification would take
place at Hyde Park and to bring Anna and James down from
Campobello for the occasion, and to arrange to go back to
Washington for a few days and then start West to attend Mr.
Cox's notification at Dayton, Ohio. I was to take Anna on
this trip and send James back to Campobello with his grand-
mother.
This notification meeting was the first really mammoth.
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This Is My Story
meeting to be held at Hyde Park. This gathering was the
predecessor of many others, but I sympathized with my
motiier-in-law when I saw her lawn being trampled by hordes
of people. My admiration for her has grown through the
years as I've realized how many political guests she has had to
entertain in her house, where for so many years only family
and friends were received. The friends were chosen with
great discrimination and invitations were never lightly given
by my husband's father and mother to their home. Mrs.
Roosevelt has, however, been quite remarkable about this
plunge into the national political picture and has made the
necessary adjustments in her life in a remarkable way.
Mr. Henry Morgenthau, Jr., now Secretary of the Treas-
ury, and the committee of Hyde Park and Poughkeepsie
friends arranged the details of Franklin's home-coming and
his notification.
Anna and I went with Franklin to Washington for a few
days of terrible heat. While there I made the arrangements
for giving up the house and Franklin resigned as Assistant
Secretary of the Navy, and that period of our life in Wash-
ington was over.
We proceeded on to Dayton, Ohio, and attended a very
delightful luncheon at Mr. Cox's house, which was charm-
ingly situated. There followed a very colorful ceremony.
Anna's first excursion into a real political gathering was quite
a success. She was pretty, her light golden hair, which at that
time was long, attracted a good deal of attention, and every-
Nomination for Vice-President
one was as kind to her as could be. For her the day was over
far too quickly.
Franklin returned with us to Campobello for a brief rest
and then started a strenuous campaign. I stayed with the
children, got James ready for school and took him to Groton
in late September. He seemed to me very young and very
lonely when I left him, but it was a tradition in the family
that boys must go to boarding school when they reached the
age of twelve, and James would be thirteen the following
December, so of course we had to send him. I never thought
to rebel then, but now it seems to me too ludicrous to have
been bound by so many conventions. I unpacked his trunk,
saw his cubicle was in order, met some of the masters, said
good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Endicott Peabody, the heads of the
school, and finally said good-by to James and -went back to
Hyde Park.
MY FIRST CAMPAIGN TMP
I did not stay there, however, but started immediately on
the last campaign trip with my husband, a four-week trip
which took us out as far as Colorado. I was the only woman
on the car. He had a private car attached to different trains
and on it were his secretary, Mr. Camellier; a young man
who did general secretarial work, Mr. James Sullivan; Louis
Howe; Marvin Mclntyre, who was in charge of the train,
the working out of itineraries, and so on; Tom Lynch, our
old friend from Poughkeepsie, who acted as disbursing
officer, paying all bills, and so on; and Stanley Prenosil, who
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was the only newspaperman assigned continuously to cover-
ing the vice-presidential candidate.
I had never had any contacts with the newspaper people
before. My grandmother had taught me that a woman's
place was not in the public eye, and that had clung to me all
through the Washington years. It never occurred to me to
do more than answer through my secretary any questions
that the reporters asked about social events. I gave as little
information as possible, feeling that that was the only right
attitude toward any newspaper people where a woman and
her home were concerned.
But the years had taught me a certain adaptability to cir-
cumstances and I did receive an intensive education on this
trip, and Louis Howe played a great part in this education
from that time on. Ever since the Albany days he had been
a very intimate friend and co-worker of my husband's. At
times I resented this intimacy, and at this time I "was very sure
of my own judgment about people. I frequently tried to in-
fluence those about me, and there were occasions when I
thought that Louis Howe's influence and mine, where my
husband was concerned, had clashed; and I was, of course,
sure that I was right.
Louis was entirely indifferent to his appearance; he not only
neglected his clothes, but gave the impression at times that
cleanliness was not of particular interest to him- The fact that
he had rather extraordinary eyes and a fine mind I was fool
enough not to have discovered as yet, and it was by the ex-
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Nomination for Vice-President
ternals alone that I had judged him in our association prior
to this trip.
In later years, I learned that he had always liked me and
thought I was worth educating, and for that reason he made
an effort on this trip to get to know me. He did it very
cleverly. He knew that I was somewhat bewildered by some
of the things that were expected of me as a candidate's wife.
I never before had spent my days going on and off plat-
forms, listening apparently with rapt attention to much the
same speech, looking pleased at seeing people no matter how
tired I was or greeting complete strangers with effusion.
Being a sensitive person, Louis knew that I was interested
in the new sights and the new scenery, but that being the only
woman was at times rather embarrassing. The newspaper
fraternity was not so familiar to me at that time as it was to
become in later years, and I was a little afraid of it. Largely
because of Louis Howe's early interpretation of the standards
and ethics of the newspaper business, I came to look with in-
terest and confidence on the writing fraternity and gained a
liking for it which I have never lost.
My husband was busy most of the day, when not actually
out on the platform of the car, or at meetings in the various
cities where we stopped. He had speeches to write, letters to
answer and policies to discuss. In the evenings, after they got
back to the train, all the men sat together in the end of the
car and discussed the experiences of the day from their various
points of view and the campaign in general from the point of
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view of what news might be coining in from newspapers
and dispatches.
Frequently for relaxation they started to play a card game,
which went on until kte. I was still a Puritan, thought they
were an extremely bad example and was at times very much
annoyed with my husband for not conserving his strength
by going to bed. Little did I realize in those days how much he
received through these contacts and how impossible it would
have been for him, after the kind of days he was putting in,
to go to sleep placidly.
On one thing alone I think I was probably right. Romeo,
the porter on our car, was studying for the ministry and al-
ways was called upon to lend his Bible when questions of
accuracy in quoting the Scriptures were involved. The poor
man slept in the end of the car where the men talked and
could never go to bed until they did, but neither he nor they
seemed to mind, while I fussed superfluously and quite use-
lessly.
Louis Howe began to break down my antagonism by oc-
casionally knocking at my stateroom door and asking if he
might discuss a speech with me. I was flattered and before
long I found myself discussing a wide range of subjects. I
began to be able to understand some of our newspaper
brethren, and to look upon them as friends instead of enemies.
Stephen Early had been borrowed from the Associated
Press, and he acted in a personal capacity as advance man for
this trip and went ahead of us for publicity purposes. He only
now and then joined us on the train, but was always in close
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Nomination for Vice-President
touch. All these men were to become very good friends of
mine in the future.
West Virginia was our first stamping ground, and here
Izetta Jewell Brown, now Mrs. Miller, joined us and made
some speeches with my husband. We had a meal with Mr.
Clarence Watson, but I was not sufficiently conversant with
politics to know very much about the people whom we met.
I thought * 'Izetta Jewell* * quite remarkable because she was able
to make a political speech, and her charm and beauty im-
pressed me very much.
While we were still only a few days out, we received a
wire from Groton School that James had gone to the in-
firmary with what seemed to be a digestive disturbance. I
was all prepared to return home, for up to this time the chil-
dren had always been my first consideration. However, a
wire catne from my mother-in-law stating that she was going
to Groton, and so my husband suggested that I wait until I
hear from her again. She wired again shortly that she had
taken James to Boston and that he was much improved and
seemed to have a case of nervous indigestion. She took him
home for a few days to Hyde Park and then returned him to
school quite well again.
His illness, I think, was brought on by the difficulty of ad-
justment to boarding-school life, and by real homesickness,
which he suppressed valiantly. He had a very hard first year
at school, for his preparation was not sufficiently good for the
standards of the school, and it took him several years really
to make up his deficiencies. He soon became popular with
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the toys, however, loved the routine and got on well with
the masters. By his second year he felt that he had a place in
the school.
This was the first time I ever remember not being on hand
if one of the children was ill, and it was very hard for me,
but it was probably a very good thing for the children to
learn that they could not always be my first consideration.
That trip had many amusing incidents, and as the news-
papermen and I became more friendly, they helped me a
great deal to see the humorous side. They would stand at the
back of the hall when Franklin was making the same speech
for the umpty-umpth time and make faces at me, trying to
break up the apparent interest with which I was listening.
