PART II Chapt Six- First Partner

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. *********************************************************************************** He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; *********************************************************************************** He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: *********************************************************************************** His truth is marching on. *************************************************************** ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************Glory, glory Hallelujah, Glory, glory Hallelujah, Glory, glory Hallelujah, His truth is marching on. *************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************                  1861- Julia Ward Howe

First Partner

Lucy Hayes

The last shall be first, and the first shall be last..”

Jesus

Service

The hoary old gentleman stood at the grand door with faded slouch hat in hand, looking at the beautifully woven doormat, a little stoop shouldered and nervous. It was not just any door. A rush of excitement filled his head, and he felt his high blood pressure suddenly overwhelm him as he wondered if he could even find words when the doorman opened his way into what might be the highlight of his life. He made a tiny, courageous chuckle under his breath, as he heard tapping footsteps, and the great door opened to the White House.

The uniformed and dignified doorman smiled and stepped back, and heartily invited him in. He was expected, and was instructed to find a seat in an adjoining parlor while his arrival was announced. But before he could decide where to sit, a servant brought him a flat box, wrapped in brown paper, and a large hat box. “Here you are sir, you might want to try it all on to make sure it fits.” She set the box down and disappeared before he could ask any questions.

Overwhelmed and out of place, the old man stroked his scruffy beard, wondering what he should do. He couldn't try it on right here in the parlor! He took out his case pocket knife and cut the string holding the package together. The string popped with a loud pluck and he opened the box like he expected the sudden smells of war. It was all there; An antiquated United States Army uniform, from the War of 1812. He held up the trousers, which seemed quite long. No problem, they could be hemmed, even temporarily folded inside to fit. The jacket was large enough to accommodate his beer belly, but... there were no sergeant's epaulets.

Suddenly his thrill had turned to irritation and disappointment. He should not wear a regulation uniform without showing his rank! He would have to scavenge some epaulets. But where?

About this time he heard someone gently calling. It was Lucy Hayes, the first lady, beaming, gorgeous, gliding towards him with a generous smile.

“Sergeant!”

The old soldier forgot his quandary almost immediately, as she was suddenly staring up at him with such a sweet open-eyed welcome. It would be wrong to show anything but good manners to her hospitality.

“I was so pleased when the president told me about you,” she said. “We could not wait to see you in your uniform, so we had it delivered here. I hope you don't mind!” The first lady was instantly familiar, intimate, looking into his thoughts.

The befuddled old soldier stood for a moment, speechless; The uniform so crisp, in a place so grand, and with a hostess so angelic. He felt his emotions rise to the top of his head, once again, until he became afraid that he would be overcome with emotion. The president's wife was even more glorious than he ever imagined. Still, there were no sergeant's epaulets...

“Mam, I don't mean to be a bother... I do appreciate everything... especially being asked to serve the July 4^th Colors... but do you know who I might ask about the appropriate epaulets?”

The First Lady suddenly froze, and perplexed, looked back at him. “The what?” A veteran army wife, Lucy almost corrected her visitor, as epaulets had never been standard issue for sergeants of her husband's era.

“Epaulets Mam, a sergeant must always wear them...” The old sergeant relished in reminding her and himself of army rules. Rules in 1824 at least. He stared at the dark blue uniform, a little detached, for he actually never had one just like it when he was in the army. The design of that uniform had not been adopted until 1813. He had graciously decided to honor the first lady and wear the thing anyway- out of soldierly duty. She had gone through a lot of trouble...

Lucy was not confused anymore. Being the wife of a former general, she read the situation. “Of course! They are in the box, I'm sure!” She reached into the crisp box and dug through the packaging, and produced two large handfuls of army epaulets, wrapped in paper, “These seem big enough for a giant!” she laughed, and handed them to the embarrassed octogenarian.

He smiled as if he had just been granted a government bonus. But the problem was not completely resolved. Just before he could speak, the first lady exploded, “Mr Brady's assistant will be here this afternoon to photograph you!”

“And the parade is next week...” he said apologetically, “Mam I'm so sorry to be so much bother, but do you have a needle and thread? I don't know the city or where to shop...” His missing teeth screamed their absence as he half-smiled his request.

Lucy chuckled with womanly confidence. “You sit right there, Sergeant, and we will get you fixed right up!” The first lady seemed to fly away, and he did what soldiers do, he followed orders. She called him Sergeant, after all...

