The “Strawman” Constitution

Well, eleven days I wrote about the Constitutional Convention.  Specifically, we were introduced to the Committee of Detail.  Their job was to take all the proceeding of the previous sixty days of work and, over eleven days, condense it into some semblance of order.  As I mentioned before, this wasn’t in any way a finished product.  It was what we call at our office a “strawman” document…a starting point from which to refine issues.

The Convention delegates took a much-needed eleven-day vacation.  They wrote letters home, caught up on the latest news in Philadelphia, took in a play, did some reading, or just relaxed.  All the delegates, that is, except the five members of the Committee, who worked really hard to put things together.

Edmund Randolph desired “a fundamental constitution.”  He wanted it kept simple and free from the kinds of language and provisions that simply bogged down the document with inflexibility with which the future couldn’t deal.  The Constitution should contain general principles and propositions, believing “the construction of a constitution of necessity differs from that of law.”

The Committee of Detail did not, as far as I can tell, come up with the famous Preamble.  That would fall to the Committee of Style down the road.  But they offer up some general guidelines.  We again turn to Virginia’s Randolph, who believed such text should state “that the present foederal government is insufficient to the general happiness, that the conviction of this fact gave birth to this convention, and that the only effectual means which they can devise for curing this insufficiency is the establishment of a supreme legislative, executive and judiciary…“.

The document was divided into articles and sections and printed.  On August 6, 1787, the delegates returned and received their “strawman” copy.  Some were surprised and even shocked at what the document contained, though not because (like our recent healthcare legislation) no one knew what it contained.  Quite the contrary, there were no unknowns here.  It’s just that, after months of debate, it was still a little bit unnerving to see all laid out in plain text.  After receiving the draft, the session for the day ended, but the convention was far from over.

Each article, section, and clause was still open for debate and, if necessary, a vote.  And for the next five weeks, that debate would continue.  The delegates to the Constitutional Convention knew that much had been accomplished.  And each one knew there was a long way to go.

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Convention Grants Eleven Days for the Details

WordPress has added this nifty new feature to our suite of tools.  It’s a world map, and it allows me to see the countries from where all of you come to visit.  This morning, I see there are folks from the United States, and Poland, and some other places.  It’s kind of cool to see the various countries and continents represented.

I don’t know where you are specifically, but where I am, it’s been downright hot.  We topped out at 106°F yesterday (which is a staggering number for central Iowa), and it’s been over 100° for what seems like a month.  I look outside the window, and the yards stare back with deep-fried goodness.  Fortunately, our break has arrived.  Storms rolled through last night, bringing our first real rainfall in a month, and this morning the winds had a northern component to them.  It’s still really humid, but it actually feels cool!

The summer of 1787 was pretty hot as well.  Early-American Philadelphia roasted in a hot, humid, hazy sunshine that made a good many people sick, a lot more people very short-tempered, and everyone wish someone would just invent shorts and t-shirts already.

For the delegates to the Constitutional Convention, it was time for a break as well, and not just from the temperatures, which had conveniently moderated a bit ten days prior.  Two months of debate, two months of disagreement, and two months of discussion were all beginning to wear them down.  But a tremendous amount of progress had been made in that two months.  The basic shape of the new government had been worked, including that most sticky of issues:  how a bicameral legislature would be represented.

It was time to start collecting the various parts, what the delegates called “resolves” (and twenty-three had been passed to this point), along with other proposals and amendments, into some kind of order.  George Washington, who would have rather been riding the countryside, following the rivers and thinking about a canal system, penned in his diary that they needed to “draw into method and form the several matters which had been agreed to by the Convention as a Constitution for the United States.”

So on July 26, 1787, the Convention created the Committee of Detail.  The job of this committee was not to create a finished product, but simply to get things organized.  Then the delegates could look over their work, have some more debate, and make corrections and further changes.  The Committee was Detail was made up of five members, including Virginia’s Edmund Randolph (who, as we know, ultimately did not sign the finished product), James Wilson from Pennsylvania, Nathaniel Gorham from Massachusetts, Connecticut’s Oliver Ellsworth, and John Rutledge from South Carolina.  They were given eleven days (until August 6) to knock together a “Report”.

And the rest of the delegates to an eleven-day sabbatical.  The delegates themselves didn’t talk about the proceedings in “mixed” company, fearing the spread of rumor and outright falsehoods.  But many wrote letters home to family and friends, since flying or driving home was, in 1787, out of the question.  There was much “wagging of tongues” around Philly, as bystanders and newspapers speculated on what might be taking place.

General Washington went trout fishing.

Recommended Reading:  Decision in Philadelphia – Another account of the Convention I’m reading right now, and it’s pretty good.

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The Revolution Ends, the Retribution Begins

The signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1783 may have officially signaled the end of America’s fight for freedom with Britain, but in the Colonies, there were still battles being fought.  Those that had backed the cause of freedom took a very dim view of the Tories (or Loyalists), whose allegiances remained more strongly with Britain.  And now that the war was concluded, there was throughout America a wave of anti-British, anti-Tory sentiment – a sort of pent-up backlash against those that supported the losing side.

This was especially true in New York City.  The Big Apple – which, while a sizable city in the 1780s, was still a very Small Apple by today’s standards – had probably been the most “Tory-ized” city in the Colonies.  The city’s citizens were, in general, strongly loyal to the British when fighting broke out, and it was very quickly captured by the British.  As we know, a good portion of the city was burned at that time, though no one knows with certainty which side was responsible for striking the match.

Colonists that stood for independence from Britain felt compelled to flee the city, leaving behind homes, property, and possessions, which were subsequently confiscated by the British military.  New York City remained a British / Loyalist stronghold throughout the war.  It was also something of a prison camp, as ships moored in the East River served as jails for captured American soldiers.  Conditions in these prison boats were appalling.  Disease, malnutrition, and general mistreatment aboard these ships led to the deaths of more than eleven thousand Patriots.

When hostilities ended with Britain, they began anew when New York Patriots returned to their city.  Many found their homes badly damaged or destroyed and their possessions plundered.  Bones of dead Patriots littered the shores of the East River (and would continue to do so for years).  And since the British military was gone, most of the fallout landed on those Loyalist citizens remaining.

Persecution broke out against the Loyalists as their opponents vented their rage in a search for vengeance.  Some were killed, more were tarred and feathered, and all were affected by various laws that were passed against them.

There were some who argued for moderation.  Much could be said about how a victorious people treated its vanquished enemy.  Many countries around the world had very good relations with British subjects, and might take a dim view on their mistreatment, which could affect future diplomacy and trade.

But for now, anger won out.  The New York legislature passed laws allowing the seizure of Tory estates.  There were laws that allowed returning homeowners to sue their Tory occupiers for any damages.  Legislation robbed Tories of the ability to work, stuck them with heavy taxes, and took away many of their basic rights.  While some of these laws may have made some sense, many were passed simply as acts of retribution…or worse, authored by those who found a way to gain financially at Tory expense.

And on May 12, 1784, the legislature passed a law that rescinded the voting rights of all Tories for two years.  Many returning New Yorkers rejoiced at the measure, but others (besides the Loyalists) were horrified.  They pointed to the Treaty of Paris itself, which called for both sides to “forget all past misunderstandings and differences.”  But even more specific, one of the main points of the Treaty was as follows:  “The Congress of the Confederation will “earnestly recommend” to state legislatures to recognize the rightful owners of all confiscated lands “provide for the restitution of all estates, rights, and properties, which have been confiscated belonging to real British subjects [Loyalists].”  Voting restrictions were a direct violation of the Treaty.