When I followed my husband down the aisle and the ladies
crowded around him and exclaimed over his looks and
charm, they would get behind me and ask if I wasn't jealous.
I saw a great deal of our country on this trip which I had
never seen before; though I had not begun to look at the
countryside or the people with the same keenness which the
knowledge of many social problems brought me in the future,
still I was thrilled by new scenery, and the size of my own
country, with its potential power, was gradually dawning
upon me.
We ended this trip very weary, for four weeks is a long
time to be on the road, but when we reached Buffalo, New
York, I, who had never seen Niagara Falls, insisted on seeing
them. Though my husband went to Jamestown, New York,
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Nomination for Vice-President
for political meetings, I took the day off and Louis Howe
went with me to Niagara Falls.
One of the standing jokes of that campaign has always been
a reference to the day in Jamestown and certain photographs
-which were taken of lovely ladies who served luncheon for
my husband and who worshiped at his shrine. He has had to
stand much teasing from the rest of the party about this par-
ticular day.
My first view of Niagara Falls was all that I had hoped it
would be, a really great sensation. Louis proved to be a very
pleasant person with whom to sight-see, silent when I wished
to be silent and full of information on many things of which
I knew nothing. I think one of Lotus' great bonds with my
husband was the fact that both of them had such a fund of
general information and had done so much reading on vari-
ous subjects. They had apparently retained all die knowledge
which they had acquired through books or travel or from
any other source.
It was impossible, of course, to make any arrangements for
die children. Our house in New York was still rented for
another year to Mr. and Mrs. Thomas W. Lamont, and so
we decided that whatever happened, it would be better for
Anna and Elliott to spend the winter at Hyde Park. I went
to Vassar College to find a tutor to take over dieir schooling.
A very charming girl, Jean Sherwood, was recommended
and we all liked her so much that she came to us that autumn
and spent the entire winter widi the two children at Hyde
Park.
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It still remained a question as to what would happen to
the rest of us in case of either election or defeat, but most of us
were fairly sure that defeat was in store. Even then I was
beginning to wonder what the point was of these long cam-
paign trips, when the majority of people who came to hear
you were adherents of your own party. Only now and then
would a heckler appear in the audience, and he was usually
the type who could never be changed from the opposition
point of view.
I still think campaign trips by anyone except the presi-
dential candidates themselves are of little value. The radio
reaches, of course, an audience which never used to be reached
in the old days, and the reasonable element of our citizenry,
which votes according to its convictions and not on party
lines, ^s now largely a radio audience. In 1920, however, the
kind of campaign my husband made was considered reason-
able.
Come what might, we had to live somewhere and my hus-
band would probably go to work somewhere. He had al-
ready made arrangements to resume the practice of law. The
old firm of Marvin, Hooker & Roosevelt had ended with the
war and he decided to form a partnership with Grenville
Emmet and Langdon Marvin, under the firm name of
Emmet, Marvin & Roosevelt.
The election was an overwhelming defeat which was ac-
cepted very philosophically by my husband, who had been
completely prepared for the result. In this campaign I had
taken no active part in the work at headquarters, but I had
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Nomination for Vice-President
been in once or twice and had met my husband's office
manager, Mr. Charles McCarthy. Mr. McCarthy had a young
secretary during the campaign, Miss Marguerite Le Hand- It
was through this association that she first came to my hus-
band as a secretary and she has remained with him as his
private secretary ever since.
Before he settled down to work, my husband decided to
go with my brother on a short hunting trip in Louisiana. A
friend of Hall's, Mr. Conover, whom he had known during
the wartime aviation days, undertook to make all the arrange-
ments. Mr. and Mrs. Conover were delightful hosts. My
husband brought home much game and later 'there arrived
some very lovely mink skins which "were made up into fur
neckpieces for me and various other members of the family.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BACK TO WORK IN NEW YORK
FRANKLIN was home for Christinas and we all enjoyed it at
Hyde Park that year. Then work began in earnest in New
York. We all stayed with my mother-in-law; that is to say,
the two youngest boys and their nurse stayed with her all the
time. I spent from Monday to Thursday in New York, and
from Thursday to Monday in Hyde Park every week with
Anna and Elliott and Miss Sherwood. Franklin usually came
up on Friday afternoon or Saturday and left on Sunday night
or very early Monday njorning.
Franklin, Junior, began at the Buckley School. I took him
to be examined and was seriously troubled because they
thought he was not up to normal. I walked home with "him
after the examinations and asked him why he had not an-
swered any of the questions, which I knew he could answer
quite welL Shades of my own mother! His answer was, "I
do not want to go to school and I thought if I didn't answer
Back to Work in New York
the questions, I wouldn't have to go I'* Which shows that
tests cannot always be relied on as a measure of a child's
intelligence. Once in school, however, he did very well and
they assured me at the end of a week that he -was rather above
the average in intelligence.
John felt badly at not being able to go to school with
Franklin, Junior, so we found a little class which met just
across the street in Miss Hewitt's School and sent him for that
winter so that he need not feel inferior to his brother.
This \vas the first time since my marriage that I had spent
a very long period in somebody else's house and had had no
housekeeping to do. Many women feel the burden of house-
keeping and like to get away from it, but it had never been a
burden to me perhaps because I never had either the ability
or the necessity for doing the manual work. I had become a
good executive, which made housekeeping seem easy.
THE BUDDING OP A LIEE OF MY OWN
I did not look forward to a winter of four days in New
York witli nothing but teas and luncheons and dinners to
take up my time. The war had made that seem an impossible
mode of living, so I mapped out a schedule for myself. I de-
cided that I -would learn to cook and I found an ex-cook,
now married, who had an apartment of her own, and I went
twice a week and cooked an entire meal which I left with
her for her family to criticize. I also attended a business school,
and took a course in typewriting and shorthand every day
that I was in New York.
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This Is My Story
Before I had. been in New York many days I was visited by
Mrs. Frank Vanderlip, who was at that time chairman of the
League of Women Voters for New York State. She asked
if I would join the board and be responsible for reports on
national legislation. I explained that I had had litde or no con-
tact in Washington with national legislation, that I had
listened a great deal to the talk that went on around me, and
that I would be interested but doubted my ability to do this
work. Mrs. Vanderlip said she was sure that I had absorbed
more than most of the New York members of the board
knew, and that I would have the assistance of a very able
woman lawyer, Miss Elizabeth Read. She would take the
Congressional Record, go through it and mark the bills
which she thought were of interest to the league, send for
them and even assist me to understand them if I required any
assistance.
With this assurance, I finally agreed that I would attempt
to do the work. I decided that I would go to Miss Read's
office one morning a week and devote that time to the study
of legislation and bring home the bills that needed further
study before I wrote my monthly reports.
I felt very humble and very inadequate to the job when I
first presented myself to Elizabeth Read, but I liked her at
once and she gave me a sense of confidence. It was the begin-
ning of a friendship with her and with her friend, Miss Esther
Lape, which was to be a lasting and warm friendship from
then on. Elizabeth and Esther had a small apartment together.
Esther has a brilliant mind and a driving force, a kind of
Back to Work in New York
nervous power. Elizabeth seemed calmer, more practical and
domestic, but I came to see that hers was a keen and analytical
mind and in its way as brilliant as Esther's. I have for years
thought that Providence was particularly wise and farseeing
when it threw these two women together, for their gifts
complement each other in a most extraordinary way. From
their association has come much good work which has been
of real service in a good many causes. Gradually I think they
came to feel an affection and a certain respect for me because
I -was willing really to work on these reports and not to ex-
pect them to do my work for me.
My husband was working hard; he "went occasionally to
men's dinners, and I remember many a pleasant evening
spent with Elizabeth and Esther in their little apartment.
Their standards of work and their interests played a great
part in what might be called "the intensive education of
Eleanor Roosevelt" during the next few years.
