American History Tellers - Revolution | The Populist | 6

Episode Date: August 1, 2018

Millions immigrated to the United States after its founding, entranced with the promise of a better life. But the country they found was rough and tumble, less developed than the land they left, and had some serious issues. Last week we looked at slavery, and today we'll go inside the often-overlooked class conflict that was playing out among Americans, even as elites and commoners alike came together to fight the British.Support this show by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's 1794. You're a Scottish immigrant to America who has just stepped off a boat in Albany, New York. Like thousands of other residents of the British Isles, you now see America as a land of opportunity. The Revolutionary War, pitting your country against its American colonies, ended more than a decade ago. The new nation now has a constitution, president, a congress, a supreme court. In other words, it has a foundation. What it doesn't have is manufacturing.

You came to the United States from Scotland to launch your business, producing farm equipment. And Albany, 150 miles upriver of where you landed in New York City, is the place to be. It's destined to be the capital of the state. It's already an up-and-coming frontier town, surrounded by miles of farmland. And that means farmers who need equipment. So you packed your bags and sailed up the Hudson. As you step off the boat, you are met on the dock by John Kirk, a fellow member of the St. Andrew's Society, a Scottish benevolent organization. It was your correspondence with him that convinced you to come to Albany. And now he's eager to show off his home. As you can see, much of the town is new.

These wharves, those stables over there. And look, here's the man responsible for much of the development. Our mayor, Abraham Yates. A small, elderly fellow who's been hobbling past suddenly stops. Mayor, this is Mr. McDonough. He just arrived from Aberdeen. He's hoping to set up as a manufacturer. Yates looks up at you with squinty eyes.

He's wearing the powdered wig that signifies his status, and he sports the old tricorn hat that the older generation, who were active in the revolution, still favor. Sir, you've made an excellent choice. The city improves daily. I'm pleased to be here. Yates points with his cane. Behold, market and state streets, crowded with stores.

Messrs. Stafenson, Dow, and Teneck have built a nail manufacturing, and they are doing a brisk business. There are also many young ladies who are most marriageable. Sir, I've only just arrived. First things first, you know. But surely you will have children who will need schooling. Rest assured, we have an academy which flourishes under the direction of Mr. Merchant. But truth to tell, that's what I'm most pleased with. He points upward at a tall post with a candle-powered lantern on top. He waits expectantly for you to comment. Very nice. You're amused that street lamps are a novelty here, but you like the rough-and-ready nature of Albany, the brash aspect of a place that's growing,

and you like Mr. Yates. The mayor bids you good day and wanders off, disappearing into a large brick house. As he leaves, a small group of men who have been loitering nearby moves closer. One of them, a large, well-dressed gentleman, steps forward to address John Kirk. You are friends with Yates? Mayor Yates is a local hero, born and raised right here in Albany, served with General Washington himself during the war, a true patriot. Yates is no patriot. I beg your pardon? He stands for everything that is wrong with this country. You're stunned, but looking around, you see that others have stopped to watch. Some of them are nodding and making noises of agreement.

Tension is building. If America fails, it will be due to people like him. There's a look in the man's eye, and you suddenly wonder if there's going to be violence. You emigrated here believing the United States held more promise than staying in Scotland. Now you note with alarm the divisions in front of you. You still believe America is the land of opportunity, but it's dawning on you.

Your new country has serious problems. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery

that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app

or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history. Your story. We are wrapping up our six-part series on the American Revolution. This series was written by best-selling author Russell Shorto, following the lives of the six individuals featured in his award-winning book Revolution Song. In the last episode, we took on slavery, the great contradiction at the heart of America's founding. We followed Venture Smith from his African boyhood to his capture by New England slavers, his enslavement, and his journey toward becoming a free man and landowner. In this episode, we turn to Abraham Yates, who experienced

America's founding from the ground up. The man who ended his life as the mayor of Albany, New York, played a number of different roles in the period of America's founding. Yates' story reveals the often overlooked class conflict that was playing out among Americans, even as elites and commoners alike came together to fight the British. And his actions and beliefs point toward the rumbling mistrust of government that has been at the heart of our system from the beginning and that continues to define and divide us. This is our sixth and final episode, The Populist. Abraham Yates Jr. was the ninth child of an English blacksmith and his Dutch wife. Yates grew up in Albany, New York, speaking both languages.