But still the legislation had passed.  The war may have been over, but the fighting certainly was not.

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Convention Approval, the Hard Way

George Clymer was a member of the Pennsylvania legislature.  He had also been a member of the Constitutional Convention.  That gathering, which spanned the summer months of 1787, had seen argument, contention, and discord give way to eventual consensus.  A Constitution had been ratified in mid-September, but as the month neared its end, the time had come for the states to get involved.

On the 28th (just a couple weeks after Mifflin unveiled the new document), George stood up in the state body and proposed that a convention for ratification be agreed upon.  While there was hearty approval from those favoring the Constitution, there was plenty of dissent.  The more hesitant noted that legislative session was due to end the following day (a Saturday), and new business (especially something as important as the Constitution) was probably better left tabled for the next session.  In addition, elections were just a month away, so it was preferred to let the new body take up the debate about a special convention.

Those in Clymer’s camp knew the situation.  They believed they had the votes to pass Clymer’s resolve now.  But with the session ending and elections coming, there was adequate time for the “anti-federalists” to make enough noise to scare people.  Maybe the elections would cause a wave of anti-federalists to be voted in, and a convention would be buried under the weight of opposition.

After some debate, the issue was put off until late Friday afternoon.  But when everyone reconvened at 4:00pm, some people were missing from the room.  Nineteen anti-federalists were no-shows, which meant the body didn’t have the quorum necessary to conduct any business…such as, shall we say…vote on a state convention for the purpose of debating the Constitution.  What a coincidence!

This caused no small uproar in the city of Philadelphia.  Taverns that evening were full of strong ale and strong opinion.  People took to the streets, some with strong feelings one way or the other, and others with no real knowledge of what was being argued about at all.  And the federalists?…those in favor of the Constitution?…they just wanted to know where the nineteen missing men were holed up.  The sergeant-at-arms went looking and found them sequestered in a home owned by “Mr. Boyd” on 6th Street.

Do I really need to tell you what was about to happen?  18th century politics were a little bit different than they are today.  Oh yeah, we have groups of delegates that will, in opposition to a bill or some piece of legislation, purposely vacate their chairs so that a quorum cannot be reached…it still happens from time to time.  But we don’t very often see the response that the citizens of Philadelphia witnessed on September 29, 1787.

That Saturday morning, a group of men broke down the door of Mr. Boyd’s house, ran in, and absconded with two legislators.  They were dragged, kicking and screaming, back to Independence Hall, and placed in their chairs.  A quorum had been reached and, very quickly, the question of a constitutional convention was put to a vote.  Not surprisingly, it passed 45-to-2.

Pennsylvania, ready or not, was going to debate and decide what to do about the Constitution.  The date was set for November 30th.

Recommended Reading:  Ratification:  The People Debate the Constitution, 1787-1788 – This one is not yet in my collection…it should be.  It should also be in yours.

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Thomas Mifflin Gives First Public Reading of New Charter

Well, with ratification came reading, and with reading came the inevitable reaction.  I suppose that a statement like that, in light of all the times I’ve blathered on about the Constitutional Convention, isn’t all that surprising.  But let’s speak to it for a minute this evening.

On a September Monday in 1787, the Constitution was ratified by the delegates meeting on the first floor of Independence Hall in Philadelphia.  On a September Tuesday (the next day), which happened to be September 18, 1787, Thomas Mifflin got to make the climb to the second floor.  It was there that the Pennsylvania legislature had been meeting for the last couple of weeks.  The first floor was normally their domain, but they had graciously allowed the Convention delegates to use the space.  And with all the rumor swirling around about a new Constitution and a change in government structure, it’s pretty easy to imagine a bunch of legislators quietly listening with ears pressed against the floor, trying to catch snatches of what was being said one floor below.

One can almost see the “lookout”, standing outside the door, making sure no one is coming.  And when Mifflin’s shoes are heard on the steps, the lookout quickly and quietly runs back to the room and half whispers, “Somebody’s on the way!”…at which point everyone jumps back to their spots and makes things look like normal business.  I’m sure it didn’t happen that way, but it paints a humorous, children-in-the-classroom type of behavior with which we’re all familiar.

Anyways, Thomas Mifflin entered the room, Constitution in hand, and read it to those assembled.  It was the first public disclosure of the document.  If you’ve never read the Constitution, you might fear that the delegates were in for a many-hours-long discourse.  But of course, we’ve all read our nation’s most important document, so we know that, assuming no interruptions, Mifflin likely completed his work in less than two hours.  And once he was done, Pennsylvania’s governing body knew they were in for some dramatic changes.  Pennsylvania’s constitution (in place for nearly a dozen years) called for a one-chambered legislature, yearly elections, and a leader chosen by the legislature.  All this talk of electors and a bicameral legislature and checks and balances was a lot to process at one time.

And let’s be honest, even Pennsylvania’s own constitution was the subject of fighting among the citizens…there had much inkshed and some bloodshed over it.  There were factions and fights, division and disruption aplenty.  Now, to top it off, here was Mifflin telling them their national government was radically changing.  There was something new about which to fight!!

Those against ratification would go to great lengths to prevent it, and those for ratification would go to greater lengths to get it.  We’ll be back in 1787’s version of the Pennsylvania statehouse before too long, because it’s going to get a bit goofy…

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Convention Delegates Working for the Weekend

Fridays around our office tend to be relaxed affairs.  We wear jeans and tennis shoes and white socks.  Well, those of us that don’t take the day off, which is sometimes about 50% of staff.  We take it easy…maybe a slightly longer lunch period, an extra 15 minutes of Angry Birds, some extra snacks, that second soda we normally deny ourselves.  Believe me, we still work, but it’s definitely a wee bit lighter duty than the other four days of the week.

For the delegates at the Constitutional Convention, the final Friday of their gathering was anything but relaxed.  Of course, I’m referring to September 14, 1787, which was a Friday.  The Committee of Style and Arrangement, tasked with taking the various agreed-upon articles and molding them into a cohesive document, had taken the better part of five days to do its work.  But they got through it and presented their final draft of the Constitution to the delegate body…that was the 12th, a Wednesday.

And then the debate over language and syntax began.  There was word-smithing and a general tightening up of the Constitution’s language.  But there were also some bigger ideas that received some “last-minute” consideration.  This Friday saw some of those.

Benjamin Franklin offered up that Congress should be given the power to build canals.  It seems a bit strange to us that Franklin would ask for something so specific to be added, but if we think ahead to all of the canals that were created in the 1800s, we realize that the old doctor had a bit of foresight.  But concerns over monopolies and a fear that some states would use the canal system as an excuse to establish a bank – and we know that Aaron Burr used a similar tactic to do just that a few years later – killed the idea pretty quickly.

There was a debate over Section 8 of Article 1, which dealt with piracy, but that, too, remained unchanged.

And Section 9, Article 1 also got floor time.  This piece of the Constitution addressed the regularity with which Congress should publish a record of its public expenditures.  As written, it was to be done annually.  But some wondered if that a little too specific.  Maybe more than one report a year would be necessary, while in other years, none would be required.  As we know, in today’s world of trillion-dollar debts and exorbitant waste, once a year isn’t nearly enough.  At end of the discussion, the delegates settled on the phrase, “shall be published from time to time.”

And that was that.  As we know, Saturday would also be a day of work, as the final changes and discussions were ironed out and the Convention came to an end.  Monday, September 17th, would see the Constitution ratified.