My mother-in-law "was distressed and felt that I was not
always available, as I had been when I lived in New York
before. I joined the Monday Sewing Class of which she had
always been a member. It is now more of a social and chari-
table institution than an actual sewing group. Some of the
ladies still take home sewing, but most of them pay their dues
and give the work to women who need it. The garments
made are distributed to charity. The ladies lunch together
every Monday and enjoy one another's company. It pleased
nay mother-in-law to have me with her and it gave us a defi-
nite engagement together once a week.
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I had long since ceased to be dependent on my mother-
in-law, and the fact that my cousin, Mrs. Parish, suffered
from a long Illness, lasting several years, had made me less
dependent on her. I -wrote fewer letters and asked fewer ques-
tions and gave fewer confidences, for I had begun to realize
that in my development I was drifting far afield from the old
influences. I do not mean to imply that I was the better for
this. Far from it, but I -was thinking things out for myself
and becoming an individual. Had I never done this, perhaps
I might have been saved some difficult experiences, but I have
never regretted even my mistakes. They all added to my
understanding of other human beings, and I came out in the
end a more tolerant, understanding and charitable person. It
has made life and the study of people more interesting than
it could have been if I had remained in the conventional
pattern.
I was back on one or two boards for charities, such as the
Bryson Day Nursery, but I had developed an aversion to
serving on boards and having no personal contact with actual
work. I tried to seize whatever opportunities for actual con-
tact with people the nursery presented, but it was not very
satisfactory,
Anna and Elliott loved their winter in the country. They
had occasional difficulties with Miss Sherwood which she
settled in a very satisfactory manner. Elliott built quite a
wonderful dam on one of the little brooks that winter in the
lower woods, and around it erected a village and farm. He
began collecting flowers and tadpoles to put into the pool
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Back to Work in New York
created by the dam. This was the beginning of an interest
-which developed into aquariums and collections of all types
of aquatic life taken from brooks and ponds during the fol-
lowing winter.
It was a very healthy winter for Anna and Elliott, but in
the late spring Miss Sherwood and Anna had an unfortunate
accident. They were jumping in one of the barns and jumped
into what they thought was a thick pile of hay and found it
just a thin layer over the floor. Both of them broke little
bones in their feet and were laid up for a time.
James* Easter holiday was spent largely in Hyde Park.
Anna was still very much a little girl and quite content with
the life she was living with few friends except her brothers,
her dogs and horses.
[say]
CHAPTER TWBNTY-ONE
TRIAL BY FIRE
THE summer of 1921 found us all going to Campobello again
and various visitors coming up for short or long periods.
There was a certain amount of infantile paralysis in some
places again this summer, but it was not an epidemic, par-
ticularly among children, as it had been a few years before.
My husband did not go up with us, but came early in
August, after we were settled, bringing quite a party with
him. He did a great deal of navigating on Mr. Van Lear
Black's boat, which he had joined on his way up the coast.
While Mr. Black and his party were with us, we were quite
busy and spent days on the water, fishing and doing all we
could to give them a pleasant time. My husband loved these
waters and always wanted everybody who came up to ap-
preciate the fact that they were ideal for sailing and fishing.
The fishing is deep-sea fishing and rather uninteresting unless
you go outside and into the Bay of Fundy, or have the luck
to do some casting into schools of fish as they come in.
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Trial by Fire
Everyone who conies up there is always interested in see-
ing a weir seined. These weirs were built primarily to catch
herring, "which were largely used as domestic sardines. A long
line of posts with brush woven in and out leads out from the
shore, then a circle -with an opening on either side of the
straight line is built. The fish that swim in schools are often
chased by larger fish; they strike the line and swim along it
until they find the opening and get inside the circle. This
circular part of the weir has nets all around it.
Whenever fish are discovered in the weir by the watchman,
he blows a horn and all the owners come tearing over with
their fishing boats. Frequently this is very early in the morn-
ing; occasionally it is at night, when flares are used, which
makes it even more picturesque. The nets around the weir
are drawn up from the bottom, and of course the openings
are closed by nets. The men go inside in their little boats,
leaving the larger boats outside. After they pull the net up,
they fill the boats with fish.
The men, in their rubber boots, sweaters and sou* westers,
look like the pictures in the Bible stories and you cannot help
thinking of how the apostles drew in their nets and brought
their boats in laden with fish.
Mr. Black had left and we were out sailing one afternoon
in the little Vireo, which my husband had bought after giving
up the Half Moon, in order that the boys might learn to sail
On our return trip, we spied a forest fire, and of course we
had to make for shore at once and go fight the fire. We
reached home around four o'clock and my husband, wtio
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This Is My Story
had been complaining of feeling logy and tired for several
days, decided it would do him. good to go in for a dip in a
land-locked lake called Lake Glen Severn, inside the beach
on the other side of the island. The children were delighted
and they started away. After their swim Franklin took a dip
in the Bay of Fundy and ran home.
When they came in, a good deal of mail had arrived and
my husband sat around in his bathing suit, which was not
completely dry, and looked at his mail. In a little while he
began to complain that he felt a chill and decided he would
not eat supper with us, but would go to bed and get thor-
oughly warm. He wanted to avoid catching cold.
In retrospect I realize he had had no real rest since the war.
Undoubtedly the hunting trip after the campaign had been
extremely strenuous and no real rest. Plunging back into
business had not given him any opportunity to relax and he
had probably been going on his nerves.
We had Mrs, Louis Howe and her small boy, Hartley,
staying in the house with us. Mr. Howe arrived a little later.
He had stayed in the Navy Department after my husband had
left, to look after his papers and be of any assistance to the in-
coming Assistant Secretary, who happened to be Col. Theo-
dore Roosevelt. When Louis finally left the Navy Depart-
ment he was considering an offer to go into business on a
rather lucrative salary and decided to take his holiday at
Campobello before he actually made up his mind.
Jean Sherwood and her mother, Mrs. Sidney Sherwood,
were also with us, for Mrs. Sherwood and I had become
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Trial by Fire
friends -while Jean -was tutoring the children. I had planned
to go on a camping trip with the children who were old
enough to go, such elders as wanted to go, and Captain
Calder, who was to take charge of the party. He had long
been our friend both on the water and on shore during our
summer stays on the island. The arrangements were well
under way, the tents and food on hand and we were to go
up a certain river and reach some inland fishing grounds,
where there were small shacks ready for our use.
The next day, however, nay husband felt less well. He had
quite a temperature and I sent for our faithful friend, Doctor
Bennett, in Lubec. Doctor Bennett thought my husband had
just an ordinary cold and I decided that the best thing to do
was to get everybody else off on this camping trip, though I
"was sufficiently worried not to consider going myself. I put
Mrs. Sherwood in charge and Mrs. Howe -went along to look
after her own small boy.
The camping trip lasted three days, and by the time they
were back it was very evident that my husband's legs were
getting badly paralyzed. Doctor Bennett wanted a consulta-
tion and we found that Doctor Keen was in Bar Harbor,
Maine. Though he "was an old man he readily agreed to come
over. By now Mr. Howe had arrived and he went with Cap-
tain Calder to meet Doctor Keen. Doctor Keen decided that
it was some form of paralysis but could not explain it. My
husband's lower legs by this time were paralyzed.
For a little while he showed no improvement. The days
dragged on and the doctors kept saying he must have a nurse,
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This Is My Story
but it was hard to get one, so I kept on taking care of him
and slept on a couch in his room at night. His temperature
at times "was very high. It required a certain amount of
skilled nursing and I was thankful for every bit of training
which Miss Spring had given me.
Finally my husband's uncle, Mr* Frederic Delano, begged
us to have the well-known infantile-paralysis doctor, Doctor
Lovett, come up from Newport. He examined my husband
very carefully and after consultation he told me it was in-
fantile paralysis.
I was in a panic because, besides my own children, we had
Mr, Howe's little boy with us. I asked Doctor Lovett what
the chances were that some of the children would come down
with it. He calmly said that none of them probably would do
so, and that they were probably all immune since they were
not already ill. He added that no one knew at that time how
the disease was communicated. He took the precaution to
change all his garments when he went near his own grand-
children after visiting a case, but he thought it was an en-
tirely useless thing to do. This was a great relief to me.