This kind of cultural intermingling wasn't that unusual. All the colony's beginnings went back for more than a century, and different regions still reflected their respective beginnings. New England, for instance, still retained the distinctive stamp of the English Puritans and the Pilgrims. Education levels were high, so everyone could read the Bible. On the other hand, dancing with partners of the opposite sex was forbidden. Virginia and the southern colonies also had their own traditions and customs, which had a lot to do with the different type of English pioneers who settled there. So too in Albany. In between New England and Virginia, there had once been a colony of New Netherland, founded by the Dutch.

Its capital was New Amsterdam, at the southern tip of Manhattan Island. But the Dutch holdings didn't just comprise the New York City area. The colony stretched across the whole middle of the eastern seaboard. Its second city was Albany, called Beverwek under the Dutch. Even back in the mid-1600s, it was a bustling place, a frontier town, where the Iroquois, whose six nations stretched out to the west, intersected with the continent's English settlements. After England took over the Dutch colony in 1664,

New Amsterdam was rechristened New York, and the city slowly gained a more English character. But Albany stayed stubbornly Dutch. As a boy, Yeats might have expected to take up a place at his father's forge one day. But with four other brothers, there was no room for him. Instead, Yates was apprenticed to another craftsman, a shoemaker. After seven years, he set up in business for himself. But it wasn't enough for him. Yates was no simple shoemaker. He was ablaze with opinions

about local politics. He wasn't content with his lot in life, and he was determined he wouldn't be making shoes forever. The year is 1744. Imagine you're a traveler from Boston passing through Albany. The American colonies are still firmly and proudly British, but Albany is still culturally Dutch. Your boots are worn out, and someone directs you to the local shoemaker. As you enter the shop, you see a young man, about 20 years old. The sign outside announces him as Abraham Yates. He's with another customer, a farmer by the look of him, but you can't for the life of you figure out what they're saying.

Yates hands a pair of men's shoes and a little girl's shoes to the farmer and bids him farewell. Then he turns to you. May I help you? Oh, thank goodness. I didn't realize you spoke English. Albany is a small town. I use whatever language pleases my customers. Well, you'll outshine your competition with that approach.

Shoemakers in Boston can barely speak one language properly, let alone two. I grew up a blacksmith's son. I learned to work hard, and I enjoy serving my customers. What can I do for you today? Well, my boots are coming apart. They need to be resold. Well, these are fine boots. The leather is excellent quality.

Thank you. You must be a wealthy man. I live comfortably. But these don't need to be resold. Not yet. Well, they're in poorer shape than I like them. I can't be seen in the assembly chambers in ragged boots. Ah, a politician.

I'm a member of the Massachusetts Assembly. Tell me, sir, should you be so wealthy working for the people? Excuse me? You've been elected the people's representative, but which people do you represent? How do you, a man of wealth and power, resemble or even understand those you serve? I came here, sir, because my boots need repair, not my profession. I serve my constituents well, and I serve my customers well. But I'm thinking today, you won't be one of them. The people I serve need my services. They wear their shoes thin

until they're more dust than leather. Your boots have a few more miles in them, sir. Certainly enough to get you out my door. And with a strong flick of his wrist, he tosses your boots into the street. From early on, Yates had a fascination with local politics and a simmering hatred of elites. The first people to incite his wrath were the Dutch patrician families of the area. They owned most of the land in Albany, and they controlled local politics. In New York and other colonies, it was the custom at the time for political offices to be held by powerful men. Yates was proud of his status as a common craftsman.

