Hello and welcome back to This Week in History! Over the last three weeks I’ve done a bit of a trilogy of themes, beginning with “Exploration,” followed by “Uprising,” and finally concluding on “Modernization.” These were all loosely connected themes and while never really meant to be in a series, they all share one thing in common: sadness.
Whether it was the exploration of the Americas at the expense of natives, the Warsaw Uprising dying out alongside the last hope of a free Poland or the bloody transition of ideals in Asia at the turn of the century, history has gotten me a little down. It is hard to ignore the bloodstained pages of our history books or the sad stories that leave a lingering impression in your head, reminding you how fortunate we are to live in the modern world — even though it has its fair share of horrors.
A historian’s duty is to recognize the good and the bad and to give equal voice to every dimension of human life, but that doesn’t mean a historian has to leave out the good bits either. This week, we’ll be focusing on a letter written by an 11-year-old on Oct. 15, 1860, to whom she considered to be a “great man.”
Born on Nov. 4, 1848, Grace Bedell lived with her parents in Westfield, New York, a small community south of Buffalo that’s nestled closely to the border of Pennsylvania. It was there that Bedell and her family lived; a seemingly distant location, far from the tumult of the coastal cities, yet still close to major areas of trade and communication.
Bedell’s father was an ardent Republican and supporter of the political movement that swept the North in the early 1860s. This fervor for the presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln must have been magical to witness. Bedell absorbed her father’s views and took them to heart, becoming enthralled in the campaign.
In the modern day it seems political candidates are increasingly distant and devoid of character, but in these early days of mass political campaigns, candidates relied on connections with their constituents; they toured the country on the developing railroads and made an effort to understand the populace. Nowhere can this development be seen more than in the market for photos of the candidate.
An interesting issue of the time was the disconnect between hearing someone’s name and seeing their face. One could read the newspapers and see thousands of words, but not see a single image. How then, could people put a face to the name?
Small prints of photos or sketches of the leading political figures would be distributed to campaign officials, who would then distribute them to supporters such as Bedell’s father.
It was through that chain that Bedell came to see a picture of Lincoln, a man with a narrow face and square chin line, who — despite his height — didn’t occupy much of the paper onto which his likeness was printed. The 11-year-old Grace saw this picture and had one thing to say:
“…if you will let your whiskers grow … you would look a great deal better for your face is so thin.”
That’s right, Bedell’s first reaction to seeing the president had to do with his whiskers, or lack thereof. By this she means his beard. The Lincoln that appears in so many photos with a solid and dark beard was not always so. He began his career with a clean face, a look that suited him, but admittedly — and as Bedell points out — made him look rather “thin.”
Bedell was not going to sit idly on this comment; she quickly got to writing a letter, carefully worded as she knew a woman had no place writing to a man of such esteem. She thought of her family, the four brothers whom she cherished and said “part of whom will vote for you,” while the others would only do so if Lincoln “let [his] whiskers grow.”
While the letter can’t help but bring a smile to the reader’s face, there is also a tinge of sadness found within it too. Grace Bedell could not contribute to electing Abraham Lincoln to the presidency, even if she wanted to. Disregarding her age, she — like all women — could not vote. She writes, “All the ladies like whiskers and they would tease their husband’s to vote for you and then you would be President.”
Can you not feel a hint of sadness within those words? Maybe Bedell didn’t explicitly think it while her hand met the page, but she knew very well that all she could do was suggest how men would vote. They were at the reins of true political power while all she had was political suggestion.
But obscuring those underlying issues is the innocence and compassion of a young girl, who declares, “…if I was a man I would vote for you too but I will try and get everyone to vote for you that I can.” She didn’t stay sad about her lack of a direct voice, but instead committed herself to doing whatever she could with the power that she had. After all, she was already writing to a presidential candidate. Maybe her voice could impact the man before his office demanded his entire focus.
One can only imagine the joy on Bedell’s face when her voice was not only heard, but recognized by the man who she thought needed a makeover. On Oct. 19, 1860, Lincoln wrote back:
“Your very agreeable letter of the 15th. is received. … As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affection if I were to begin it now? Your very sincere well-wisher, A. Lincoln”
Lincoln’s words were precise, collected and clear: he recognized the young Bedell’s voice. He may not have committed directly to growing his beard, but perhaps the 11-year-old stirred up something in him; he soon grew one out for the rest of his life. No photo exists of the president without a beard following 1860.
The magic of the tale doesn’t end with this correspondence. In early 1861, only a few months before his inauguration as the 16th President of the United States, Lincoln’s campaign journey brought him through Westfield. There, as Bedell later described, Lincoln sat by her near a station platform, and said:
“Look at my whiskers. I have been growing them for you.”
Thenceforth until his assassination in 1865, the beard remained. Lincoln was true to his commitment to a letter from the young girl who had little right to influence the career of a politician, let alone the president.
History is full of these stories and tales that restore a light on humanity, but sadly they seem to be overtaken by the horrible atrocities that far too frequently drown them out. I encourage you to look at photos of the monument of their encounter in Westfield, it is a beautiful piece of history memorialized in a simple, yet powerful way. That’s all for This Week in History, have a good week ahead!