Soon Lucy was back, apologizing for her delay. They had trouble finding suitable thread. She grabbed his jacket with the hands of an experienced worker and flopped it down on the floor. The old soldier awkwardly watched as the first lady of the United States of America got down on the floor, on bended knee and began to carefully spread his navy blue jacket flat on the floor, and then expertly pinned his epaulets on his jacket. Not for many years had he been so touched, so lovingly ministered to by a woman. Torn between his pride and gentlemanly duty, not to mention his soldierly duty to the first lady, the aged veteran started to tell her how they must be attached, to meet regulations... but then thought better of it.

He unconsciously bit his lip, as she was doing well enough, at least for a person who never endured a military inspection. She soon held it up for him to see, but the sergeant was gazing down the grand hall...

“Sergeant, will this be acceptable? They are just pinned, so I can change them...”

Suddenly several men came into the foyer and saw the two working on the uniform. It was Sir Edward Thornton, leading a British delegation. “I say Mrs. Hayes! We had no idea! I'm sure these gentlemen have some mending needs- Where does the queue begin?” Lucy was not amused, and she was quite comfortable sparring with Thornton.

“Good. All you have to do is fight for my country!” She jabbed. “Well, Sergeant? Ignore them.” The British hurried on, before they wore out their welcome. One said under his breath: “I didn't bloody believe you... you told me!” as laughter bounced down the halls towards the kitchen.

“Oh, yes Mam,” the old sergeant gushes... “I never...” He stopped himself from saying he never before had such a lovely seamstress.

After gaining the sergeant's approval, she stood on her knees and looked up at him. “Sergeant...?” He did not realize that she needed help to stand up, but before she could explain the doorman glided to her assistance and offered her a hand. A little embarrassed, she took his hand and arose gracefully. She was not as young and strong as she might have appeared, but she was still a little vain. She blushed to a lovely rouge but maintained her smile during the exertion, and gleefully sat in a ornately carved parlor chair and began to stitch the golden epaulets onto the shoulders of the jacket, as if she had done it many times. “This brings back old memories,” she said misty-eyed. After all the years, the War Between the States was easily resurrected in her mind.

“Yes, Mam, for me too. Never thought I would be wearing them again.”

“We are so glad that you are! And that you can!” Lucy's hands were like trained animals, scurrying about the shoulders of the jacket, taking care of business as she talked about the war years, her husband's uniforms, the differences between his and the uniforms worn during the War of 1812... “You boys had such beautiful dress! So... royal and colorful. You must have been a glorious sight!”

“I suppose we were, but we soon forgot it.” The old soldier looks down, not wanting to show the pain of his own memories... “Too many of my bunkies never came home... and many a uniform left behind for the Shawnees to scavenge...” His voice had a hollow, lifeless tone, as it laid down facts long since buried in the subconscious. Mrs. Hayes's warmth had melted the thoughts right out of his head.

Lucy Hayes and daughter Fanny

There was a moment of quiet, as Lucy stitched more rapidly. Then she tested her stitches, to make sure they would hold, an old wartime habit not forgotten.

“I know...” she finally said, with surprising sincerity.

There had been too many years since those battles, and too many more wars, too much bloody history pushing those incurable pains to the rear of their memories and the American psyche... But the old soldier looked upon her beauty and devotion to his beloved country, and his sagging eyes began to form a twinkle of appreciation.

Only in America would an old soldier from a conflict sixty-seven years before, who fought in battles long forgotten, walk into the private palace of the country's ruler, and have his wife, the veritable queen of the land, sew on his sergeant's epaulets. And do it with love and yes, proficiency. He was never more glad that he had served.

SHE, and exemplary women like her, American women, were exactly why he had fought. And he thought of his mother, and his girl cousins, and his first little girl friend in grade school. He had proudly served, and he would do it again for the likes of her. He stood almost in a trance, and wept inwardly, afraid to speak.

Lucy seemed to understand the emotions of the moment, and ignored his barely audible sobs. She broke the ice as she held up his jacket to inspect. “You should try it on, Sergeant!” She sassily brushed off the random thread ends which glistened in the light of the transom, and admired her handiwork. “General Hayes would find nothing wanting here!”

The Sergeant wiped away the shine on his cheeks and slipped his arms into the smoothly lined jacket. It felt heavy and instantly warmed him to discomfort. Lucy forgot herself, and began to treat him like one of her boys, and tried the buttons in front to see if they needed adjustment. It was a tight fit, but she knew he would want it that way. Better to hold in his tummy.

“So what do you think?” She prodded. Her smile was as big as Texas.

“Mam, it's fine... right fine... and thank you. It's the most glorious get-up I have ever seen!”

“Well, you need to try on the trousers too, Charles will show you the coat closet- you can try them on in there...”