He didn't understand why regular people had to vote for one or another of the sons of the town's elites for local offices. Why couldn't a tradesman hold office? So in between making shoes, Yates started to read law books. Eventually, he announced that he would run for a city office himself, not as a member of a highborn family, but as a representative of working people. He won the election. It was such a startling achievement that other common folk, including members of his family, began running for office as well. People began saying that he had created his own political party,

the Yates Party, some called it. In 1754, he maneuvered to get himself chosen for another political job, the sheriff of Albany County. It was real sheriff's work, riding out into the countryside, corralling bad guys. The hunched, bookish Yates was not particularly well-suited for the role, but he threw himself into it. But even in this position, he couldn't escape the reach of the elites. One of his first tasks as sheriff involved doing the bidding of Robert Livingston, Jr., the head of one of the region's powerful families. Livingston owned thousands of acres of land, and Yates' job was to remove squatters from it. But he had many other duties. The Seven Years'

War between England and France, or the French and Indian War as it was known in the colonies, broke out in 1756. It was the culmination of years of tension between Europe's two rising empires. The English army and the American militias were pitted against the French and their Native American allies in a struggle for control over the North American continent. England had established its colonies along the eastern coast. France had strung a long chain of forts up and down the Mississippi River, from Detroit to New Orleans. The French began moving eastward, though, just as the American colonies were expanding west. The collision would have historic consequences. During the war, Albany became a base for British military operations. Yates expected that his duties

as sheriff would involve helping organize the British defenses on the region against French attack. Instead, he found himself struggling against the British themselves. The army packed its soldiers into the private houses of the town's residents. Reports started trickling in to sheriff Yates of British soldiers raping local women, stealing, and ransacking houses. When he complained, a British officer responded by hanging a criminal in the center of town and letting the corpse dangle there, as a warning to the Americans not to interfere with the British army. Yates was livid. He sat down with his law books and began compiling a formal complaint against the Earl of Loudoun, the Supreme Commander of British forces in North America, basing his reasoning on principles of English law. Each British subject,

he wrote, including those in America, had a fixed, fundamental right born with him as to freedom of his person and property in a state, and not even the king could violate this right, for a king is made and ordained for the defense of the law of his subjects. And yet, he went on, in Albany, the most iniquitous and tyrannical violations, robberies, assault, batteries, he went on, In the end, friends urged Yates not to send the document. With its attack on the highest British official in North America, Yates listened and put it aside. But the episode marked a turning point in Yates' thinking. He eventually confronted the Earl of Loudoun with the news that the British soldiers were tearing down the town defenses to burn for fuel, leaving his residents exposed to French attack. The Earl

responded with utter contempt, let the city burn and be damned. Yates understood then, as he had not before, that the British did not see Americans as fellow subjects. They were second class, mere colonists. The British eventually won the French and Indian War. The conflict ended in 1763, and in many ways, it was a direct lead-in to the American Revolution. The war was so costly, it virtually bankrupted England. The British government needed a new source of income. And as the home population was already taxed to the hilt, the crown turned to the colonies. Up until this time, Britain had left taxation of the

colonies in the hands of the legislatures. Now the leaders in London decided that they would tax them directly, without any representation by the 13 colonies in Parliament. They convinced themselves that British troops on American soil were there to protect American colonists. This wasn't exactly true. The soldiers were there to uphold the interests of the home country, but the British decided the Americans would willingly pay for their protection. The Americans considered themselves British subjects, entitled to the protections guaranteed in the English Bill of Rights. Among those was the right to representation. They took seriously their colonial representative bodies. These, after all, were part of the British system of government. Now the home country was proposing to rule them by fiat. And Yeats, having read the Enlightenment thinker John Locke, was

struck by his notion of natural law. Locke argued that there were basic rights common to all human beings, which could not be denied them. The shoemaker-turned-sheriff turned a corner. No longer was he willing to blindly accept the notion that England had the best interests of its colonies at heart. By the war's end, Abraham Yates was convinced it was the mother country, England, that was America's true enemy. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today? Who created that bottle of red sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA? We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy.