After Doctor Lovett's visit, we finally got a nurse from
New York, called Miss Rockey, but Doctor Lovett had been
so flattering as to certain aspects of my husband's care, not
knowing that I had been the only nurse on the case, that it
was decided that I should continue a certain amount of the
nursing. This I did until we were finally able to move Jn'tn
back to New York.
Mrs. Howe and her little boy went home in September
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Trial by Fire
My mother-in-law came back from abroad and came up to
see my husband and then returned to New York to get things
ready for us. When it was considered safe we obtained a
private car in which to move my husband. Doctor Bennett
agreed to go down with us, and it was arranged that the car
was to be switched around in Boston so we would be able
to go straight into New York without any change. This
move required a great deal of planning.
MR. HOWE TAKES CHARGE
Mr. Howe had made up his mind to give up all idea of
taking the position which was open to him and to come back
to his old boss, because he saw quite plainly that his help was
going to be needed. From that time on he put his whole
heart into working for my husband's future. The handling of
his mail and the newspapers all fell entirely into Louis* hands.
At first we tried to keep all news out of the papers, not
wanting to say anything until we knew something definite
about the future. Of course we were anxious to make the
trip home as inconspicuous and unsensational as possible. We
put Franklin on a stretcher which Captain Calder had im-
provised and took him down from the house over the rough
ground and stony beach and put him. into the small motor-
boat, chugged two miles across the bay, carried him up the
steep gangway and placed him on one of the drays used for
luggage in that northern part of the country. Every jolt was
painful, so we "walked to the station and the stretcher went
into his compartment in the car through the window*
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This Is My Story
The strain of this trip must have been very great for my
husband. First of all, a sense of helplessness when you have
always been able to look after yourself makes you conscious
every minute of the ease with which someone may slip and
you may be dropped overboard, in transferring from the
dock to the boat. In addition he had not wanted crowds to
witness his departure, and of course there was not only
kindly interest in Eastport but there was a certain amount of
interest inspired by newspapers in other parts of the country
that were trying to find out just what was die matter.
MOBE READJUSTMENTS
We finally reached New York, and here again my hus-
band was taken out of the car through the window and then
taken up by ambulance to the Presbyterian Hospital. I have a
faint recollection that some of his friends met him at the New
York station. I think Tom Lynch, George Draper, who was
to be his doctor, and Livy Davis were there. In the next few
years Livy was always most attentive and thoughtful, always
doing the things which you would not expect a man to
tbinlc of doing.
There followed days and weeks at the Presbyterian
Hospital. Doctor Lovett came occasionally, but his young
associate, Dr, George Draper, was in charge most of the
time.
My brother Hall was now living in Schenectady with his
wife, but he was working so hard he rarely came to New
York and we saw very little of him. However, a number of
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Trial by Fire
Franklin's friends were very faithful about visiting him. The
children were all back at school and stopped in to see him
every day, with the exception of James, who was in Groton.
The time seemed endless but he actually came home before
Christmas.
His mother was really very remarkable about this entire
illness. It must have been a most terrific strain for her, and I
am sure that, out of sight, she wept many hours, but with all
of us she was very cheerful. She had, however, made up her
mind that Franklin was going to be an invalid for the rest of
his life and that he would retire to Hyde Park and live there.
Her anxiety over his general health was so great that she
dreaded his making any effort whatsoever.
Though Franklin was in bed most of the time, Miss Rockey
took charge of him except in the afternoons. Then I had to
be at home. He was tall and heavy to life, but somehow both
of us managed to learn to do whatever was necessary. For
several weeks that winter his legs were placed in plaster casts
in order to stretch the muscles, and every day a little of the
cast was chipped out at the back, which stretched the muscles
a little bit more. This was torture and he bore it without the
slightest complaint, just as he bore his illness from the very
beginning. I never but once have heard him say anything
bordering on discouragement or bitterness. That -was some
years later, when he was debating whether to do something
which would cost considerable money, and he remarked that
he supposed it was better to spend the money on the chance
that he might not be quite such a helpless individual
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In many ways this -was the most trying winter of my entire
life. It was the small personal irritations, as I look back upon
them now, which made life so difficult. My mother-in-law
thought we were tiring my husband and that he should be
kept completely quiet, which made the discussions as to his
care somewhat acrimonious on occasion. She always thought
that she understood what was best, particularly where her
child was concerned, regardless of what any doctor might say.
I felt that if you placed a patient in a doctor's care, you must at
least follow out his suggestions and treatment. The house
was not overlarge, and we were very crowded.
Miss Rockey had to have a place to sit in the daytime. My
husband's bedroom was in the back of the house on the
third floor, because it was quieter there. I had given my
daughter, who was fifteen that winter, the choice of -whether
she would have a large room in the front on the third floor,
which she would be obliged to share with the nurse, Miss
Rockey, during the afternoon and early evenings, or whether
she would take a small room on the fourth floor rear, next to
Elliott's room. This she would have entirely to herself. She
chose the latter.
Mr. Howe took the big room on the third floor, as he had
come to live with us during the week, because his wife could *
find no apartment in New York which was suitable to both
their needs and their purse. During the week ends he jour-
neyed to Poughkeepsie, where his wife and little boy were
installed in a house and his daughter was at Vassar College.
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Trial by Fire
He was downtown most of the day at my husband's office,
so the nurse could use his room undisturbed.
We had a connecting door into a room in my mother-in-
law's house on the fourth floor, so the two little boys and
their nurse had those rooms. This accounted for all the bed-
rooms and left me with no room. I slept on a bed in one of
the little boys' rooms. I dressed in my husband's bathroom.
In the daytime I was too busy to need a room.
Various members of the family thought it their duty to
criticize the arrangements which I had made, but that never
troubled me greatly, for I realized that no one else could plan
our very complicated daily lives.
The boys soon became entirely oblivious of the fact that
their father had ever been ill. By spring he would sit on the
floor with the little boys in the library, and they would play
with him without the slightest idea that he was not able to
do anything he wished to do in the way of roughhousing
with them.
Anna, however, felt the strain of the overcrowded house
and the atmosphere of anxiety. I had put her in Miss Chapin's
School. I canvassed several schools and decided that Miss
Chapin had the kind of personality which would appeal to
me. I hoped the same relationship would grow up between
Anna and Miss Chapin as I had with Mile. Souvestre. I did
not realize how set and rigid New York schools were and
that the girl coming in from outside would be looked upon
by all the children as an outsider and could hardly be noticed
by the teachers. Anna was very unhappy, though I did not
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This Is My Story
realize it. She felt completely lost, and the different methods
of teaching rather bewildered her. She tried to hide her feel-
ings by being rather devil-may-care about her marks and her
association with the other girls.
Someone had suggested to her that it was unfair that she
should have a little fourth-floor room and Mr. Howe should
have the large room on the third-floor front. Because of
constant outside influences, the situation grew in her mind to
a point where she felt that I did not care for her and was not
giving her any consideration. It never occurred to her that I
had far less than she had. There were times at the dinner table
when she would annoy her father so much that he would be
severe with her and a scene would ensue, then she would
burst into tears and retire sobbing to her room,
I knew nothing, of course, of what had been said to her
and went rather blindly on drinking that girls of fifteen were
far more difficult to bring up than boys "were, and wondering
if, as the boys grew older, they were going to be so compli-
cated to understand.
I realize now that my attitude toward her had been wrong.
She was an adolescent girl and I still treated her like a child
and thought of her as a child. It never occurred to me to take
her into my confidence and consult with her about our
difficulties or tell her just what her father was going through
in getting his nerves back into condition*
I have always had a very bad tendency to shut up like a
clam, particularly when things are going badly; and that
attitude was accentuated, I think, as regards my children. I
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Trial by Fire
had done so much for them and planned everything and
managed everything, as far as the household was concerned,
for so many years that it never occurred to me that the time
comes, particularly with a girl, when it is important to make
her your confidante. If I had realized this, I might have saved
Anna and myself several years of real unhappiness. I would
have understood her a great deal better because she would
have been able to talk to me freely, and she would have
understood me and probably understood her father and all
he was fighting against-
As it was, I am responsible for having given, her a most un-
happy time, and we can both of us be extremely grateful for
the fact that finally the entire situation got on my nerves and
one afternoon in the spring, when I was trying to read to
the two youngest boys, I suddenly found myself sobbing as I
read, I could not think -why I was sobbing, nor could I stop.