Charles did lead him into the coat closet, nodded and closed the door. The old soldier found himself in a marvelous private moment; Half naked in the huge closet at the White House; The First Lady at his beck and call. It was all too much. He sat on a lovely upholstered stool and put his head in his whetted hands. If only his bunkies could see him now.

// “ //

Duty

“People, especially my friends always ask what it feels like to live in the White House.” Lucy Hayes delivers her premise with deliberate suspense. She waits for her listeners, a delegation of ladies who have been sent by the Women's Suffrage movement, to wonder what her answer might be. “And I always disappoint them, because it is quite ordinary, except that it is more like running a boarding house, or a restaurant, with no income for it, and to a somewhat large personal expense!”

The First Lady is doing a tour of her temporary home, the legendary White House, and casually explaining her additions and changes.

“Of course, we are operating on a very limited budget, so I could not do things to my satisfaction... When the President told me we could not afford to replace the tattered drapes, I took them down anyway. We re-hemmed them and turned them upside down. The fading only shows in the brightest daylight.”

Lucy Hayes has spent her life bringing joy to her environment; making “the best of things.” Over the years she has become a master of finding that nugget of hope, that reason to smile, the consolation awaiting every disappointment. “I suppose it is that pioneer spirit,” she says, “learning to 'stir what you've got'.” The ladies all chuckle with agreement, even though nobody particularly likes the idea.

They walk clustered like a flock of guineas, gazing up and own the halls, erratically following the stately little woman in the lead. Lucy leads them to a room full of antique furniture. “These were all upstairs,” she sighs, “in the attic, and I had them brought down and freshened them up.” Her voice and her resourcefulness lifts her audience.

“How lovely,” one matriarch says, “these may have been around during the Jackson Administration!”

“Probably,” Lucy affirms, “or before. There were several rooms-worth of wonderful furniture... some just needed dusting... some linseed oil. I felt these things were a kind of national treasure. They should be saved...”

“Absolutely! And used!” A young suffragist demands. “Our history is so young, but it will always mean a great deal, Why George Washington might very well have sat in one of these!”

An older suffragist puts her hand on the adept's shoulder like a stern schoolmarm, “Now Miss, if you're going to be one of us... you must learn, in a situation like this, to point out that MARTHA WASHINGTON might very well have sat in one of these!” Everyone laughs, except the young woman.

“Please sit down!” Lucy invites her guests, who begin to squeeze their huge dresses into the small, aged, hand-carved chairs, which immediately begin to creak. There is laughing and giggling as the ladies get nestled, spaced like pretty pigeons. The young one decides to change chairs, unsure of the dependability of hers. Or maybe she wants to move farther from the stares directly across from her. When all have been seated, Lucy sits down, knowing that awkward questions are about to surface. “I'm so pleased so many of you could come today, I received your gracious letter and am anxious to visit with you.”

“Yes, well, that is why we are here!” Their leader speaks for the first time. She is a large, forceful looking woman of sixty, dressed quite modestly, her white hair pulled back in a simple bun, wearing no jewelry, no face powder. She smiles as if she holds a dagger behind her back. “We thought it was important to see you face to face. We had heard that you were an early proponent of our cause...”

“Yes, I was,” Lucy confesses, carefully planning her response. “And I still am.” When nobody smiles or finds satisfaction in her pronouncement, she continues. “I can understand and empathize with what you want, your goals, and I'm sure I agree with most of them.”

Lucy smiles innocently and makes them say what they came to say.

“Mrs. Hayes, with all due respect, and we do appreciate your hospitality, but we have been quite confused about you.”

“In what way?” The First Lady's openness is almost disarming. But not for the veteran activist.

“Well, for instance, you do not publicly support our organization...

"You sometimes do not answer our requests. You have done little to create one impression over another. Either pro or con. And we feel that you could be such a great voice for suffrage...” Lucy's smile morphs into stiffened lips, capable of any verbal assault.

“I know, and I hate that... Ladies...” Lucy takes a deep breath, “As the wife of the president, I find it hard to please everyone's expectations of me.

“ I am with you almost 100%. The President says that 'Equality under the laws for all citizens is the cornerstone...'  And I'm sure you are aware, just recently, he signed a bill granting women the right to practice law at the highest court in the land?

"And that is just the beginning of what will be a long journey towards women's enfranchisement. I know you are anxious... even frustrated. So am I. But you must understand that I must stand with my husband. I was not elected to anything. And he has much greater wisdom about how to lead men.”

Lucy Hayes unleashes months of thought, since knowing this visit would transpire. She has made her decision.

