.... © 2000 Jeffrey Dane

There's more to George Washington than the famous face that graces USA dollar bills. Remainders of the renowned are reminders of them. Bach has an entire museum devoted to him in Leipzig, Germany. Locks of Beethoven's hair are kept in glass cases in two memorial rooms in Vienna. Three of Brahms' inkwells are displayed in as many locations in Austria. New York, too, has its broad share of historic relics, many of which form direct, tangible links to our own country's history: personal artifacts of George Washington himself.

He became a legend so early in our culture that history is now caked with fiction, fantasy and invention, creating for the researcher and scholar nearly insurmountable obstacles to the human features behind the mystique that has evolved, if not clogging access to the man altogether. Since he died over 200 years ago, the historical investigator is plagued by a rich assortment of obstacles. His 67-year existence (from 1732, the year of Haydn's birth, to 1799) contributed as much to 19th-century legend as to the depiction or representation of historical fact.

Sample of George Washington's Handwriting

Fallacies about the more celebrated historical figures generally, and about Washington in particular, are perpetuated even in our own day - or perhaps especially in our own day, considering the current vogue of revisionist history. The anecdotes, many of them not genuine but genuine nonsense, may be convenient for teachers of elementary school students, with the fables easily digested by those children who, by comparative extension, would grow to adulthood believing that junk food is true nutrition. The eventual hazards are obvious. If the apocryphal stories that have proliferated for years don't dishonor the historical annals themselves, they certainly contaminate the minds of many, especially the impressionable young, in whom the delusions can fester literally for years and ultimately do immeasurable and maybe even irreparable harm.

The best habits best begin early. We're better served by examining the facts - official records, authentic accounts, contemporary reports, and other reliable sources (with "reliable" being the operative word), aimed or consulted at whatever level - rather than the historical equivalents of the tabloids, or made-for-TV movies that play fast and loose, in the name of drama, with the historical accounts, and thus render the viewer misinformed. When viewed in sensible historical context, the recounting of most momentous events doesn't even need embellishment a-la Hollywood. "We don't use textbooks about music here at The Juilliard School, young man. We go to the source of the music. We go to the score." The student, in his first week at the school, never forgot the librarian's polite but earnest demeanor and his very sound advice, and soon found that one can learn infinitely more of, say, a Brahms symphony by examining the orchestral score (or, barring such skills, by just listening to the music), than by reading prose about it - notwithstanding the clear need and value of the latter for many. The author acknowledges he was that student.

James Bowie's reputation was legendary, even in his own time. Nevertheless, according to historian J.R. Edmondson in his book, "The Alamo Story: From Early History to Current Conflicts" (Republic of Texas Press, Plano, Texas), there's no documentary evidence that Bowie ever fought an actual duel - with or without the celebrated knife which bore his name even then. Similarly, there's no evidence that George Washington ever chopped down a cherry tree, an apple tree, a peach tree - or any other tree. The famous fable, which first appeared in an early Washington biography by Mason Weems, is as spurious as the images we see in period films of people writing with goose quills that have the down still attached to their shafts: visually pleasant but largely a decorative Hollywood conceit. Washington's character - as a young man, as an adult, a surveyor, a military officer, 3-star Lieutenant-General and Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, or as our first president - can be illustrated in more genuine even if symbolic ways.

James Bowie,
who reached iconic status even in his own lifetime.

The author recalls being taught in grade school that when John Hancock signed the Declaration of Independence, he wrote his name in a large, expansive script "so that the King of England could read it without his spectacles." This will have a very familiar royal ring to most people, who will likely be nodding affirmatively in now being reminded they had been taught the same thing. If Hancock wished to be so "considerate" of British royalty, why, then, did he even agree to put his name on a document like this in the first place?

The more sensible and plausible reasons for the Hancock signature writ large offer a very different scenario. When the author ultimately learned these things, the main reason his former teacher remained alive was that it's illegal to commit murder. Most of the names on the original Declaration were, by intent, rendered indecipherable by each individual signer as he wrote his name - a very sensible precaution, prompted by an understandably practical and healthy concern about British reprisal possibility based on identification of the signers by name.