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You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished from his luxury yacht in the Canary Islands. But it wasn't just his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed. It soon emerged that Robert's business was on the brink of collapse, and behind his facade of wealth and success was a litany of bad investments, mounting debt, and multi-million dollar fraud. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers.

We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that define their journey, and the ideas that transform the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee fleeing the Nazis arrives in Britain determined to make something of his life. Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But ambition eventually curdles into desperation, and Robert's determination to succeed

turns into a willingness to do anything to get ahead. Follow Business Movers wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. It's a snowy night in January 1766, and there is an insistent knock at the door. Abraham Yates was just moments ago in his warm bed asleep beside his wife Anna, but now he opens the door to the freezing air and several of his fellow townsmen. One of them steps forward. Mr. Yates, we request that you come with us immediately to Thomas Williams' tavern. What? At this hour? Why? I'll explain when we get there. It's a matter of the strictest confidence. Fine. I'll only be a

moment. Yates hastily throws on some clothes and makes his way with the men through the snowy streets to the tavern. Inside, he finds a few dozen others. He knows them all, of course, but he still doesn't know what this is all about. As the men settle down at the tables, the leader of the bunch turns to Yates. Mr. Yates, we've invited you here tonight. Yeah, I was hardly invited to join us in resisting the Stamp Act. England has imposed this unjust law on us without our consent. We have banded together to oppose it. We call ourselves the Sons of Liberty. Yates eyes the group warily. He has heard of the Sons of Liberty.

The movement began in Boston, but quickly spread to other cities. What are you asking of me? Your support. That's when Yates notices two men standing apart from the others. Just like everyone else in this tavern, he knows them by name. John Hanson and Henry von Schack. As city councilmen, he knows they have something in common. What are you doing with these men?

We have reason to believe they have been offered the job of commissioner for the stamp duties. Will you confirm? You know I can't do that. It doesn't matter. We know it's true. The man gestures at the other men, who Yates now realizes have their hands tied. The Stamp Act is an affront to our liberties. We want them to sign an affidavit that they will turn down the odious job. I see. And we want you, as city

counselor, to acknowledge it and make it binding. Yates shakes his head. Ours is the cause of liberty. Won't you join us? But Yates stands firm. I share your frustrations, gentlemen, but as you know, I'm a member of the legal profession now, and your elected representative. These men are in bondage. I can't acknowledge a coerced affidavit. I can't simply engage in illegal activity, and neither should you. He heads for the door. You should let those men go. One of the men refused to sign an affidavit, and in retaliation, the Sons of Liberty vandalized his house, breaking windows and tossing furniture into the street. Things were moving headlong

towards a crisis, but despite his distaste for such illegal acts, Abraham Yates was as angry as anyone. And his anger wasn't only directed at England. His longtime animosity toward the local elites came to a boiling point in 1773. That year, after years of faithful service on the city council, the elites he so despised conspired to get the man of the people out of their affairs. He was voted out of office. He had little time to fume at the locals, though. In May of the same year, Britain passed the Tea Act, yet another attempt to tax

the Americans. Protests erupted all over the colonies. In December 1773, word came to Albany of the most dramatic protest yet. In Boston, locals had boarded a British ship filled with tea waiting to be taxed and dumped the whole load into the harbor. Yeats' acquaintance with the British during the French and Indian War had taught him one thing. In England, the destruction of 10,000 pounds sterling of British property would be seen as a crime of the highest order. It would be harshly punished. But Yates knew his neighbors too. And any punishment the British

handed down would be met with even greater defiance in the colonies. So Yates put aside his grievances with the local elites. It was time for him to play a role on a larger stage. To do that, the formal government of the province of New York had to be supplanted, for it represented the will of the King of England, and it worked against New Yorkers. He joined with about a dozen other men to form a Committee of Correspondence, one of the many that were springing up all over the colonies. These organizations served as shadow governments, charging themselves with representing the will of the American people. The Albany Committee named Abraham Yates as their chairman. shadow governments charging themselves with representing the will of the American people. The Albany Committee named Abraham Yates as their chairman.