Recommended Reading: Miracle at Philadelphia

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Alexander Hamilton: Six Hours One Monday

Alexander Hamilton is a fascinating study in contrasts, and I hope that over the last couple of years, the numerous scribbles I’ve put together on the man would give you that feeling as well.  Hamilton was a man who was born into some of the worst conditions of his time, but achieved greatness.  A man who loved General Washington, but nit-picked with him (and even quit his staff job) over relatively trivial matters.  A man who adored his wife almost to distraction – he would write, “My Angel!  I told you truly that I love you too much.  I struggle with an excess which I cannot but deem a weakness and endeavor to bring myself back to reason and duty…” – and yet entangled himself in at least one costly affair…and maybe others.

Today we visit another such contrast, displayed at the Constitutional Convention in the summer of 1787.

The Convention’s first few weeks could be called (in the most general sense) a brainstorming session.  There was Edmund Randolph’s presentation of the Virginia Plan in late May, which was a radical departure from the existing Articles of Confederation.  Had you been fortunate enough to be sitting in the assembly on June 15th, not only would you have been enormously uncomfortable in the stifling heat and humidity, you would have heard New Jersey’s William Patterson offer up the “New Jersey Plan”, which should get some keyboard-time in the future.

Then there was a day off (the 16th), the day of worship (Sunday the 17th) and “Alexander Hamilton” day on June 18, 1787.

It was then that this 32-year-old visionary stood up and offered his ideas.  For six hours he offered them up and, in doing so, inadvertantly drove a stake into the ground that would follow (and often haunt) him for the remainder of his short life.  As we know, the proceedings of the Convention were supposed to be sealed until all of its attendees were dead, but Hamilton’s speech was leaked to the public.

In some sense, it’s a minor miracle that Hamilton was even a delegate to the Convention.  While he certainly deserved to be there, it was a case of “who you know, not what you know.”  Alexander represented New York, which was governed by George Clinton.  Clinton loathed Hamilton’s political views, was a supporter of strong states’ rights, and detested any power given to a central government.  So he tried to load the New York delegation with men of his ilk…men like Robert Yates and John Lansing (who we’ve seen before on these pages).  But Hamilton had a strong ally who happened to also be his father-in-law.  Philip Schuyler was an incredibly wealthy man, and owned the allegiances of numerous powerful landowners in New York.  He had lost the governor’s election to Clinton ten years prior, so Schuyler was politically connected as well.  He made sure a voice opposing Clinton’s (one Alexander Hamilton) was present at the convention.

Anyways, I digress a bit, though I think it’s valuable to have a bit of context.

Hamilton’s “sketch” (as he called it) called for an executive (called a “governor”) elected for life (assuming good behavior and subject to recall), an upper house with Senators elected for life, a lower house elected by the people for 3-year terms, and an elected-for-life judiciary.  State governors would be appointed by the national government.  The lower house would be the originator of all laws, while the executive held the veto power.

Now some of these things look pretty familiar to us.  The three-pronged executive, judicial, and legislative branches are what we have now, as is the bicameral legislature.  The same holds with the judiciary – our Supreme Court justices are appointed for life.  But for delegates just 5 years removed from a fight for independence, the “for life” provisos for the executive and upper house looked way too much like a British monarchy.

In his defense, Alexander Hamilton had put together a cohesive system with solid checks and balances (that I haven’t detailed).  In fact, John Quincy Adams, reading Madison’s notes on Hamilton’s speech a half century later, remarked that it was, in theory, a better constitution than that which was adopted.  But our 6th President also hit on the gold when he added that Hamilton’s ideas were “energetic, and approaching the British Constitution far closer, and such as the public opinion of that day never would have tolerated.”

Alexander Hamilton’s speech was probably opposed by 90% of his hearers that day, though no one spoke up in protest.  Maybe the delegates believed that if no one discussed it, it never really happened.

I know less of Hamilton than many, and less of history than most.  But I think that in this “idea” phase of the Convention, Hamilton’s ideas (while certainly on the disagreeable fringe of where the delegates wanted to go) were viable.  Put ideas on the table, let the discussion build, and create a consensus of how a new government should work.  But instead, this speech became the “wild outlier”, the statistical aberration that, when maliciously leaked to the public, dogged Hamilton to the end of his days.

In his biography of Hamilton, Ron Chernow describes this six hours of Hamilton’s life as “brilliant, courageous, and, in retrospect, completely daft.”  In her book covering the convention, Catherine Bowen writes, “Alexander Hamilton at the Federal Convention cuts a disappointing figure…”

I think his speech presents another of those contrasts.  Hamilton, the man who staunchly defended the Constitution in its final form.  The Founder who tirelessly penned 50+ essays explaining why the system adopted was so good for the country.  The New Yorker who almost single-handedly brought about ratification in his home state (where the opposition owned the political machine).  In contrast, the man whose idea of “government in the United States” as presented at the Constitutional Convention went completely off the reservation.

Recommended Reading: James Madison – Yeah, go figure. Just one paragraph on Hamilton’s speech, but just about the best synopsis.

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Federal Convention Builds Two Houses in a Day

Throughout the three-plus months of the Constitutional Convention, the delegates disagreed about a bunch of stuff.  It had started almost immediately with a debate over semantics.  Was the government national or federal?  Both words were nuanced depending on which ears heard them, and the delegates argued for (and against) each.  And that was the very beginning.  The delegates argued over slavery.  They argued over the number of executives (can you imagine two Presidents?!?).  They debated checks and balances.  They debated the judiciary.  And at the end, when the Constitution had been written and submitted for approval, it was back to semantics and language.

But one of the things on which nearly all the delegates agreed was the issue of democracy.  And they were mostly against it.

What?!?

Yep.  Much like innovation (which we discussed last year when talking about the Convention), well, I’ll let Catherine Bowen explain.  She writes, “…to members of the Federal Convention the word democracy carried another meaning than it does today.  Democracy signified anarchy; demos was not the people but the mob.  When Paterson of New Jersey said ‘the democratic spirit beats high,’ it was meant in derogation, not in praise.  Again and again we meet these phrases:  if aristocracy was ‘baleful’ and ‘baneful,’ unchecked democracy was equally to be shunned.”

But the delegates knew from whence they came, and unchecked aristocracy led to, if I may call it such, “tyranny of the few.”  The just-ended War of Independence had been fought over this issue.  Virginia’s George Mason, a wealthy landowner much like his neighbor George Washington, spoke for many when he said, “We ought to attend to the rights of every class of the people . . . provide no less carefully for the . . . happiensess of the lowest than of the highest orders of citizens.”

There had to be balance.

So I suppose that it only made sense to the delegates that there be a divided legislature, on the order of their British counterparts.  And on May 31, 1787, they made it official.  The Committee of the Whole voted in favor of Edmund Randolph’s Resolve 3:  “That the national legislature ought to consist of two branches.”

Of the existing state legislatures, only Pennsylvania and Georgia had one-chambered legislatures.  And the greatly-respected Dr. Benjamin Franklin (representing Pennsylvania at the Convention) was a staunch advocate of a one-chamber house (he would be so until the day he died).  So when the votes were tallied, James Madison noted that the measure passed “without debate or dissent, except that of Pennsylvania, given probably out of complaisance of Docr. Franklin.”

Of course, there would still be a bundle of debate concerning terms of service, checks on the legislative branch, and most importantly, the issue of representation.  But one of the foundational elements of our system was settled on this day…the bi-cameral legislature.