Elliott came in from school, dashed in to look at me and fled.
Mr. Howe came in and tried to find out what 'was the matter
with me, but he gave it up as a bad job. The two little boys
went off to bed and I sat on the sofa in the sitting room and
sobbed and sobbed. I could not go to dinner in this condition.
Finally I found an empty room in my mother-in-law's house,
as she had moved to the country. I locked the door and poured
cold water on a towel and mopped my face. I eventually
pulled myself together, for it requires an audience, as a rule,
to keep on these emotional jags. That is the one and only
time I ever remember in my entire life having gone to pieces
in this particular manner. From that time on I seemed to have
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This Is My Story
got rid of nerves and uncontrollable tears, for never again
have either of them bothered me.
The effect, however, was rather good on Anna, because
she began to straighten out, and at last she poured some of
her troubles out and told me she knew she had been wrong
and that I did love her, and from that day to this our mutual
understanding has constantly improved.
Today no one could ask for a better friend than I have in
Anna, or she has in me* Perhaps because it grew slowly, the
bond between us is all the stronger. No one can tell either of
us anything about the other; and though we might not al-
ways think alike or act alike, we always respect each other's
motives, and there is a type of sympathetic understanding
between us which would make a real misunderstanding quite
impossible.
Doctor Draper felt very strongly that it was better for
Franklin to make the effort to take an active part in life again
and lead, as far as possible, a normal life, with the normal
interests which had always been his. Even if it tired him, it
was better for his general condition.
Franklin, the previous January, had accepted an offer made
by Mr. Van Lear Black to become vice-president of the
Fidelity and Deposit Company of Baltimore, in charge of
the New York office, and had worked there until his illness.
Mr. Black was a warm friend and kept his place for him until
he was well enough to resume his work.
Mr. Howe felt that the one way to get my husband's
interest aroused was to keep him as much as possible in con-
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Trial by Fire
tact with politics. That seemed to me an almost hopeless
task. However, in order to accomplish his ends, Mr. Howe
began to urge me to do some political work. I could think of
nothing which I could do, but during the spring I was thrown
on two or three occasions with a young woman who inter-
ested me considerably. Her name was Marion Dickerman.
She was interested in working conditions for women and I
also understood that she taught in a school. I, too, was inter-
ested in working conditions for women, harking back to the
interests of my young girlhood. Mrs. James Lees Laidlaw
asked me to attend a luncheon of the Women's Trade Union
League and become an associate member. I went to the
luncheon, listened attentively to the speeches, joined the
organization and have been a member ever since. This
luncheon was my second contact with some of the women
whom I had first met in Washington at the International
Conference for Working Women, and this resulted in a long
association. I have never lost touch with this group. Many
of them were interested in politics, and I soon found that
Marion Dickerman was also interested.
Through my acquaintance with Miss Dickerman, I met
her friend Nancy Cook. Miss Cook invited me to preside at a
luncheon to raise funds for the women's division of the
Democratic State Committee. I had been carrying on to a
very limited extent my work for the League of Women
Voters, but I had never done anything for a political organ-
ization before, nor had I ever made a speech in any sizable
gathering in my life. Occasionally during the war, of course,
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This Is My Story
we had to gather our workers together and give them instruc-
tions, but that could not be considered speech-making. Here
I found myself suddenly presiding at a luncheon, without the
faintest idea of what I was going to say or what work the
organization was really doing. That was the beginning of a
warm and lasting friendship with both Miss Dickerman and
Miss Cook, and through them I met Miss Harriet May Mills
and Mrs* Caroline O'Day and went to work with the Demo-
cratic women of New York State.
CHUDREN Do EDUCATE THEIR PARENTS
We moved to Hyde Park, bag and baggage, that summer
and we spent the whole summer there except for a short time
when I took the younger children to Fairhaven for a change
of air and some sea bathing. I did not even stay with them all
the time, but there I became conscious of the fact that I had
two young boys who had to learn to do the things that boys
must do swim and ride and camp. I had never done any of
these things. I had ridden when I was a child and up to the
age of twenty , but that was far behind me. I had no confidence
in my ability to do physical things at this time. I could go into
the water with the boys but I could not swim. It began to
dawn upon me that if these two youngest boys, were going
to have a normal existence without a father to do these
things with them, I would have to become a good deal more
compasoionable and more of an all-around person than I had
ever been before.
I began by learning to drive a car. I might as well own up
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Trial by Fire
at once that I had two accidents. I drove into the stone gate-
post of the Hyde Park avenue because I tried to turn while
going too fast. I backed the entire family downhill, off the
road and down a steep bank and came to a stop because I
struck a tree which held us as I was driving through a wood
road to a picnic. It was pure luck that I did not overturn the
car and seriously injure someone, but in both cases no one
was hurt. From then on I seemed through sheer determination
to gain self-confidence, and I have had no further accidents,
though I knock on wood whenever I say it.
All that summer at Hyde Park my husband struggled to do
a great number of things which would make it possible for
him to be more active. He learned to use crutches and walked
every day to gain confidence. Each new thing he did took
not only determination but great physical effort.
The children also had to do some adjusting, for I realized
that I must make a change in the care of the two youngest
boys. They had an English nurse, who kept them well but
was extremely strict. Now I found for them a young Swiss
girl, Mile. Seline Thiel, who had never held any other posi-
tion in this country. She came from Neuchatel, where the
French is good. She was pretty and had a wonderful influence
on the boys. At first they appalled her, for American children
are different from those of any European nationality. They
are freer, not so restrained and much more vocal. After she
grew accustomed to that, she became interested in them, liked
their good qualities, learned how to handle them and how to
discipline them. She stayed with us until both of them went
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This Is My Story
to boarding school. We were devoted to her and I shall always
remember her with gratitude, though she has gone back to
her own country and we have not seen her for a good many
years.
This autumn of 1922 I took Elliott to Groton School I
drove him up myself, unpacked for him and left a much more
miserable little boy than even James had been. I felt that he
would settle down as James had done. He was far better pre-
pared, in his work, for he had had one year at the Buckley
School, where he had done very well. He passed his examina-
tions without any conditions. My hopes were vain, however;
he never really loved the school as James did.
When we went back to New York, and when my husband
was in New York, he followed an ordinary businessman's
routine. He now had a chauffeur to take him back and forth
between his office and our house every day.
Through my interest in the League of Women Voters, the
Women's Trade Union League and the Democratic State
Committee, where now I had become finance chairman, I was
beginning to find the political contacts that Louis wanted. I
drove a car on election day and brought people to the polls. I
began to learn a good deal about party politics in a small
place. It was rather sordid in spots. I worked with our county
committee and our associate county chairwoman. I saw how
people took money or its equivalent on election day for their
votes and how much of the party machinery was geared to
crooked business. On the other hand, I saw hard work and
unselfish public service and fine people in unexpected places.
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Trial by Fire
I learned again that human beings are seldom all good or all
bad and that few human beings are incapable of rising to the
heights now and then.
We were rid of a trained nurse and we never treated my
husband as an invalid. Anna had graduated to the large room
and we were much less crowded with James and Elliott at
school. In the holidays we usually went to Hyde Park. The
whole family relationship was simpler. Anna continued to
tell me about things which upset her, and her trials and tribu-
lations away from home, and I was able more intelligently to
manage the various elements of our existence.
The boys at school had on the average one accident each
autumn during the football season which would necessitate
my bringing them home or taking them to a hospital for a
short time. We had, of course, a certain amount of illness
among the children at home, but my husband's general health
was good and I had not been ill since John was born. There
was really no time for me to think of being ill. Li winter my
husband had to go South, so for two winters we had a house-
boat and cruised around the Florida waters. I went down and
spent short periods with him and this was my first glimpse of
the South in 'winter. I had never considered holidays in winter
or escape from cold -weather an essential part of living, and I
looked upon it now as a necessity and not a pleasure. I tried
fishing but had no skill and no luck. When we anchored at
night and the wind blew, it all seemed eerie and menacing
to me. The beauty of the moon and the stars only added to
the strangeness of the dark waters and the tropic vegetation,
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This Is My Story
and on occasion it could be colder and more uncomfortable
than tales of the sunny South led me to believe was possible.