In early 1775, the group met at the King's Arms Tavern and agreed to take up a contribution for the relief of their suffering brethren at Boston, as they have experienced the brutal insolence of the military. In retaliation for the dumping of 92,000 pounds of tea overboard, the British had closed the Boston Harbor, bringing the city's economy to a halt. They had also issued a series of punitive laws known as the Intolerable Acts. One of them was particularly galling to Yates. The Quartering Act required colonists to put up British soldiers in their homes. Four months later, in April, word reached Albany of the first military confrontations between American militiamen and British soldiers. Following the skirmishes in Lexington and Concord, Britain poured 15,000 soldiers into Boston in an attempt to crack down and keep the peace.

Yates drafted a letter on behalf of the committee to the people of Boston, offering them aid. While we lament the mournful event which has caused the blood of our brethren in the Massachusetts Bay to flow, we feel that satisfaction which every honest American must experience at the glorious stand you have made. Yates' mind was now made up regarding what America must do. It was time for the colonies to declare independence against Britain. He had done a great deal of reading, trying to find historical precedence for this step. Since he was half-Dutch, he was particularly interested in the Dutch rebellion against the Spanish Empire in the 1600s and the founding of the Dutch Republic. And he had read the history of ancient Rome and of modern France.

Then, in January 1776, Thomas Paine's pamphlet Common Sense was published. Like thousands of others, Yeats read Paine's stirring words, in which he declared, A government of our own is our natural right. Yeats was 52 years old at the start of the Revolutionary War, prone to gout and other ailments. He wasn't a likely soldier. He was, however, a first-class organizer and a rabble rouser. When New York declared itself no longer a British province but a state, he helped write its constitution. He became a member of its governing body. He was in the New York Provincial Congress on July 9, 1776,

when a document arrived from Philadelphia and was read aloud in the chamber. It was dated only five days earlier, July 4. Yates voted with the other members to have 500 copies of the Declaration of Independence printed for distribution to New Yorkers. As the head of the New York Convention, he corresponded with General George Washington during the war, sending him soldiers, guns, and ammunition, and exchanging information about Loyalist movements. Knowing the British invasion of Manhattan was imminent, Washington wrote to Yates and other members of the Convention, telling them to form and execute some plan

for the removal and relief of inhabitants of New York City. Yates responded, Sir, I am directed to inform Your Excellency that immediately upon the receipt of your favor this morning, respecting the women, children, and infirm persons remaining in the city of New York, the convention appointed a committee for the purpose of removing and providing for such persons. The simple shoemaker was now working hand-in-hand with General George Washington, orchestrating a war of rebellion. Seeing the need for his services everywhere, Yates took on all sorts of roles. Throughout the war, he also served as state senator,

Albany City recorder, and state loan officer. Then, following the Battle of Yorktown in October 1781, at which American forces and their French allies defeated the British army of General Charles Cornwallis, came the astounding news that Great Britain was giving up its effort to keep its valuable American colonies. The revolution, in the name of the common people, of freedom, was over, and they had won. The war's end was met by a seemingly endless succession of parades, balls, and other celebrations. Everyone who had served in the patriot cause was jubilant.

But for Abraham Yates, no sooner had the war for independence ended than another war began. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today. The vampire doesn't cast a reflection in a mirror. So when we look in the mirror, the only thing we see is our own monstrous abilities.