“He proved that while governor of Ohio. He proved that on the battlefield. And I am convinced that right now, women... suffragists are trying to push a chain. It makes you feel good to be active, and I am very sympathetic with your cause, but your efforts are not bearing much fruit. You are competing with too many other crises... The President is a good leader, and he knows how to get the most out of men- who unfortunately make up 100% of the voters in this country... He understands how to lead them... you cannot push a chain..."

Lucy's visitors squirm in their chairs, and look around for rebuttals, while Lucy uses up the oxygen... 

"He is a wise judge as to what he can get out of the men of this land at a given time and place. And the Democrats stupidly oppose every single thing he tries to do. I believe the answer is to lead our men into the support of suffrage, but not try to shame them into it.” Lucy smiles with confidence, believing in her husband's style of conciliation. She pans the room to see if her wide-eyed pigeons are buying it.

“If we were to win suffrage by shaming and hostility... we would only have another segment of our population, perhaps half of it, resentful, indignant, and uncooperative. Just like our Southern States. We do not, cannot endure another war on another front right now...

“But just for a moment, let me appeal to you on a higher plane, one I believe is occupied mostly... by women. Allow me to draw a picture inside of my world. Last week, I hosted a banquet for the Grand Duke and Duchess. Hundreds of people, everyone with strong opinions, considerable influence... And every political stance I take publicly becomes fodder for conversation, and press editorials. This means partisan attacks... scandal... controversy... and we must avoid that as much as possible. We are also leaders in the world. Our European friends look upon us as naive heathens, squabbling over lofty, unsolvable issues. Sometimes I think they are right.”

Her audience has no strategy for her barrage, and sits mesmerized.

“Last month I entertained Chief Red Cloud. His people are being uprooted and exiled by our government, as we try to save them from further injustices... It is a horrible travesty. Ruddy... the President- is doing everything he can, but Washington is full of charlatans; dishonest men who plan to cheat the Indians at every turn. This is a current, life or death conflict which he inherited, and we must fight.

The President, and I support him in his discretion, must pick his battles...”

The guests look at one another, hoping someone has a plan to get the conversation back to their own concerns... Just as their leader sits up straight to say something, Lucy continues.

“The Negros in the South are being bullied, harassed, even hung to prevent them from exercising their rights as Americans.” Lucy looks around to see if they are hearing her or just waiting for their turn to speak.

“A whole race of people, without Rights, or even the security of slaves, who once at least had meals and roofs over their heads. They deserve protection and enfranchisement. We are presently fighting for their right to vote; Their right to an education. To full citizenship! We are in constant dialog with Mr. Frederick Douglass, Ruddy appointed him Marshal of the District of Colombia, you can imagine what scandal that caused... and others who are willing to join him in establishing Negro enfranchisement,... but there is just so much a president can do... Especially when powerful forces, North and South, are working to foil his efforts.” Here Lucy's voice cracks a little... “And you may be aware that we had to bring the troops home, after a decade of 'Reconstruction.'”

The ladies respectfully shake their heads. Lucy is now sufficiently warmed up...

Pragmatism

“If I could, I would draw for you on a big blackboard. And at the top of the board I would write 'PRIORITIES.'”

Lucy mimes as if she is writing into the air behind her... “In big capital letters! Then I would make you a list...

At the top of that list I would write: Women's suffrage! And I would love writing it!

Then I would write the Sioux Nation. They have been done so... wrong! Then the Paiutes. Heartbreaking. They too were here, asking for mercy, from the 'Great White Father,' and left me, all of us in shambles... Then the Nez Perce- they are from Washington state, honorable, handsome people, once again displaced, hunted and herded like animals. Malaria will probably wipe them out before we can safely relocate them...

“Then I would write 'Freedmen,' you know, the Negroes in the South, and some in the North, who are being denied their suffrage... still considered like dumb animals by most Americans... and yet we have had to remove our troops, their last hope of protection in the Southern states...

And just pray for the best...” Lucy scans the room, which now looks like a prayer meeting.

“Meanwhile yellow fever is decimating the population in the South.... like some kind of punishment from on high... Doctors are non-plussed.

“And then there are the Mormons...” Lucy writes in the air forcefully, “claiming to be Americans but brazenly breaking our laws. I'll say it, they perpetrate crimes against women! Crimes against the home! We tried to outlaw polygamy, really for the poor women in Utah, who live in far worse conditions, like slaves... and abused, and yet they came in force and begged the President NOT to pass the law, because they and their children, TENS of thousands of them, mind you, would be put out on the streets, rejected, tainted women, and their children now bastards... with no food or shelter...

“It's a mess.”

“And lastly I would write our Railroad Workers, the men who move this country from “sea to shining sea.” They are angry... they have been striking and destroying our rails, and rail cars, burning... even killing... It looks like another civil war in Pittsburgh... in Baltimore... West Virginia...