Recommended Reading: Miracle at Philadelphia

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William Symmes Breaks Massachusetts Deadlock

When a Representative or Senator goes to Washington and doesn’t do what he or she was elected to do, the responses from the constituents are generally predictable.  Some will call and gently remind the official of the promises made before the election.  Others will call and be somewhat less gentle.  A few traditionalists will write a letter, while more techno-savvy voters will go to the representative’s website and send an email.  But even more than that, a good many of that Congressperson’s supporters will begin reassessing their votes, and many will start looking for alternatives.

That’s just the way things work.  We want our elected officials to hold true to their word.

William Symmes wasn’t elected to go to Washington, because Washington, D.C. didn’t yet exist.  But he had been sent to Boston as one of 355 delegates that gathered to debate ratification of the U.S. Constitution in Massachusetts.  Hailing from Andover, this up-and-coming lawyer didn’t have a laundry list of agenda items or a lot of goals to accomplish.  He had been given just one task by his constituents:  oppose ratification of the Constitution.

And that he had done, along with a majority of the delegates present.  The month of January was filled with back-and-forth debate.  But you already know that…we talked about it earlier this week.  And you also know that, as January ended, the opposition to ratification had begun to weaken in the face of a well-organized, and well-spoken, group of pro-ratification delegates.

A real difference maker was the Conciliatory Proposition, a list of amendments that would be made to Congress.  These addressed many of the concerns that the Antifederalists had, thereby undercutting many of their arguments.  But even after Governor Hancock officially presented the document to the assembly, there was still deadlock and debate.

That deadlock lasted until February 5, 1788.  It was then that William Symmes “defected” from his constituents.  He had become convinced that ratification was the right solution, and stood up to say that his conscience was clear.  He hoped his constituents would agree with him.  Other Antifederalists followed.  They still had reservations, but believed they were making the right long-term decision.  The debate continued throughout the day, but it now looked as though ratification was inevitable, and the vote of 187-168 confirmed it.

Once the matter was decided, the delegates came together to work for unity.  Members of the opposition vowed to work to get citizens to live in peace under the new Constitution.  It’s something I wish we saw more of today…once a decision is make, everyone works together to make things work.  No whispers, no sour grapes, no back-biting.  Wouldn’t that be refreshing?

And William Symmes?  Well, things didn’t go so well for him.  His neighbors reacted so strongly to his decision (to the brink of violence) that the lawyer was forced to leave Andover.  He would not return.  But for Massachusetts, the matter of the Constitution had been settled.  She would be admitted to the Union the next day as the new nation’s 6th State.

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John Hancock Embraces Agony of De-Feet

Most of us know at least one fact about John Hancock – not the company that manages pensions and investments, though it’s named for him, but the actual guy – and that’s probably his enormous handwriting.  It was Hancock after all, who signed the Declaration of Independence with a Texas-sized signature, forcing the remaining signers to the fringes of the page.

Ok, that’s not strictly true, but if you’ve seen the Declaration, his signature is certainly the most prominent.

What you may not know is that John Hancock suffered from gout.  If you’re not familiar with it, gout is a particularly painful foot disorder generally caused by too much uric acid in the blood.  John Hancock, born in the mid-1730s, began suffering from it before his 40th birthday, about the time the push for independence was getting ramped up in the Colonies.

But some said that Hancock suffered from “political gout” as well.  This was the gout that always seemed to trouble the Declaration’s biggest signer whenever there were difficult political issues to solve.  Just such an instance may have been the time when Massachusetts was discussing ratification of the Constitution in January of 1788.

The delegates that met to discuss this most-important of issues numbered 355.  John Hancock was not among them, despite being the governor of Massachusetts.  His malady?…gout.  Many were suspicious.  In her book Miracle at Philadelphia, Catherine Bowen writes, “Notoriously avid of popularity, the Governor wished to time his appearance to that moment when the vote would be sure and the issue certain.”  Hancock had placed himself squarely against ratification, but knew the fight would be a close one among the delegates.  And apparently, the governor didn’t like being on the wrong side of a vote.  So the gout flared up.

Clearly John Hancock was correct in his assessment of the debate.  It was well-attended, out-growing the State House and finding its way into one of Boston’s larger churches.  And it was contentious.  Initially, those against ratification outnumbered those in favor, and they carried the loudest voices.  Rhetoric was much sharper than had been heard the previous summer in Philadelphia.

They spoke of their fear of standing armies.  They decried the weak position the Constitution took on banning slavery.  They worried about excessive taxation.  There was debate over the lack of religion in the document.  One detractor said he “shuddered at the idea that Roman Catholics, papists and pagans might be introduced into office, and that popery and the Inquisition may be established in America.”

And at the heart of it, they painted the Constitution as a rich-man’s document.  Amos Singletary, a simple farmer, spoke for most of the Antifederalists when he said, “These lawyers and men of learning, and moneyed men that talk so finely, and gloss over matters so smoothly, to make us poor illiterate people swallow down the pill, expect to get in Cogress themselves.  They expect to be managers of this Constitution, and get all the power and all the money into their own hands.”

But while those against ratification spoke the loudest, those in favor were better prepared, offered a more cogent defense, and worked to sway opposition.  In repsonse to Singletary there was Jonathan Smith, another farmer.  “Suppose you had a farm of fifty acres, and your title was disputed, and there was a farm of five thousand acres joined to you, that belonged to man of learning, and his title was involved in the same difficulty.  Would you not be glad to have him for your friend, rather than stand alone in your dispute?  Well, the case is the same.  These lawyers, these moneyed men, these men of learning, are all embarked in the same cause with us, and we must all swim or sink together.”

As January came to a close, it was clear that the Antifederalist cause was cracking.  And it fully cracked when Federalists offered up a “bill of rights”, addressing numerous Antifederalist concerns, to be recommended to Congress.  Even Samuel Adams, once against ratification and a voice as powerful as Hancock’s in Massachusetts, joined those in favor of adoption.

It was time to get John Hancock on board.  There was much bargaining with the Governor.  He was asked to present the bill of rights, called the “Conciliatory Proposition”, to the convention.  He was all but guaranteed victory in the next governor’s election.  He was told that if Virginia (Washington’s home state) refused to ratify, he would be the state’s nominee for President of the United States.  Madison wrote to Jefferson that Hancock was  “weak, ambitious, a courtier of popularity, given to low intrigue…”.  But right now, Madison needed Hancock…or rather, he needed Hancock’s support.

On January 30, 1788, John Hancock arrived at the convention in Boston.  He sported heavily bandaged feet and was carried to his chair, but the governor was present.  There would be another week’s worth of debate and more amendments to recommend to Congress.  But Federalists were now hopeful of carrying the day.

Recommended Reading: Miracle at Philadelphia

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Yet Another Convention in Philadelphia

The first snow of the year has arrived.  It’s not accumulating at all, but I can see the flurries fall as the evening matures.  Our winter has started off much milder than last year’s version, but it’s just started, so there’s a long way to go.

I wanted to briefly mention the Philadelphia Convention this evening.  No, not that Convention, as we’ve discussed it quite a bit this year (and will visit it several more times in the future).  The convention I want to discuss is the one that took place after that one.

As you might recall from previous readings, the Pennsylvania legislature was meeting upstairs during the final weeks of the Constitutional Convention.  And while the discussions downstairs were held in secret, there is little doubt that a bundle of rumor, a boatload of speculation, and maybe even a fact or two made its way to the second floor of Independence Hall.

And the close proximity of the two gathering bodies meant that the Pennsylvania legislature would see the finished product first once ratification was complete.  Indeed, just two days after business was completed, the Pennsylvania Packet published as its only news item the entire Constitution, printed in four pages.  And the state legislature got its first exposure a day earlier, as Thomas Mifflin (a Convention delegate) took to the floor and read the Constitution aloud.