Firstly, the positioning of Hancock's signature indicates that he may have been the first to sign the document - and that the incredible (and in retrospect, maybe even foolhardy) clarity of his letterhand might mean that the idea of identity concealment by illegibility may have been considered by the others only afterward. Alternatively, we're still faced with the possibility that the size and legibility of Hancock's signature was so rendered by him almost defiantly and that he feared nothing. Though exceptional, there are such men: Wyatt Earp was described by William ("Bat") Masterson as "the only man I ever met who was completely devoid of physical fear." Conjecture is fruitless but still fascinating.

Wyatt Earp (Seated)
and Bat Masterson,
in Dodge City, 1876

Secondly, artist Rod Timanus, author of "On The Crockett Trail" (Pioneer Press, Union City, Tennessee), provides the following tantalizing information about another signer (and a distant ancestor), Charles Carroll - the only man who identified both himself and his specific location. Writes Timanus, "Charles Carroll was the delegate from Maryland. As his turn to sign the Declaration came, someone nearby may have jokingly commented that there were probably a lot of Charles Carrolls in Maryland, it being a large family. He took back the pen and placed his address with his signature, 'of Carrollton,' which was the name of his estate. He then stated that if the British came looking for him, they would be sure to find the right Charles Carroll. He was the only signer to put his name and address on the Declaration. Interestingly, William Carroll Crawford, who signed the Texas Declaration of Independence, was distantly related to Charles Carroll of Maryland." Though Timanus acknowledges he's aware of no specific documentation regarding a definite reason for Carroll's own addition, the fact remains that Charles Carroll was the only signer to fix his own identity by domicile. This appears to speak for itself.

"I regret that I have but one life to give for my country" is the remark commonly believed to have been made by the 21-year-old Nathan Hale before his execution by the British. The light in which we now see him would be less noble but still far more human if what he had actually said before being hung was, "I have but one life, and I regret having to give it for my country." Extending this concept, when the 17-year-old Beethoven went to Vienna and wangled an introduction to his idol, Mozart, and played for him, the older composer is said to have noted, "Just watch this boy. He's going to make a great noise someday." Mozart's was an 18th-century Classical nature and he played the piano with the clarity and protocol then prevalent. Beethoven, years ahead of his time in so many ways and a born nonconformist, had a 19th-century Romantic character which was amply reflected in the way he himself played. Mindful of this, and based not only on traditional story distortions during the passage and changes of time, but also on the then-unusual way in which Beethoven played - with a powerful, elemental intensity never before seen or heard, and with far less concern for pianistic accuracy than most others had - it's entirely conceivable that Mozart's sentiment might have been, "Just listen to that boy. He's making a great deal of noise."

The perhaps well-intentioned but operatively misguided educators, at whatever level, who perpetuate the historical fancies are effectively offering us a view of history's coffee break disguised as the reality of history's daily routine. It should be kept in mind that even the most significant historical photos usually have that same effect: regardless of their documentary importance and inherent fascination, they capture literally a mere fleeting moment of a time long ago, and represent little if anything of what reality was in those eras.

Aside from numerous holograph letters in archives, libraries and even in private collections, some of the material mementos of Washington the man that survive, in New York and elsewhere, are his silver shoe buckles and the outfit he wore at his inauguration; the marble slab on which he stood as he took the oath of office; the bible on which he rested his hand as he was sworn in; the magnificent desk he used as president; a lock of his hair; his small pocket knife; one of his own teeth; and perhaps most importantly, the life-mask of his face.

Replica of George Washington's pocket-knife

Washington's original pen-knife - so called because it was a tool of choice for sharpening pens, i.e., quills - is one of the heirlooms at Washington's ancestral home at Mount Vernon, Virginia. This pocket-knife was given to him when he was still a young man, as a reward for having excelled in his studies. He kept the piece throughout his life. Even by today's standards a very handsome and appealing little tool, English-made with mother-of-pearl scales (handles), this 3-inch long, single-blade knife with metal bolsters has been replicated by some cutlery entities, but with simulated mother-of-pearl handles.