I'm not telling you anything that you don't already know. And if you were making these priorities with me, from my vantage point, I believe you would look at the list and agree with me, when... I erased the first thing I wrote.

It is important. It will happen. But my Ruther... the President... promised he would only serve one term; Four years to get whatever he could, done for his country. He has picked his battles. And I regret it, but I understand why our suffrage is not on his short-list.”

The ladies sit respectfully, letting the words sink in.

Lucy adds a final thought: “Believe me, it has taken the wisdom of Solomon. I'm not saying we have it! It has come down to which were the most urgent battles? Which we thought we could win, in the time we have.”

The ladies sit straight, touched, accustomed to bureaucratic excuses, and this was one of the better ones. They have heard enough. Their leader sees they are becoming restless, and that a few of them could easily leap into a long rebuttal at any second. She cuts off the visit with expert timing...

“That is the most sensible, gracious 'no' I have ever heard.” Announces the elder suffragist. “But you make being the 'first lady' sound like a great sacrifice- almost depressing!”

“NO!” Lucy explodes like an irritated school teacher. “No actually it is a pleasure, and we have great times here, salted occasionally with difficulty.” Lucy has found her stride and enjoys sounding her opinions, once they have begun to flow.

“No, I know what depression is. Perhaps God has used it to make me, and the President as well, more empathetic. But our country is going through extraordinary times... of great, scientific improvements...

“We are in an historic time of immense changes- and adjustments to them. Telephones connect us to leaders all over the town. Soon we will be able to talk to New York... or even Chicago. Fabulous art and natural history museums have been opened to the public! Nice clean gas now heats our homes so quietly and efficiently. No more wood chopping! Running water now comes from faucets right here in the White House. But all of this had to be contracted and overseen. You hear hammering in the back, where they are adding to our greenhouses. We send flowers to hospitals and offices all over Washington, every day. You know the president does not have that kind of spare time!” Now in control, Lucy shifts into her second wind...

“You see, before I was a politicians wife, I was a soldier's wife. That was the hardest times we ever endured. Most of you here can remember, and understand what I am saying. I still can remember like it was yesterday. Ruddy was a general, willing to fight and die for our Union, and loved by his men. I took my four boys to see their father at an Army encampment. Camp White I believe. There was a big battle brewing, and I wanted them to see him...”

Webb Hayes, second oldest son of President and First Lady Hayes

Lucy chokes suddenly and tears well up in her eyes. The women are speechless as she forces the coming words. “I wanted to see him, many women had already lost their husbands, and I wanted the boys to see him, we floated down the river and brought him some cakes and fruit and things, and stayed a few days. Then suddenly Joseph my youngest, took ill. He was just eight... teen... months. Who knows, more soldiers were killed by disease than by Confederate lead...”

No one stirs. Tears make no sounds.

“Anyway, little Joseph died right there, in a dirty, desolate army camp, when we were trying to cheer Rutherford, fighting for our country” One of the listeners, trying to bottle her emotions, lets out a squeaking gasp... “We just wanted to enjoy some time together... while we could, and instead we had to arrange baby Joe's funeral.

One of the Hayes boys in his christening gown... 

probably Scott

“We put Joseph in a cracker box, it was all there was. And... we sent him back to Ohio. The soldiers were so sweet, lining up and saluting along the path to the river bank. That may have been the worst moment of my life, putting my child in a boat, to be taken upstream, never to look upon his beautiful little face again. Our dear friend Eliza Davis took care of him at the other end, as if he were her own child.”

A chair creaks loudly as a woman collapses in her chair, in silent tears. Lucy wipes off hers. She looks down at the rug, focusing as if it is a crystal ball, and bares her soul.

Youngest son Scott Hayes

“I was never so torn between my duties. Whether to stay with my valiant husband, about to engage with a terrible enemy, perhaps never to be seen alive again, or take my baby home to bury him. Thankfully there were surgeons who could prepare his body, you know, embalm him, and there was a close friend who took him home, and I stayed where I could do the most... for my husband and my country... for the living.

"Real Life is more often like those impossible choices... in the midst of that terrible civil war... The White House and its controversies are almost frivolous compared to that.”

The Suffragists are spellbound by now, practically forgetting their political strategies, crying, sharing hankies, looking at one another sheepishly. Ultimate victory for their cause could wait for now. Not to be discouraged, the stoic-faced leader slaps her knees, saying:

“Well, ladies, I guess we had better mosey on down to the train station.”

Lucy smiles and stands, and each of the activists stands in line to shake both of her hands. They are gone in a matter of minutes. But she knows, they will be back.