To say eyebrows were raised would be to grossly understate the reaction…and with good reason.  Pennsylvania’s own Constitution was altogether different, calling for a one-chamber legislature, elections every year, and a President chosen by the legislative body.  And since 1776, the system had been in place.  And since July of 1787, rumor had been swirling that drastic changes were coming.  In the eyes of many statesmen, Mifflin’s reading confirmed the worst.

The call by supporters of the “new” Constitution for a ratification convention was met with shock and dismay by supporters of the “old”.  For weeks, the arguments back and forth continued, both in the newspapers and in the courts of public opinion.  James Wilson, another the delegates and one of the unsung (and unknown) heroes of the Convention, worked tirelessly in support of innovation (there’s that word again), but met with heavy opposition.  Congress (the big one created under the Articles of Confederation) called for state conventions just eight days after the Constitutional Convention ended, giving rise to fears that things were simply moving too quickly.

It took a couple of weeks for the vote to take place, and the tactics used by each side were both alarming and somewhat comical (and have a place on next year’s schedule), but it finally passed…Pennsylvania’s legislature would meet to determine the new Constitution’s fate in their state.  And on November 30, 1787, the Philadelphia legislature gathered for its convention.  And while the body would meet for five weeks, it would require less than two of them to render a verdict on the Constitution.

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Long Before Macy’s, A Parade in New York

As I type this morning, folks in New York City are preparing for the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  And if it’s anything like previous spectacles, there will be floats and bands, convertibles with people waving to the crowds, and probably a celebrity or two.  It’s a big deal.  But Macy’s hasn’t been around forever.  Neither has Thanksgiving, for that matter.  And if you had been in New York City 227 years ago, it would have looked nothing like it will this morning on TV.

But there was a parade…of sorts.

The end of the American Revolution and American victory meant that the remaining British soldiers needed to get out of town.  And New York was one of the last major towns where pro-British sentiments were strong.  But things were changing.  As spring warmed to summer in 1783, those who considered themselves loyal to the British Crown began leaving.  Government personnel, businessmen, and families all headed to Canada or back across the Atlantic.  The loss of businesses was particularly hurtful, as lots of money and jobs were removed from New York’s economy.  By the thousands they pulled up stakes and left.

And what’s more, since the British military had taken control in 1776, New York had been under martial law and had been left in a terrible state of disrepair.  Much of the damage done by the fire in September of that year had never been cleaned up.  Fences and trees had been chopped up for firewood.  The skeletal remains of homes and businesses testified to a much better past, while the cattle roaming the streets and piles of garbage were the reality of the present.  Looking at the harbor, one visitor (probably holding his nose) said, “Noisome vapors arise from the mud left in the docks and slips at low water, and unwholesome smells are occasioned by such a number of people being crowded together in so small a compass, almost like herrings in a barrel, most of them very dirty and not a small number sick of some disease.”  It had become a shantytown.

But on November 25, 1783, there was a parade…a military parade.  Evacuation Day it was called.  The day the last of the British soldiers left town, and new ownership arrived.  The incoming group was led by General Henry Knox, whose first act was to raise the American flag on a brand new flag pole (British soldiers had taken down their flag and greased the pole on their way out).  He was followed by General Washington and Governor George Clinton and their guard.

The remaining citizens of New York were ecstatic.  Seven long years under the thumb of the British was more than long enough, and the day was one of celebration.  And now, the last British outpost was under the flag of freedom.  America was truly independent.  Ron Chernow summarizes by writing, “America had been purged of the last vestiges of British rule.  It had been a long and grueling experience – the eight years of fighting counted as the country’s longest conflict until Vietnam – and the cost had been exceedingly steep in blood and treasure.”  Indeed, it has been estimated that upwards of 25,000 soldiers had been killed in the Revolution.  This amounted to about 1% of the nation’s population, a ratio only surpassed by the Civil War.

Macy’s or no, a parade was most appropriate.

Have a wonderful, and safe, Thanksgiving.

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Madison’s First Federalist – Famous Number 10

I’ll keep it brief this evening…hopefully…

More than a year ago, we discussed the publication of the first of the Federalist Papers.  This collection of essays, which comprise what is quite likely the single greatest defense of any government charter anywhere in the world, was penned by three hands under one pseudonym.  Publius, the author in the papers, was actually the 3-headed brain of Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay.

In the weeks following the Philadelphia Convention, James Madison (like Hamilton) looked around and saw newspapers churning out anti-Constitutional articles one after another.  Some of Madison’s comrades, from his very own state of Virginia, were pushing hard against ratification.  Men like George Mason and Patrick Henry, good men to be sure, saw the Constitution not as a natural fix to the weaknesses of the Articles of Confederation, but as a direct threat to the freedom of every American.

Opposition had really begun in New York, when Yates and Lansing left the Convention in Philadelphia early and returned home.  By the time October rolled into November, Madison found that many northern newspapers were filled “with vehement and violent calumniations of the proposed Government.”

Plans for a pro-government response had begun even before the Convention had adjourned in September, and Hamilton and Madison (as well as others) were besieged with requests to publish a readable defense of the Constitution.  And as we know, young Hamilton got the ball rolling, and would work in prolific manner to keep it rolling, publishing 51 of the 85 essays.  But the only-slightly-older Madison contributed as well, completing 29 essays…

…including the famous Number 10, Madison’s first, which was published in New York’s Daily Advertiser on November 22, 1787.  In his biography of the “Father of the Constitution”, Ralph Ketcham summarizes this most important of writings, in which Madison defended the concept of a “large republic”.  “Madison asked his readers to consider the likely result of extending the representative principle to a large territory.  He granted that this would result in great diversity of interests in the government, but then pointed out what other theorists had overlooked:  in a system which fairly represented the people, this would preserve freedom rather than threaten it, because no one interest would be able to control the government;  each interest – economic, religious, sectional, or whatever – would be a natural check on the domineering tendencies of others.  Thus Madison made a virtue of human diversity and neutralized the selfishness of mankind.”

There is some sense of irony in Madison’s masterful defense.  As a member of the Virginia delegation, he had argued strongly against equal representation in the Senate, only giving in to the Great Compromise when it was readily apparent that the Convention could go no further without it.  He had left Philadelphia (as had Hamilton and many other Constitutional “supporters”) with reservations about the final product.  But as we know, giving a greater voice to the minority helps offset one of the weaknesses of a pure democracy:  the tyranny of the majority.  And clearly Madison understood that danger, and Number 10 addresses it directly.

In one fell swoop, Madison turned the anti-Federalist argument of loss of freedom on its head.  A large republic, rather than restricting freedoms, was the most suitable protector of freedom.

We read The Federalist Papers now and are impressed with their thoroughness and scope.  But we overlook the fact that these three men rarely had time for editing and word-smithing.  Madison reported that the time crunch was such that the documents barely had time to be reread by the author himself, to say nothing of passing them between the men.

Remarkable…

UPDATE:  Martin and Marcia over at What Would the Founders Think? have dissected Madison’s #10 in far more detail than my format allows.  It’s definitely worth a read.

Recommended Reading: James Madison

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The Constitutional Convention Draws to a Close

I don’t know about you, but when I come to the end of a project, I like that last day to be a relaxed one.  Maybe I tie up a loose end here or there.  Tweak a piece of code or a PowerPoint slide.  Some final edits on a document for the big presentation.  Maybe a little bit of last-minute word-smithing on the manuscript before it heads to publication.  But that’s about it.