Left: The study at Mount Vernon, Virginia. Primitive by today's standards, its appurtenances were then state-of-the-art, befitting Washington's circumstances. He could reach the study directly from the master bedroom by a private staircase. At right: a lock of Washington's hair.

Exhibited for many years in Federal Hall in lower Manhattan and then loaned to the Washington's Headquarters location at Morristown National Park, New Jersey, were the brown suit of clothes Washington wore on the day of his inauguration in New York (which was then the capitol), and the Masonic bible on which he placed his hand when he was sworn in as our first president on April 30, 1789, a mere three months before the French Revolution. Intending to set an example, Washington bought the Connecticut-made suit in the hope of encouraging American industry. The silver shoe buckles he wore on his inauguration day remain displayed at Federal Hall.

The suit's proportions indicate that Washington's physical stature was in keeping with the magnitude of his historical one. Lean and wiry of physique and at well over six feet, it was necessary to literally look up to him, as he was physically imposing and towered over most of his contemporaries. He was a man whose appearance, in others' minds, seemed to equate power with size. In his presence, one could be friendly but not familiar: he preferred the formal bowing rather than the more common handshake. By all accounts, as a human being Washington had a natural, majestic bearing which in and of itself commanded respect from those who met him, and he seems to have had that elusive quality of charisma - impossible to define, difficult to explain, hopeless to imitate, but very easy to recognize.

The Inaugural Bible

The inaugural bible is a King James Masonic version, printed in London in 1767. It was this large volume, replete with 103 steel engravings and even two fold-out maps, on which Washington placed his right hand when he took the oath of office on that fateful day. The page to which the bible was opened is now covered by a piece of protective transparent silk. A smaller replica of that bible is displayed today in New York in St. Paul's Chapel, where Washington worshipped as president. The separate, presidential pew he occupied during services is on the north aisle of the chapel, at the right as one enters the front of the structure. The pew was originally canopied and richly furnished, but these accouterments were removed in the 19th century. In sight of City Hall, St. Paul's Chapel is the oldest (1766) existing church in Manhattan, with St. Marks, on the Bowery, younger by 33 years.

Also displayed in Federal Hall is the massive, white marble slab on which Washington stood has he took the oath of office, and a portion of the original wrought-iron railing that enclosed the original building's second-floor balcony. Here, during the ceremonies he and other dignitaries could be seen by the crowd, which stretched all the way down Broad Street to the water. The original Federal Hall where the ceremonies took place was long ago demolished, but the iron fencing that now surrounds the vest-pocket Bowling Green Park at the foot of Broadway is original and dates from Washington's era.

Federal Hall as it appeared in Washington's day (at left), and
an old rendering of the newer structure essentially as it appears today.

A practicing Mason, Washington died a mere fortnight before the arrival of the new century. From a New England Masonic Lodge: "Following the death of General George Washington on December 14, 1799, the Grand Lodge of Massachusetts requested and received from his widow a lock of hair of our distinguished Brother, to be preserved in a golden urn by the Grand Lodge. The lock of hair was placed in a golden urn crafted especially by Paul Revere and is probably the most unique treasure of any Grand Lodge. The urn containing the lock of Washington's hair is triennially entrusted to each new Grand Master at his installation by the retiring Grand Master."

Federal Hall also boasts a full-size replica of Washington's presidential desk. The original was long ago moved to City Hall, where it's displayed now. Unusual of configuration but regal of appearance, it has features of a "partner's desk," with galleries at its left and right sides. It was later used by several New York City officials, including Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia, who because he was short had to use a raised seat to reach the desk's writing surface. New York's Fraunces' Tavern Museum, too, once had a full-size replica of the desk. Such reproductions are made today and sell for astronomical prices, and are easily available to all who can afford them.

A full-size replica of the extraordinary desk used by Washington as president.

