Radio Script #1302
Little Talks on Common Things
February 21, 1982
Two weeks ago this program was devoted to some lesser known stories about one of our February-born presidents, Abraham Lincoln. Tomorrow is the birthday of another great president, George Washington. So let us have a few of the more unusual anecdotes about him.
Everyone knows the story about George’s hatchet and the cherry tree. We have all heard of his praying in the snow at Valley Forge, about his standing up in a boat crossing the swollen Delaware, and about his farming days at Mount Vernon. And well known are stories about his participation in Braddock’s defeat, and the unsuccessful attack on Ft. Duquesne in the French and Indian War.
Even when he was still alive, Washington was regarded as a model of perfection. The praise became even more extravagant with his first biography, produced by Parson Weems who was responsible for the cherry tree story and other inventions.
The legend grew that Washington couldn’t tell a lie, never swore, could do no wrong. There is indeed no documentary evidence that Washington ever lied, but he came close to it in his report of Braddock’s defeat. But there is plenty of testimony that he could use strong cuss words and could bawl out subordinates in profane language.
His battle judgement was often at fault. Indeed, like the rest of us, Washington was a human being with human frailties. Yet he was indeed a great president. His unfailing honesty and integrity, his refusal to accept a crown, and his intense devotion to the nation, made the United States a viable nation.
Washington’s refusal to accept a crown is more than legend; it is historic fact. In 1782, five years before the making of the U.S. Constitution, there was discussion about the kind of government the new nation ought to have. A prominent Philadelphian wrote to Washington, suggesting that he proclaim himself dictator and later king. The writer said that was the only way we could get a strong central government able to meet its financial obligations. Washington replied to that letter with contempt. He wrote: “No occurrence in the war
has given me more painful feelings than your proposal, and I am especially alarmed by your statement that it is prevalent in the army. I cannot conceive how my conduct has given you any encouragement for such a suggestion, which would do the greatest mischief to our country. If you have any regard for that country, or any respect for me, you will banish such thoughts from your mind and never mention them again to any person.”
Washington presented such an imposing figure that many people were afraid of him. An officer on his military staff testified that he had a terrible temper, and that anyone who was ever on the receiving end of his wrath never forgot it.
One incident of both his dignified reserve and his anger concerned a bet made between Alexander Hamilton and Governor Morris. Hamilton bet Morris that the latter wouldn’t dare approach Washington at a reception, tap him on the shoulder and comment on the President’s good health. At the reception Morris did just that. Washington brushed away the hand and gave Morris an angry stare. Morris later told Hamilton that he appreciated winning the bet, but he wouldn’t repeat the performance for any amount of money.
While Washington had impressive dignity, he was probably not nearly so stiff as some of the anecdotes represented. All his life he had an eye for good looking women, and he liked to flirt with them. He also liked good food and good wine, played cards for modest stakes, loved horse racing and fox hunting, and attended a cockfight whenever he could. At his wife’s tea parties he circulated with such pleasure among the ladies that Abigail Adams remarked, “General Washington is polite with dignity, affable without familiarity, chivalrous and kind.”
One of the best stories concerns the choice of Washington as Commander in Chief of the Continental Army in 1775. Two months after the fighting at Lexington and Concord, the Continental Congress met in Philadelphia to choose a commander. An active candidate was John Hancock of Massachusetts. When John Adams rose to make a nomination, Hancock was sure he was the man to be named. As Adams grew eloquent describing the merits of the man he was about to name. Hancock beamed with pleasure. When Adams approached his conclusion with the words, “I know the qualifications of this office are high and demanding, but I nominate a man who possesses them all.” Hancock started to rise from his chair. Then Adams said. “I nominate George Washington.” Adams later told his wife he had never seen a man’s expression change so rapidly – and so completely as Hancock’s did on that occasion.
One exhibition of Washington’s anger was caused by General Charles Lee’s failure to obey orders at the Battle of Monmouth. Instead of attacking as Washington had ordered, Lee allowed his men to retreat. Lafayette who witnessed the later meeting of Washington and Lee said: “I never heard such swearing as Washington showered upon Lee. His fury was terrible to behold.”
