April 22, 2010
I overheard an interesting remark today at the Capitol City Brewing Company (it’s fun to sit at the bar and work on naming all my pictures from the day’s photography — I can be busy doing mindless work and listening to the rather noisy conversations around me!). One woman was telling another woman that when she was in business, “everyone was devoted to building something, making something, doing something productive. But here in Washington all people care about is how they look — all they want is power.”
Not that things have changed much…
In fact, if anything, the politics of power were far more pervasive in the antebellum period. For one thing, all government jobs were patronage jobs. Today, only the top government jobs are appointed. In those days every government job was appointed. Even postmasters were appointed by the president, and when the opposition party took control of the government, the old postmaster (with all his friends) would be shown the door, and a new postmaster would have to train a new staff of nephews and cousins of party workers. Obviously, no president could possibly know who the most qualified person was — so he would rely on his supporters from that region to nominate a candidate. This meant that cabinet members, leading members of Congress (from the president’s party), and other prominent figures were eagerly sought out to assist in urging the case of office-seekers. RJ was frequently targeted by office seekers (especially Presbyterians) because he was related by marriage to Henry Clay and John J. Crittenden of Kentucky, William C. Preston of South Carolina, and was personal friends with several other prominent politicians. (In fact, the first person to write a letter of condolence to RJ after the death of his wife Sophy in 1844, was John J. Crittenden.)
But RJ frequently told such office seekers that he would not participate in the game. If he knew the man personally, he might consider recommending him, but only if he was convinced that the person was in fact the best qualified person for the job.
But he preferred to remain above the whole mess:
“I hardly care to be any way indebted to Mr Crittenden for anything: and I am not without feelings of contempt & bitterness – for the whole race of dispensers of patronage – and the whole race of seekers of it: and would infinitely prefer to have an effectual opportunity to scourge them all – rather than receive anything from their selfish & polluted hands – much less be counted amongst the recipients of their favours. Personally – God be praised – I owe no man anything.” (RJB to John C. Breckinridge, December 31, 1852)
Of course, the object of RJ’s letter was to ask his nephew (a member of Congress) to intercede for RJB Jr., and get him a position in the Coast Guard survey team. The irony was not lost on John C., who remarked calmly two weeks later. “I have some hope of obtaining a place for Robert in the coast survey….Your letter contained some bitter expressions, and was almost abrupt, but I feel quite sure that those parts of it were not intended for me.”
And the background of RJ’s hard feelings toward Crittenden, was the Senator’s failure to get RJB a place at West Point in 1851. For 15 years RJ had received fawning letters, with dozens of people telling him such things as, “no one in Baltimore has so much influence with the president as you,” or “I cannot doubt that you possess a prevailing influence with the Secretary of the Navy [his wife’s cousin, William B. Preston], with Col. Wm. C. Preston and with Gov. Crittenden…” I think RJ had actually started to believe them, and so when Crittenden did not come through for his son, RJB blew his stack. (Never mind that there were only ten “at large” openings for West Point, and the President had determined only to appoint the sons of officers who had died in the Mexican War. I’m Robert Jefferson Breckinridge! If I want my son to go to West Point, it must be through the betrayal of Crittenden that he failed to get in!)
RJ cooled down and later apologized to Crittenden, who gracious forgave him, saying, “Not expecting or caring to make many new friends while I live, I do not wish to lose any of those old ones whose ‘adoption’ has been ‘tried.’ And it is, therefore, that with more than ordinary gratification, I subscribe myself as heretofore & always yr friend, JJ Crittenden.” (June 3, 1851)
But an interesting trend was beginning to be seen amongst the younger generation. On August 17, 1852, a young Irish Catholic named Ignatius Donnelly wrote to John C. Breckinridge (RJ’s nephew — the Congressman) that he was “troubled at the wish you express that, ‘the intimacy thus begun may ripen into friendship.’ You are a distinguished man in a distinguished position: I, a nonentity – a nobody. You are walking a path illumined by Fame & History; while I, a minor, a mere student, almost “unhatched i’ the womb of Time” am little more than creeping into the world. Friendship between a superior and an inferior, carries too much of patronage on the one side and reverence on the other, to suit my taste.” (Donnelly would later go to become a Congressman from Minnesota and a leader of the Populist Party that would successfully eliminate the patronage system and institute the modern civil service system. He may be more famous, however, for his theories that Atlantis was destroyed by the Flood — and that Francis Bacon was the actual author of the plays of William Shakespeare)
In a very real way, these two episodes demonstrate the changing world of antebellum America. R. J. Breckinridge’s America was still a world of patronage, deference, and honor. But a generation was rising that would level the playing field for everyone — or, at least for themselves.
Oh, and that conversation I overheard? The woman who was complaining that everyone was just into power? Within fifteen minutes she had very successfully cajoled her friend into seeing things her way…