While the first was located on Cherry Street, the second presidential mansion was on Broadway. President Washington lived there from February 23 until August 30, 1790, when Philadelphia became the nation's capitol. The site of that second presidential residence in New York is now 39 Broadway, so identified with a plaque. It seems fitting that the building now on that site contains the headquarters of a U.S. veterans' organization.

At one time the Fraunces' Tavern Museum in lower Manhattan exhibited a replica of Washington's pocket knife, a lock of his hair and one of his natural teeth, encased in a glass bubble. The tavern, built in 1719 and the oldest surviving brick structure in Manhattan, was designated a landmark in 1965, and for decades has been a destination for countless elementary school children on class trips. The entire block, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is the only low-rise federal-era block surviving below Wall Street which retains its original appearance. Washington himself would surely recognize the buildings today, but certainly not the view from them.

Of the structures dwarfed by skyscrapers, Fraunces' Tavern is on the right corner. (Photo at right):
The Long Room on the second floor of Fraunces' Tavern.

Though now visible only from the entrance, for years one could enter and walk about the second-floor Long Room in Fraunces' Tavern, where on December 4, 1783, the ceremony was held where then-General Washington relinquished his command of the Continental Army. Still there is the chair in which sat the Marquis de Lafayette himself.

As a soldier Washington seemed to lead a charmed life. In a 1755 skirmish four bullets ripped into his coat, and on two other occasions his horse was shot out from under him. He escaped injury at each incident. He had asked for and accepted no salary as Commander-in-Chief of the Army, proposing, instead - and being granted - an expense account. His preference proved advantageous. While the daily meals allowance for the regular soldier was nineteen cents, the allotment for himself and his officers was $35 per diem.

Washington's signature is of course on the U.S. Constitution, but not on the Declaration of Independence: no-where near Philadelphia on July 4, 1776, he was engaged far away in a conflict now known as the Revolutionary War. One of his strategies was to fall back gradually and incrementally - and then strike back at the most unexpected moment possible. While some academic scholars view him as a martial bungler who won the war by sheer luck, other historians consider him a stealthy and brilliant military tactician. In the end he provided victory, and it would be only of secondary or even tertiary importance - perhaps even cynical - to question the means by which he provided it.

It's noteworthy that he dismissed outright the suggestion by others that he be appointed "King," opting for a more democratic nature of leadership, and being convinced that the class distinctions inherent in societies with royalty and commoners contradicted and was totally inconsistent with what our new country had been fighting for to begin with. Noteworthy, too, is that the Revolutionary War was being fought long before Washington ever saw the phrase "All men are created equal" in print - and, though a fundamental concept underlying that very revolution, perhaps even before he had even heard the idea so verbalized.

Our country's first millionaire, unlike most others Washington did something to limit the hypocrisy of owning slaves in a country founded on the principle of freedom. He arranged to have many of them freed after his death, and the rest of them on the passing of his wife, Martha, who outlived him by only a year.

George Washington's life-mask, made in 1785. This is the closest we'll ever get to an actual photographic image of him.

Though he himself may never have set foot on the site of what is now the Pierpont Morgan Library on Madison Avenue, the entity has in its possession a relic that may bring us closer than any other to the first president: George Washington's own life-mask, done in 1785 by French artist Jean-Antoine Houdon (who also did busts of Benjamin Franklin, Voltaire, Thomas Jefferson, and Napoleon). If a picture is worth the proverbial thousand words, a life mask is arguably worth a thousand pictures - certainly the kind of pictures available in that era, i.e., paintings and other artists' renderings. Gilbert Stuart's iconic painting of Washington, which adorns countless public school rooms and the lowest-denomination U.S. banknotes, may be the most "familiar" depiction of Washington's face, but the Houdon life-mask is certainly the most faithful. Predating the advent of photography by six decades, the mask represents Washington effectively as he looked at age 53, and is the most accurate, realistic, and genuine rendering we have of his actual physical features.

We might remember that Washington was as alive then as we are today.

---

Jeffrey Dane is an independent historian and author who researches and writes about whatever interests him. His work is widely published in the USA and abroad in several languages. He wishes he could have spent even a few hours at Mount Vernon - in the company of General Washington.