Key West was the one place I remember as having real charm.
Miami remains in my mind a nightmare of crowded busy
streets, congested with traffic. I was frantically trying to pro-
vision the boat there on one occasion with no knowledge of
stores or traffic rules.
MY FIRST POLIITCAI WORK
In New York I had begun to do a fairly regular job for the
women's division of the Democratic State Committee, and
was finding work very satisfactory and acquiring pride in
doing a semiprofessional job* We started a small mimeo-
graphed paper with which Mr. Howe gave me considerable
help. We finally had it printed, and in an effort to make it
pay for itself, I learned a great deal about advertising, circula-
tion and make-up. From Mr. Howe I learned how to make a
dummy for the printer, and though he never considered I
was really capable of writing the headlines, I became quite
proficient in planning, pasting, and so on.
Miss Cook and Miss Dickerman and I had become friends
in just the way that Miss Lape and Miss Read and I had been
first drawn together through the work which we were doing
together* This is, I think, one of the most satisfactory ways of
making and keeping friends.
Many of my old friends I saw very little, because they led
more or less social lives. I had dropped out of what is known
as society entirely, as we never went out. Now and then I
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Trial by Fire
would go to the theater with a friend, but my free hours were
few. Ever since the war my interest had been in doing real
work, not in being a dilettante. I gradually found myself more
and more interested in workers, less and less interested in my
old associates, who were busy doing a variety of things, but
who were doing no job in a professional way.
Slowly a friendship grew through all these years with a
young couple who lived in Dutchess County, New York,
not far from us Mr. and Mrs. Henry Morgenthau, Jr. They
were younger and perhaps for that reason we did not at first
see so much of one another. "We had many interests in com-
mon in the county, and Mr. Morgenthau and my husband
were thrown more and more together. Mrs. Morgenthau
came eventually to work in the women's division of the
Democratic State Committee, and she and I grew gradually
to have a warm affection for each other. Good things are all
the better for ripening slowly, but today this friendship with
Elinor and Henry Morgenthau is one of the things I prize
most highly.
During these years I also came to know Mrs. Carrie Chap-
man Catt, Mrs. Raymond Brown, Mrs. Louis Slade, Mrs.
Henry Goddard Leach, Lillian Wald, Mary Simkovitdh. and
many other "women who had a great influence on me. To
all of them I shall be deeply grateful always for opening up
so many new avenues of thought and work.
I found time that winter to go with Miss Dickertnan and
Miss Cook to the Y. W. C. A. to learn to swim. Miss Dick-
ennan did a great deal better than I did. Miss Cook never
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This Is My Story
could manage to trust herself in water that was above her
waist, and I realized that at my age whatever I did would
require a long period of practice and was quite content to
find myself able to swim a few strokes. By spring I felt pre-
pared to start in teaching the boys.
We began to find the week ends rather complicated and
occasionally I went up for the week end to Hyde Park with
the children. While I drove a car quite well, now, I did not
yet trust myself in New York City, so we journeyed up and
down by train.
SUBSTITUTING FOR FATHER
I made up my mind that the coming summer I must take
the youngest boys on a camping trip, ending up "with a few
weeks at Campobello. My modier-in-law took Anna and
James and Russell Clark, a cousin who was tutoring James, to
Europe. My husband stayed at Hyde Park and I took Miss
Cook, Miss Dickerman and four small boys Franklin; John;
my nephew, Henry Roosevelt; and young George Draper
on a camping trip. Our equipment consisted of two tents, a
stove which Miss Cook operated and on which she produced
some very good meals, a few pots and pans, a Red Cross kit
and as few clothes as we could possibly take.
We went up through New York State, stopped to show
the boys Ausable Chasm and Fort Ticonderoga, camping one
night in a farmer's field by the Ausable River. We found there
another gypsying car with a man who had a family with V>im T
They were taking a swim in the river, much to my joy, for I
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Trial by Firt
still had no great faith in my swimming prowess should one
of the boys get into trouble beyond his depth. Our neighbors
were pleasant and I began the process of striking up chance
acquaintances which has been one of my chief enjoyments
ever since.
We stopped in Montreal just long enough to order the
necessary groceries for Campobello, where we were to stay
for a couple of weeks. We spent the next night on a French
farm halfway to Quebec, where the boys first discovered that
there was some point in knowing how to speak the French
language. Here Franklin, Junior, gave himself a nasty cut on
the leg with a hatchet* I administered first aid, but did not
sew it up or take him to a doctor to have it done, which
proved in the long run a great mistake, as it took weeks to
heal.
We went on to Quebec, lost George and John, our two
youngest boys, from the hotel for a short time, only to dis-
cover them blandly strolling back. When I took them, to
task I was informed that they had gone out to see the town*
A plausible-enough excuse, considering that that was what
we were all there for.
I acquired a love for this city "in the shadow of the rock"
which I have never lost. We visited the shrine of St. Anne
and proceeded on our way, spending a couple of nights in
the White Mountains. We went up Mt. Washington by the
little cog rail-way and let the boys have the joy of climbing
another mountain on tiny burros' backs. Everybody had
great fun over the burros except Miss Cook. Her burro lay
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This Is My Story
down every few minutes and tried to roll. The next night we
stayed with Miss Mary Dewson at Castine, Maine, and the
boys and I shared a guest cottage down by the water. Then
to Campobello, which I had not seen since my husband's ill-
ness and which I found, in spite of all our trials, was still
serene, beautiful and enjoyable.
Miss Dickerman's sister came up with another party and
they drove our car home and used our camping equipment.
We took the train down, turning our visiting boys back to
their respective families and were home before the end of
August.
MUST A FAMILY HAVE A PIVOT?
In the autumn of 1921, my sister-in-law Margaret's fourth
baby, a little girl named after me, was born, and one evening
the following winter my brother appeared at the New York
house and asked if I would go out to dinner with him. I
sensed that this was no pleasure jaunt and that he wanted to
see me alone.
We went out together and over a small restaurant table,
with people all around us, he told me that he had decided to
get a divorce. I knew what this would mean to the family, all
of whom believed that when you had made your bed you
had to lie in it. However, I had long watched their relation-
ship with a constantly growing anxiety. My brother at that
time was young and impatient, at times ruthless, quicker than
almost anyone I had ever known and with a brilliant mind.
Margaret tried to enter into his life and understand the various
[ 350 ]
Trial by Fire
undertakings and responsibilities which he picked up, but by
the time she had begun, to understand them he had found
other fields to explore.
I kept remembering as he talked, a saying of Mrs. Selmes*
some years before and which at the time I thought sounded
well, but probably was not true. "If you love a person," she
said, "y u can forgive the big things. But if the little things
of life are always wrong, if another person's mannerisms or
some particular trait or characteristic irritates you, it becomes
something which is beyond endurance. It is the litde things
that make life unbearable, not the big things."
After Hall had had his say, my sister-in-law came to see me
and I saw her side just as clearly as I saw his, and was very
sorry for her. He could go out and find himself in work again.
She must rebuild a life without its pivotal point. Finally all the
settlements were arranged and she agreed she would go and
live in Philadelphia and eventually get her divorce.
Hall left for the farthest place he could very well go to
Seattle, in the state of Washington with the General Electric
Company, with which he had gone to work on his return
from Alaska. There he stayed for two years. After the divorce
was granted he returned to Chicago, and later to Detroit.
These were years when I almost lost touch with him, but my
own life was so complicated and the daily routine so full that
I had litde time to realize how litde I did to help this brother
of mine who had been brought up for some years almost as
one of my own children.
Every time Elliott had to go back to Groton we had a
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This Is My Story
scene, but this second year, at least, he was not so determined
as he was in the later years, and a little persuasion sent him
back fairly happily.