Most people think that Washington personally received Cornwallis’ surrender at Yorktown. That is not true and Washington’s respect for his position and his natural dignity were partially responsible. Cornwallis refused to attend the surrender ceremony, but sent Gen. O’Hara. So Washington was absent, and sent Gen. Lincoln. Cornwallis’ sword was handed to the very man whom Cornwallis had himself snubbed at Charleston a year earlier.
At a dinner, Benjamin Franklin once gave a memorable toast to Washington. Franklin was in France when news arrived of Cornwallis’ surrender. Because that had been made possible by help of the French fleet, the King gave a dinner for the American delegation in France. The French foreign minister toasted the King: “To his Majesty, Louis XVII, who like the moon, fills the earth with his soft, benevolent light.” The British Ambassador gave a toast to George III, “Who like the sun at noonday spreads his light to illumine the world.” Then Franklin rose and said: “I cannot give you the sun or the moon, but I give you George Washington,
who like Joshua of old made both sun and moon stand still.”
The King of Spain made Washington a present of a high-bred Andalusian jackass. The animal refused to breed with any of Washington’s mares, but only with a female donkey. Washington remarked, “I should have known that jackass preferred royalty.”
When the first Congress proposed to restrict the standing army to 5,000, Washington had a member propose an amendment to make the restriction 3,000.” “That,” said Washington, “is quite enough for our protection in time of peace.” Quite a difference from presidential opinion in 1982.
In the Constitutional Convention, Jefferson opposed a bicameral Congress. He preferred a single House of Delegates. One morning at breakfast Jefferson tried to win Washington over to his view, but in vain. Washington asked, “Why do you pour your tea into a saucer’?” “To cool it,” replied Jefferson. “Just so,” said Washington. “That is why we propose to pour legislation from one house to the other – to cool it.”
When Washington invited people” to his official dinners he expected them to be on time. On one occasion a high-ranking guest was offended when he found the dinner already underway when he arrived. Washington told him: “We are obliged to be punctual here. My cook never asks whether the company has arrived. He only asks what time it is.”
Since the Washington administration, no President has appeared personally before the Senate to request its approval of a treaty. In 1789 Washington did personally appear to present a treaty with the Creek Indians. The Senate refused to take immediate action, postponing its consideration for further study. Washington left in a rage and never repeated the performance. All subsequent presidents have followed his example.
General “Lighthorse Harry” Lee told Washington he had just seen Stuart’s portrait of the President. “It’s a good likeness,” he said, “but Stuart says you have a terrible temper Yet know how to keep it under control.” “That’s right,” said Washington.
Washington was an enthusiastic fire-fighter. Shortly before his death he was riding down King Street in Alexandria when the alarm sounded. A fire had broken out near the market. Washington dismounted and yelled to some men standing by, “Follow me. Do your duty.” Then he began pumping the hand-engine vigorously and produced the strongest stream the little engine had ever spread on a blaze.
Soon after his inauguration, when Washington visited Boston, he was entertained in the house where British General Howe had been lodged. At supper the President said to a young daughter of the family: “you have seen soldiers on both sides. Which did you think were the best?” “The Red Coats,” she replied. “Yes,” said Washington, “the Red Coats did look best, but the ragged boys won the war.”
In the terrible winter of 1777 a prominent Quaker had occasion to pass through the woods near Washington’s quarters at Valley Forge. He heard the sound of a voice, and soon came upon its source. On his knees beside a towering oak, the General was in prayer. The Quaker passed silently on. When he got home, he said to his wife, Sarah, “I tell thee all is well. General Washington will prevail.” “Thee seems much moved,” said the wife. “Indeed, I am,” he replied. “Thee knows I have always contended that the sword and the gospel are in irreconcilable conflict and that no man be a soldier and a Christian at the same time. Washington has convinced me of my mistake. On him lies the great hope for America.”
Year: 1982