I don’t want to be running around in a franctic panic, trying to take care of a dozen unfinished tendrils while simultaneously being hit with four or five “could-you-just-add-this” requests with three voice-mail messages informing me of problems sit in the phone queue.  That’s not my idea of a good time.

But in some sense, that second scenario is what faced the delegates to the Constitutional Convention.  September 15, 1787 was the Convention’s final working day.  The Pennsylvania legislature, which normally met in the room they were using, had already been in session for nearly two weeks and had graciously moved upstairs to give this body time to complete its work.

The Committee of Style and Arrangement, which had formed on the 8th, had finished its work five days later, presenting to the delegates a finished Constitution.  And from that point, debate had begun over wording, phrasing, style, and structure.  There were small changes suggested and accepted.  There were major changes suggested (like a Bill of Rights) and rejected.  And in between, there was dissension against and support for issues small and not-so-small.

And the 15th, rather than a wind-down, saw the flurry of activity continue.  It began with Maryland’s Daniel Carroll, who suggested that an address introducing the Constitution be prepared for the people, as that was a fairly common practice in that day.  After some debate, it was decided (in the interests of time) to have the standing Congress draft such a document.

There was argument (yet again!) over representation, as some delegates didn’t believe their state had quite enough representatives for their respective populations.  And once one state made such a demand, others were bound to follow.  It quickly threatened to rage out of control.

There was a continuation of old issues.  Mason again said that the Senate had way too much power.  Edmund Randolph (who had proposed the Virginia Plan) increasingly showed dissent for the government in its final form.  George Mason agreed and then offered up the proposal that, on this last day of business, stopped everyone in their seats.

He suggested a Second Constitutional Convention.

George Mason…who had come to Philadelphia swearing he’d be buried here rather than leave before a workable solution was found.  And it was more than a proposal, the man was insisting on it.

South Carolina’s Charles Pinckney stood to respond.  James Madison records that “Pinckney descanted on the consequences of calling forth the deliberations and amendments of the different states on the subject of government at large.  Nothing but confusion and contrariety could sping from the experiment.  The states will never agree in their plans – and the deputies to a second Convention coming together under the discordant impressions of their constituents, will never agree.”

In other words, it was now or never.  Nearly every member had some minor (or major) disagreement with the finished product.  But it would always be that way…no Constitution would be perfect, regardless of how much time was given to its construction.

There was much trepidation when the Second Convention came to a vote.  All states voted no.

Madison records the final acts as follows:

“On the question to agree to the Constitution as amended.  All the States aye.  The Constitution was then ordered to be engrossed.  And the House adjourned.”

There would be Monday’s signing, but the Convention was over.  The U.S. Constitution was completed.  It had been an exceptional three months.  The ratification process was about to begin.

Recommended Reading: Miracle at Philadelphia

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The Annapolis Convention: A Most Successful Failure

On September 14, 1786, the Annapolis Convention came to a close.

Well, sort of.

The reality is that it never really got started.  Only five of the states were represented by just a dozen delegates.  And that wasn’t nearly enough representation to really get any business done.  But that’s not to say nothing was accomplished at this non-Convention.

First off, the small number of people kept the meeting short…the Convention lasted just three days.  Second, sparse attendence allowed for a greater comraderie and intimacy among those present, which meant the discussions freely ranged far beyond just those listed on the itinerary (interstate commerce and trade problems) to more fundamental issues, like the weaknesses of the Articles of Confederation.

In fact, the focus came to be on the Articles themselves, and this was probably the most important result of the gathering.  Chernow writes, “The Annapolis attendees soon agreed that the commercial disputes among the states were symptomatic of underlying flaws in the political framework, and they arrived at a breathtaking conclusion:  they would urge the states to send delegates to a convention in Philadelphia the following May to amend the Articles of Confederation.”

It fell to Alexander Hamilton (shown on the left) to write the appeal urging states to attend, but it was so strongly worded that Edmund Randolph asked him to tone it down.  Hamilton bristled at the request, but James Madison (shown on the right) took him aside and urged him to give ground, warning him that such stout language would alienate Virginia (whose support would be essential).  Hamilton took the advice and softened the letter’s tone.

As it turns out, the legislature in Hamilton’s home state of New York was absolutely opposed to the recommendations of the Annapolis address, thanks in large part to Governor George Clinton’s strong stance against it.  In Madison’s (and Edmund Randolph’s) state of Virginia, however, the letter was welcomed with enthusiasm and, early on, George Washington was selected to lead the delegation that eventually attended the Constitutional Convention.

The other good thing…well, great thing…that came from Annapolis was the renewing of the friendship between Hamilton and Madison.  They probably hadn’t seen each other since their congressional days, and this time together put them on the same page concerning the need for a change in the governmental structure.  And while they would eventually become intense rivals, that was several years down the road.  In the meantime, there would be Philadelphia (where both play crucial roles), and together they would pen nearly all of the Federalist Papers, quite possibly the finest collection of essays that has ever defended a national charter.

The Annapolis Convention may have been brief, and it may have been sparsely attended, but its effects are (thankfully) still with us more than two centuries later.

Recommended Reading: Alexander Hamilton

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A Touch of Style at the Federal Convention

There has been some significant debate recently over the idea of “American Exceptionalism”.  Some argue that it’s reality, while others say it’s a bunch of hooey.  What is it?  Well, I’m probably the wrong guy to be defining obtuse nine-syllable phrases, but here goes my best attempt.  American Exceptionalism is the idea that the United States is a special country (something of a one-of-a-kind nation), due to the nature of its founding, its rather unique form of government, and the success it has achieved.

Needless to say, some people argue from a different perspective.  They contend that American Exceptionalism is, in the best case, extreme jingoism…a self-exalted view that arrogantly puts America on a higher plane than other countries.  In the worst case, opponents of the concept say that this attitude is what permitted the scourge of slavery until the 1860s, allowed gross mistreatment of numerous Native American tribes, and continues to foster American imperialism around the world.

I happen to think that many things about the creation of this country were exceptional, and its likely that Today’s History Lesson has covered several of them.  And I think our topic for today may fit the mold as well.

On September 8, 1787, the Committee of Style and Arrangement was formed.  Hmm…not that exceptional?  I disagree.

If you look back over the last four months, you’ll find we’ve shared a handful of articles focused on the Constitutional Convention.  And what you’ll discover is that, far from being in agreement on anything, a great many of the delegates fought tooth-and-nail to prevent the creation of a new government.  Men like Luther Martin, Gunning Bedford, and John Lansing argued vociferously against changing the status quo…against that pesky concept of innovation.

In her book Miracle at Philadelphia, Catherine Bowen writes that, “In spite of disagreement, indecision, threats of withdrawal and articles not settled, the Convention was ready to put the Constitution into final form and present it to the country.”  Was the Constitution being ram-rodded through?  Absolutely not!!  Hundreds of years ago, Sir Francis Bacon said, “Let the losers have their words.”  And those who were against the various articles (and against the whole proceeding in general) more than had their say.  It’s part of what made (and what continues to make) the Constitution so powerful.

The Committee of Style was tasked with collecting all the documentation and putting it into a cohesive, easily-read document.  Five men comprised the committee, and their names read much like a Founding Fathers All-Star team.

James Madison, who would spend the rest of his life defending what the Committee created, and is known as the Father of the Constitution.

William Samuel Johnson, a quiet strength from the South who hadn’t missed a single day of the proceedings.