James and Anna came home from Europe with their grand-
mother and James returned to school, where he was always
happy and conformed easily to the expected pattern.
I was beginning to make occasional speeches and on various
occasions Louis Howe went with me and sat in the back of
the audience and gave me pointers as to what I should say and
how I should say it. I had a very bad habit, because I was
nervous, of laughing when there was nothing to laugh at. He
broke me of that by showing me how inane it sounded. His
advice was, "Have something you want to say, say it and sit
down/'
Under Mrs. O'Day, who was state vice-chairman of the
Democratic State Committee, I did a certain amount of or-
ganization work each summer among the Democratic -women
of the state. I usually went with either Miss Dickerman or
Miss Cook. I paid my own traveling expenses and so did Mrs.
O'Day; because money raising was hard for the women we
felt every expense must be kept down. Miss Cook did won-
ders of economical management. All the work among the
women had been started by Miss Harriet May Mills, who for
many years was the outstanding Democratic woman leader
of New York State. Even after her retirement as vice-chair-
man of the state committee, she always responded to every
call for assistance. I was always glad of this experience because
I came to know my state, the people who lived in it and rural
and urban conditions, extremely well.
[352]
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FRANKLIN'S RETURN TO POLITICS
SINCE his illness my husband had undertaken the presidency
of the Boy Scout Foundation, the presidency of the American
Construction Council, the chairmanship of the American
Legion campaign and a number of other nonpolitical activi-
ties. His only political effort during those years was in die
summer of 1922, when he helped to persuade Al Smith to
run again for the governorship.
He was entirely well again and lived a normal life in every
way, restricted only by his inability to walk. On the whole
his general physical condition improved year by year, until
he really was stronger in some ways than before his illness. He
always went away in the winter for a time and in summer for
a long vacation, trying in each case either to take treatment
or at least to keep up exercises which would improve his
ability to get about.
In the spring of 1924, before the National Democratic Con-
vention met in New York, Al Smith, who was a candidate
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This Is My Story
for die presidential nomination, asked him to manage his pre-
convention campaign. This was the first time that my husband
was to be in the public eye since his illness. A thousand and
one little arrangements had to be made and Louis was much
excited and very carefully planned each step of the way. I fear
I did not understand the importance of many things as he did.
I was fairly busy, for I had been asked to take charge of the
committee to present to the resolutions committee of the con-
vention some of the planks of interest to women. This was
to be a new step in my education. I knew a little now about
local politics, a good deal through the League of Women
Voters and, through my Democratic organisation work,
about my state legislation and state politics, and I was to see
for the first time where the women stood when it came to a
national convention. I shortly discovered that they were of
very little importance. They stood outside the door of all im-
portant meetings and waited. I did get my resolutions in, but
how much consideration they got was veiled in mystery be-
hind closed doors.
James was old enough to act as a page and to be fairly near
his father during the entire convention. Few people will for-
get the heat of New York and the way that convention
dragged itself out. I had opened our New York house in spite
of the fact that it was fairly well closed for the summer, and
had taken in a number of women from upstate New York. I
had not expected to have them for quite such a long time,
but at least we were in our own home. The women's division
[354]
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT IN THE NEW YORK STATE SENATE, 1912
ANNA, JAMES, AND EIIIOTT ROOSEVELT, 1916
CO
a"
s
u
THE ROOSEVELT FAMILY, 1919
FOURTH OF JULY AT EASTPORT, MAINE, ABOUT 1916
MRS. ROOSEVELT'S FIRST SCOTTIE
MARVIN MC!NTYRB, FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT, TOM LYNCH, AND Louis HOWE, 1920
GOVERNOR SMITH AT HYDE PARK, 1928
Franklin 9 s Return to Politics
of the state committee also had rooms in a hotel, which were
hospitably open to the women at all times.
THE DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION OF 1924
I heard rumors of all kinds of maneuvers and all the differ-
ent things that the men were talking about drifted my way,
but most of the time at the convention I sat and knitted, suf-
fered with the heat and wished it would end.
At this convention I caught my first glimpse of Will Rogers
when he wandered by the box one day and asked, "Kintting
in the names of the future victims of the guillotine?" I felt like
saying that I was almost ready to call any punishment down
on the heads of those who could not bring the convention
to a close.
Mrs. O'Day and I together gave a reception which was
supposed to be for New York State delegates, but it turned
out to include delegates from many other states in the union.
In the midst of it, we got word that Mrs. O'Day's younger
son, Charlie, had caught his leg in diving and broken it. She
had to leave early and go out to her home in Rye, New York.
The brightest spot in the whole convention for me was the
fact that Isabella Ferguson, who had now remarried, had
come on for the convention. She was now Mrs. John C.
Greenway, and he was a delegate from Arizona. Isabella had
been' a widow only a short while when her mother became
very ill, but happily Mrs. Selmes lived to see Isabella married
to John Greenway, so she knew that her beloved daughter
would be cared for with love and devotion. How closely
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This Is My Story
interwoven all through life are happiness and sorrow! I think
there was very little sorrow in Mrs. Selmes' death. She had
a zest for life and she was not a good invalid. Those who
loved her missed her greatly, and if I may judge by my own
feelings, I imagine she has lived on in the hearts of all those
who knew her well.
John and Isabella asked if they could take Anna back with
them to spend some weeks with Isabella's daughter, Martha,
and we gladly agreed. It is rare that one's children pick up the
thread of their parents* friendship, but in this case our two
daughters carry on our affection and are happy in each other's
company. So before the convention finally came to an end,
John and Isabella started for the West with the most excited
companion. Anna could see little of interest in a convention,
but a trip to the West, with prospects of any number of
horses to ride and new country and customs to discover, was
a real adventure for an eighteen-year-old girl.
Finally, in spite of all that could be done, in spite of a really
fine nominating speech by my husband and the persuasion
and influence of many other people in the convention, Al
Smith lost the nomination. My husband stepped gracefully
out of the political picture, though he did make one or two
speeches, I think, for Mr. John W. Davis.
I took my politics so seriously that in the early autumn I
came down to the state headquarters and went seriously to
work in the state campaign.
The Democratic national ticket lost; but Governor Smith
was again elected governor of New York State and there was
great rejoicing in our state headquarters.
[356]
CHAPTER TWENTY-THRBB
THE END OF A PERIOD
AND now I have come to the last chapter, at least for the time
being, of "My Story/* for the record of the next few years
is a gradual increase in my husband's political activity and the
time for that story to be written is not yet. It occurs to me to
wonder why any one should ever have the courage, or as
many people probably think, the vanity to write an auto-
biography!
In analyzing my own reasons, I think I had two objectives
one was to give a picture if possible of the world in which
I grew up and which seems to me today to be changed in
many ways. The other to give as truthful a picture as possible
of a human being. A real picture of any human being seems
to me interesting in itself, and it is especially interesting when
we can follow the play of other personalities upon that human
being and perhaps get a picture of a group of people and of
the influence on them of the period in which they lived.
The great difference between the world of the i88o's and
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This Is My Story
today seems to me to be in the extraordinary speeding up of
our physical surroundings.
I was for many years a sounding board for the teachings
and influences of my immediate surroimdings. The ability to
think for myself did not develop until I was well on in life
and therefore no real personality developed in my early
youth. This will not be so of young people of today, they
must become individuals responsible for themselves at a
much earlier age because of the conditions in which they find
themselves in their everyday lives. The world of my grand-
mother was a world of well-ordered custom and habit, more
or less slow to change. The world of today accepts something
new overnight and in two years it has become the old and
established custom and we have almost forgotten it was ever
new.
The reason that fiction is more interesting than any other
form of literature to those of us who really like to study
people, is that in fiction the author can really tell the truth
without hurting any one and without humiliating himself
too much. He can tell what he has learned through observa-
tion and experience of the inner workings of the souls of men.
In an autobiography this is hard to do, try as you will. The
more honest you can be about yourself and others, however,
the more valuable what you have written will be in the future
as a picture of the people and their problems during the period
covered by the autobiography.