Gouverneur Morris, who spoke more during the Convention than anyone else, but also had the fortitude to publicly admit when he was wrong.  It was his hand that penned our Constitution.

Alexander Hamilton.  Bowen writes, “…his speech of June eighteenth had not been forgotten, with its monarchical slant; yet delegates knew his grasp of the situation, knew also that his pen was quick and eloquent;  nobody could say better what he wanted to say about the constitution of governments.”  He, along with Madison, would spill an enormous amount of ink defending what was about to be created.

And finally, Rufus King.  He had arrived in Philadelphia full of doubt, believing that the Congress under the Confederacy should take up changing the Confederacy.  But over the course of the Convention, he became a staunch supporter…and converts are always strong believers.

These men penned a letter (also written by Morris) to accompany the final document, and its words are timeless, too.  “It is obviously impractical in the foederal government of these States, to secure all rights of independent sovereignty to each, and yet provide for the interest and safety of all.  Individuals entering into society, must give up a share of liberty to preserve the rest.  The magnitude of the sacrifice must depend as well on siuation and circumstance, as on the object to be obtained.  It is at all times difficult to draw with precision the line between those rights which must be surrendered, and those which may be reserved…”

Exceptional?  I think so.  Bowen summarizes in agreement with me.  “The wonder is that twelve states got through months of discussion without disbanding, and that the Committee of Style could now go on with their task unhampered.”

And for five days, these five men would work.  They condensed, they word-smithed, and they debated amongst themselves over language and detail.  And in the end…well, let’s cover that when the time is right.  But I’ll give you a hint…it begins with three remarkable (dare I say “exceptional”?) words…“We the people…”

Recommended Reading: Miracle at Philadelphia

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Convention-Time Approaches in Annapolis

If Annapolis, Maryland was a person and not a city, I’m guessing it would feel kind of left out and ignored.  And that’s not to say it’s not important…a thousand times no.  It’s just that when you’re located in a relatively small state, the rest of the country probably sees only Baltimore, your much bigger brother.  And a goodly number of people incorrectly think that Baltimore is Maryland’s capital.  Carson City shares a similar fate out west in Nevada, completely blinded by the lights and casinos of Las Vegas.  By the way, if you want a fun refresher on U.S. capitals, go to Sporcle’s website and take their U.S. Capitals quiz.  Once you have it mastered, try one of their thousands of other quizzes on nearly every subject known to man (for dedicated fans of Bob Ross, try the “name-the-colors” quiz).

But there was a time when “smallness” and “out-of-the-wayness” was a benefit for Annapolis, and that was in 1786, when it served as a figurative pathway to the Constitutional Convention of 1787.  America, just barely out of diapers, was struggling immensely with interstate commerce.  Disputes had broken out over navigation of the Potomac River, and states were fighting over border and trade issues.  In a letter to Thomas Jefferson (then a minister to Paris), James Madison (shown above, much later in life) described the current situation as “the present anarchy of our commerce”, using the word “anarchy” to put it in the most negative light possible.

The squabbles over the Potomac River had been addressed (and solved) by commissioners from Maryland and Virginia at Mount Vernon in 1785.  The Virginia commissioners believed that a similar gathering might be able to address the problems of commerce, so they called for a convention “for the purpose of framing such regulations of trade as may be judged necessary to promote the general interest.”

Their desired location?  George Mann’s City Tavern in Annapolis, Maryland.  They chose George Mann’s place because of the wonderful celebration it laid out when George Washington had resigned his military commission a couple of years earlier.  And they chose Annapolis because…it was small!!  Hooray for smallness!!  The ever-quotable Ron Chernow writes, “By choosing the relatively secluded town of Annapolis, Madison explained, the conference organizers had purposely bypassed the main commercial towns and congressional precincts to guard against any accusations that the commissioners were in the thrall of outside parties.”

Alexander Hamilton set out from New York on the 1st of September.  His state had originally planned to send a half-dozen delegates, but in the end, just he and his friend Egbert Benson would participate.  James Madison left Virginia in August, having spent much of the preceding time studying books (sent by Jefferson) about politics, history, and government structure.  On the way, he looked at the countryside and, seeing beyond the beauty to the underlying troubles, wrote, “[N]o money comes into the public treasury, trade is on a wretched footing, and the states are running mad after paper money.”

And as was typical of Madison, he got there early, arriving in Annapolis on September 4, 1786 (a week early, as it turned out), ready to discuss, debate, and decide.  Events would see a different outcome, and…well, I think we’ll discuss some of that when the proper day is here.

Recommended Reading: James Madison

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The Great Compromise: The Art of the Deal

As the delegates to the Federal Convention worked through the process of revising the Articles of Confederation, a couple of things had quickly become apparent.  One, the revisions wouldn’t likely be a band-aid, “patch-and-mend” fix of what already existed.  A complete overhaul was being proposed.  Second, included in that overhaul was a two-housed legislature, and the fight to determine its makeup would be long, difficult, and intense.

We look at the modern-day composition of our Senate and House of Representatives and we pretty much take its structure for granted.  To the “upper” house, each state sends a pair of Senators.  Representation in the “lower” house is determined by population.  States with more people have more Representatives, less populous states have fewer, and every state is guaranteed at least one.

In 2010, it’s automatic.  It’s a no-brainer.  In 1787, it was most certainly not automatic.

The men representing the larger states believed both houses should be built based on population.  However, their reasoning was not as self-serving as it may seem at first blush.  Of course, the result was that the larger states enjoyed something of a monopoly (or at least a strong majority) on the proceedings.  But there was more to it.  Larger states contributed proportionally more tax money to the central government’s coffers, so it stood to reason that large states should have a greater say.  Furthermore, wasn’t government based on the “will of the people” rather than the “will of the states”?  Under the Articles of Confederation, any state could veto legislation with which it disagreed, and the large states believed that “one state, one vote” had damaged the will of the people and given the small states way too much power.

The delegates from the smaller states saw things differently.  They believed that equal representation balanced the inequity that existed between small and large states.  It gave smaller states a larger voice and offered them protection.  In their minds, these delegates believed that large states would use their vote power to simply overrun the wishes of the small states.

I suppose that, in a perfect world, representation by population could have worked well, since the government was being designed was to be for the people, and not the states.  But it wasn’t perfect, and the small states were not backing down, and in the world that was Independence Hall during the brutally hot summer of 1787, it was a serious point of contention.

On June 11th, Connecticut delegate Roger Sherman offered up the suggestion that the proposed Senate be populated based on equal representation for the states, while the House be filled proportionately.  The proposal was initially defeated by the group, but it never really died, as the option to revisit it remained alive.  The delegates moved on to deal with less difficult matters, but all knew that this issue would arise again.

One thing that didn’t rise on the weekend of July 14th and 15th was the temperatures.  In the midst of a scorching summer, a reprieve of cooler weather and refreshing northwest breezes maybe helped set the stage for calmer debate and cooler heads.  I’m not sure that history records it, but maybe the windows of the Independence Hall were thrown open on the Monday morning of July 16, 1787, and the cooler air worked its magic.  It was on this day that the debate on representation was finally settled, and Roger Sherman’s “Connecticut Compromise” was adopted…by one vote.

It came to be known as the Great Compromise, and while we might sit here scratching our heads wondering what’s so great about it, there is little doubt as to the likely outcome had Sherman’s proposal not been passed.  I turn once again to Catherine Bowen’s Miracle at Philadelphia.  “There are critics today who think the Convention erred, and that the Senate, like the House, should have remained proportional.  Yet without the Great Compromise it is hard to see how the Federal Convention could have proceeded further; since the beginning it had been cause for battle.”