Every individual as he goes through life has different prob-
lems, and reacts differently to the same circumstances. Differ-
[358]
The End of a Period
ent individuals see and feel the same things in different -ways,
something in them colors the world and their lives. Their
experiences and their lessons will be different in each indi-
vidual case.
To me, who dreamed so much as a child, who made a
dream world in which I was the heroine of an unending
story, the lives of the people around me have continued to
have a certain story book quality. I have tried to give enough
of a sketch of the young aunts and uncles with whom I lived
for you to realize, I hope, what they meant in my develop-
ment.
In later years I came to feel toward Vallie and Eddie that I
was grown up and that they were children, because they lost
their power of self-control. But in the years when I was small
they were wonderful people to me.
The fact, for instance, that Eddie would come to the quiet
house on the Hudson in summer, take a volume of Dickens
or Scott from the library shelf and settle himself in a chair on
the porch and read that volume through in a day, gave me
the deske to read those particular authors,
Both Vallie and Eddie were stars at tennis, good in fact in
all athletic sports and I admired them greatly. I gained from
them an appreciation of skill and grace and good sportsman-
ship. I learned that you won with modesty and accepted de-
feat gracefully.
I -was always timid and a real physical coward, but the fact
that I knew they would not understand my fears made me
do many things I would not have done otherwise. I remember
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This Is My Story
well the first time they suggested that I try to shoot one of
their guns, I was terrified of the noise and the "kick," but it
took more courage to refuse than to pull the trigger!
Vallie was more at home than Eddie and so he took more
interest in the farm and in actually working on the place*
We had an old engine down at the River which pumped the
water into a tank on the hill in the back woods. This meant
pumping the entire day; keeping the fire up was hard work
in hot weather. Vallie always did it himself I was proud in-
deed to carry his meals and drinking water to him and share
them, no matter how hot it was. He worked with the men
in the orchard and on the farm, and I tagged along, learning
primarily, I think, that people work best when they work
with you and not for you!
Of course, my two aunts, Maude and Pussie, called out my
deepest admiration and devotion. Pussie read with me both
prose and poetry, and her reading of poetry gave me my
first conception that poetry was sound and rhythm in addi-
tion to whatever meaning it might contain. Prose could con-
vey an idea but rarely had the additional quality of music.
These two aunts were my early loves and few women since
have seemed to me to surpass them in beauty and charm.
Given greater discipline, the drive of necessity and wider op-
portunities, I believe that Pussie might have been an artist of
real quality.
Maude did not have her artistic ability, but she had the
power of appreciation and she excelled then and still does in
the art of association with other people. She can appreciate
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The End of a Period
their ability and bring them out. She can devote her life to
other people and merge her personality in theirs and work
for them in a way that is possible only to the truly unselfish
souls of this world.
Some of their friends also were more than kind to me and
one in particular, Alice Kidd, now Mrs. George Huntington,
exerted a great influence on me in these early years. I thought
her one of the most beautiful and certainly one of the kindest
people I knew as a child, and if she was expected I would
walk half a mile or more to our entrance for the pleasure of
driving in with her and seeing her before she was swallowed
up by the older people. I was a litde self-conscious about this
devotion and I doubt if she ever knew or if any of the others
knew for that matter, how much I admired her and how
grateful I was for her rather careless kindness. But, I learned
something then which has served me in good stead many
times that the most important thing in any relationship is
not what you get but what you give. It does not hurt to wor-
ship at a shrine which is quite unconscious, for out of it may
grow an inner development in yourself and sometimes a re-
lationship of real value. In any case the giving of love is an
education in itself.
My Hall family was typical, I think, of the early ipoo's.
Somewhere in the background there were people who had
worked with their hands and with their heads and worked
hard, but the need was no longer there and at that time the
material conditions of life seemed stable.
My Grandfather Hall typified the group, in his generation,
This Is My Story
that had reached a goal. He was a gentleman of leisure who
enjoyed using his brains. He liked to have the stimulation of
intelligent companionship but he did not feel the need to
work. In his children many of the qualities of the hard fisted,
hard headed ancestors faded away, but their world was not
as stable as they thought and their money began to slip
through their fingers. Today, two generations later, the
world has changed so much that many of the younger mem-
bers of the family have to begin again at scratch and it is in-
teresting to see that with necessity many of them develop the
same abilities that existed in their working forebears.
This cycle which I have watched in my family is one reason
why, in our country, it always amuses me when any one
group of people take it for granted that because they have
been privileged for a generation or two, they are set apart in
any way from the man or woman -who is working in order
to keep the wolf from the door. It is only luck and a little
veneer temporarily on the surface, and before very long the
wheels may turn and one and all must fall back on whatever
basic "quality" they have.
This idea would never have occurred to my grandmother,
for to her the world seemed more or less permanently fixed,
but to us today it is a mere platitude and our children and
grandchildren will accept it without turning a hair.
On the other side of my family, of course, many people
whom I have mentioned will be described far better and more
fully by other people, except in the case of my father, whose
short and happy early life was so tragically ended. With him
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The End of a Period
I have a curious feeling that as long as he remains to me the
vivid, living person that he is, he will, after the manner of
the people in the "Blue Bird," be alive and continue to exert
his influence which was always a very gentle, kindly one.
The more the world speeds up, the more it seems to me
necessary that we should learn to pick out of the past the
things that we feel were important and beautiful dieru One
of these things was a quality of tranquillity in people which
you rarely meet today. Perhaps one must have certain periods
of life lived in more or less tranquil surroundings in order
to attain that particular quality* I read not long ago in David
Grayson's "The Countryman's Year" these words: "Back
of tranquillity lies always conquered unhappiness." That may
be so, but perhaps these grandparents of ours found it a litde
easier to conquer unhappiness because their lives were not
lived at high tension so constantly. All of us must conquer
some unhappiness in our lives. Why not try occasionally
what a litde dose of quiet nature with a day in and day out
routine of necessary ordinary things to do, dose to the reali-
ties of life, will do for us*
Autobiographies are, after all, only useful as the lives you
read about and analyze may suggest to you something that
you may find useful in your own journey through life. I do
not expect, of course, that any one will find exacdy the same
experiences or the same mistakes or the same gratifications
that I have found, but perhaps my very foolishness may be
helpful! The mistakes I made when my children were young
may give some help or consolation to some troubled and
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This Is My Story
groping mother! The fear I had of my very well trained
nurses which led me to allow my children to be punished
very often far more severely than would ever have been the
case had I been taking care of them myself, is something
which I hope many young mothers will remember. It is not
only fear of the nurses but one's own timidity as a nurse
which makes one do things against one's better judgment.
Because of one's timidity sometimes one is more severe with
the children, or more irritated at trifles, and one feels the ne-
cessity to prove one's power over the only defenseless thing
in sight.
We all of us owe, I imagine, far more than we realize to
our friends as well as to the members of our families. I know
that in my own case my friends are responsible for much
that I have become and without them there are many things
which would have remained closed books to me.
From the time of my marriage, the life I lived seems more
closely allied with the life that all of us know today. It was
colorful, active and interesting. The lessons learned were
those of adaptability and adjustment and finally of self-reli-
ance and the developing into an individual which every
human being must eventually do.
I have sketched very briefly the short trip to Europe after
the World War, and yet I think that trip had far reaching
consequences for me. I had known Europe and particularly
France with its neat and patterned countryside fairly well.
The picture of desolation fostered in me an undying hate of
war which was not very definitely formulated before that
[364]
The End of a Period
time. The conviction of the uselessness of war as a means of
finding any final solution to international difficulties grew
stronger and stronger as I listened to people talk in our hotel,
in the streets, on trains and among our friends. I said very-
little about it at the time but the impression was so strong
that instead of fading out of my memory, it has become
more deeply etched upon it year by year.
In sending this book out I only hope I may have accom-
plished in part at least, the two objectives I had in mind at
the start. I hope that in my interpretation of some phases of
the life of this period my readers will find some reasons for
kindly laughter and a little additional understanding of the
human species as a whole.
These forty years were lived over an interesting period
which led up to and laid the foundation for the many changes
which have come to us since then.
[365]
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