Luther Martin, with whom we are familiar, wrote after-the-fact that the struggle “nearly terminated in a dissolution of the Convention.”  James Madison, from the large state of Virginia and one of the stars of the Convention, didn’t agree with the result, but understood that fighting the smaller states further on the issue was pointless.  If a new government was to have any chance to survive, it had to first be born.  The Great Compromise was the single most important event in the Convention’s timeline.

Is it a perfect solution today?  The critics that Bowen references would say no.  Ron Chernow writes that “the Senate’s composition introduced a lasting political bias in American life in favor of smaller states.”  And honestly, proportional representation seems to me the proper way to do things.  But ours is not a pure democracy, and the Senate actually offers some “counter-protection” against a weakness of a democracy:  the tyranny of the majority.

And 225 years ago, proportional representation in both houses wasn’t going to get a new constitution written.  It wasn’t going to end the complete small-state dominance afforded by the Articles of Confederation (to say nothing of its other weaknesses).  And it wasn’t going to create a government system that, despite glaring flaws, has survived more than two centuries without being thrown to the historical ash-heap.

Recommended Reading: James Madison

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Philadelphia Convention Sees First Early Departures

From beginning to end, the Federal Convention in Philadelphia had its share of detractors.  Some of them, like Rhode Island, were against even the formation of a convention.  The small state would send no delegates and, of the 13 Colonies, would be the very last to ratify the document that came from the three-month gathering.

Others became disenchanted after spending a little time in Independence Hall and getting a feel for how the “political winds” were blowing.  For numerous delegates, the Articles of Confederation were adequate, or maybe just needed some tweaking.  Furthermore, the Congress had allowed the meeting with the proviso that its sole purpose was to revise the Articles.

So when Edmund Randolph took the dais on May 29th and proposed what was essentially a clean break from the Articles, not a few delegates became clear opponents.  We’ve talked about Luther Martin and his ponderous diatribes against all aspects of the Convention.  He and fellow Marylander John Mercer would end up leaving the Convention as a show of protest to the proceedings.

There was Gunning Bedford, whose paranoia over large-state dominance led to his thinly-veiled threat that small states might resort to foreign governments to assist them.  This kind of talk was a direct assault on the very purpose of the Convention.  In fact, it was an attack on the Articles of Confederation already in place.  It was close to talking treason.  But such were the strong feelings.  As we have said before, change in the 18th century (often referred to as “innovation”) was charged with negative connotations.

New York’s delegation was deeply split on the Convention.  On the one side was Alexander Hamilton.  For years he had been saying that the Articles of Confederation were weak.  They were adequate for an American Revolution, but for the future, they simply didn’t cut it.  Numerous editorials and newspaper articles, authored by his pen, sought to build support for revision.  And while he might not have been preeminent at the Convention, no delegate present could say he had done more to push for the Convention than Hamilton.  On the other side were Robert Yates and John Lansing, Jr.  These two men, related by marriage, were close associates with George Clinton, New York’s governor.  Clinton’s strong opposition to changing the status-quo was passed on to his subordinates.

And by July, the divide in the New York delegation had reached the breaking point.  Hamilton, much chagrined for his proposals in June (which we’ve mentioned but will cover in greater detail down the line), had left the Convention to return to his law practice (but don’t worry, he would come back to Philadelphia and ultimately sign the Constitution).  But Yates and Lansing simply could not come to ideological terms with the road the Convention was taking, and both walked out in protest, the first delegates to do so.

The problem comes with establishing a firm date for their departures.  Catherine Bowen lists the date as July 10, 1787.  Ron Chernow’s biography of Alexander Hamilton lists July 6th.  Ralph Ketchum, in his biography of James Madison, doesn’t actually list a date, but the text lends itself to a “second week of July” timeframe.  Various sources on the Internet list July 5th, 6th, and 10th.  I don’t find a solid consensus.  But because I saw as many references to the 10th as any other date, I’m going with that.

And truthfully, in this particular case, I’m willing to let the date remain in limbo a bit, simply because 1) the 10th is as likely to be correct as any other date, and 2) the main idea is to convey that opposition was strong enough to cause delegates to leave.  Yates and Lansing were the first…they would not be the last.

Recommended Reading: Miracle at Philadelphia

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Constitutional Convention Reaches Low Point

No one spectating the Federal Convention during Philadelphia’s blistering summer of 1787 would have said that the first month’s proceedings had gone smoothly.  Of course, the meetings were secret, so there were no spectators.  But still the point remains.  The first month had seen some progress, but also some serious hangups.  The biggest sticking point, without a doubt, was the issue of representation in the legislature.  Small states wanted essentially a “one state, one vote” structure, while larger states preferred representation to be based on population.  Like most disagreements in life, the real issue was control.

Under the Articles of Confederation, each state had an equal voice and each state had the power of veto.  This meant that small states, like Maryland or Delaware, could suppress legislation that affected the entire remaining population.  And frankly, the small states liked it…they had serious power.

The plans being proposed (by larger states like Virginia) radically altered the existing imbalance of power to the other side of the scale.  And the small states were vehemently opposed to it…and they made their feelings known.  Plus there was the whole issue about what kind of people should comprise the Senate, which led to another set of arguments.  Not too long ago we mentioned Luther Martin, the Marylander with a penchant for verbosity.  His speech on June 20th, in some sense, lit a fire under opponents of the Virginia Plan (and pretty much any idea upsetting “small state” power established by the Articles), and for a while, things weren’t looking so good in Independence Hall.

On June 27th (and most of the 28th) Martin was at it again, quoting Locke, Priestly, Somers, and others as he rambled toward a conclusion that the convention had no business taking power away from the states.  Madison scribbled in exasperation that Martin labored, “at great length…with much diffuseness, and considerable vehemence…”.  New York delegate Robert Yates, who actually sided with Martin, said of Martin’s meanderings, “It was not possible to trace him through the whole, or to methodize his ideas into a systematic or argumentative arrangement.”

Once Luther Martin had finished his “dissertation”, Virginian James Madison got up and worked to refute all that Martin had contended, using his typical logic to attack Martin’s ideas point-by-point.  But the small states were steadfast.  It was at this point that elder statesman Benjamin Franklin, looking at the division and hearing the harsh rhetoric, suggested that each day’s proceedings open with prayer.  Clearly assistance of a Divine nature was not unwelcome.

In his biography of James Madison, Ralph Ketchum writes that June 30, 1787 was the Federal Convention’s “rock bottom.”  It was then that Gunning Bedford (shown above), a somewhat large man from the (small) state of Delaware spoke words most dangerous to the convention’s purpose.  “I do not, gentlemen, trust you,” he shouted.  The larger states wouldn’t dare kill the Confederation, he threatened, because the small states had another option.  “…sooner than be ruined, there are foreign powers who will take us by the hand.”  One can almost imagine the stifling silence that followed those words that flirted with the precipice of treason.

Rufus King, from the relatively small state of Massachusetts, rose and said, “I am concerned for what fell from the gentleman from Delaware – ‘Take a foreign power by the hand’!  I am sorry he mentioned it, and hope he is able to excuse it to himself on the score of passion.  Whatever may be my distress, I never will court a foreign power to assist in relieving myself from it.”

June 30th was a day of vitriol and acrimonious debate in Independence Hall.  It’s a very good thing it was a Saturday, as Sunday (for most of the delegates) would provide time for solemn reflection and reconsideration in a local house of worship.

Recommended Reading: James Madison

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