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exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery App, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes in American history. Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, the world-altering decisions, and shocking scandals that have shaped our nation. You'll be there when the very foundations of the White House are laid in 1792, and you'll watch as the British burn it down in 1814. Then you'll hear the intimate conversations

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Articles of Confederation passed after the war, the government has relied on wealthy citizens to keep the government finances afloat. Most of your friends, prosperous businessmen like you, have donated to the cause multiple times. And like you, they've been repaid at a fraction of the total value. Inflation is running high. You could use this money to keep your business going and pay for your family's expenses, but you want the new government to succeed. Political instability would be even more ruinous in the long run. So over to the loan office you go. You walk through the door and greet the continental loan officer. He looks glum. Mr. Yates, I see your day is going about as well as my own. What's wrong?

I've just returned from New York City. The men there are angling for a change. They want to increase the powers of Congress. I fear they will try to effect a scheme. To do what? To change the government entirely. They believe Congress lacks sufficient powers. They believe the liberty of the press is a danger. They even believe that voting by ballot is a danger. I tell you, our system is under threat. You're not surprised Yates is sharing his dark opinions of the very country he is now serving as loan officer. Yates never keeps his opinions to himself. Each of the three times you visited the office to make a deposit, you've been treated to a long diatribe on the latest threats to American democracy. Well, Mr. Yates, I can't pretend there aren't problems with the current is to make a deposit, you've been treated to a long diatribe on the latest threats to American

democracy. Well, Mr. Yates, I can't pretend there aren't problems with the current system. We cannot go on as we have. I, for one, can't afford to continue lending money to our government for a fraction of its worth. And I cannot believe that you yourself are able to make a living considering your salary is based on the loans you raise. You've put your finger on it, sir. There are too few patriots like you who are willing to support the cause. The government is in debt. I myself am in debt. But I tell you, these would-be reformers don't have our best interests at heart. They are out to establish an American aristocracy. Why do we fight a war against foreign tyranny if we are to accept a homegrown one?

You make sympathetic noises and say your goodbyes. But as you leave the office, you feel a lightness in your step. Yates may see the coming change as a tragedy, but for you, it would be a relief. By this point, few people in America believed that the system of government was working. The issue went right to the very name of the new nation, the United States. As far as most Americans were concerned, their country was not a single sovereign entity, but a collection of 13 powers which agreed to a union of sorts. Most people, like Abraham Yates, preferred that the balance of power reside in the individual states. Despite the very personal financial difficulties the current system was placing on him,

Yates did not want to simply toss it aside. For him, the dangers of a strong, centralized federal system were too great. And as far as he was concerned, under the Articles of Confederation, the United States was moving forward. The government had set up a system for bringing new states into the Union. And it had just taken an important step in resolving some of the financial problems by voting on a central currency to be called the dollar. The system needed fixing, Yates and others believe, not replacing. But the problems facing the loose coalition of 13 states extended well beyond finance.

Since each state could decide for itself whether to help fund or commit troops to a continental army, the military was a shambles. And the 13 states did not grant the central government enough authority to conduct foreign affairs on their behalf. The result was bound to be utter chaos, with each state conducting its own diplomacy. Although few realized it at the time, the nation was splitting into two factions. As their name suggested, the Federalists supported a strong central government. The Anti-Federalists, later known as the Democratic-Republicans, insisted on a loose alliance of sovereign states. These competing camps were becoming two distinct political parties. But in a way, their difference expressed something greater.

The parties represented almost two different realities, two competing visions of the future, of how individuals felt about their relationship to power. Was it possible to trust a faraway government? For someone like Yates, the answer was no. In the 1780s, as a new form of government was being debated, Abraham Yates began a new career as an essayist. Writing under the pseudonym Rough Hewer, he lashed out at those who wanted a strong federal system and extolled the virtues of small government. When federalists began pushing for a national tax, he opposed it with all his might. To him, this was the very

thing over which the Americans had waged their war of independence. In May of 1787, the Constitutional Convention met in Philadelphia. After a raucous debate, it voted in favor of the Constitution of the United States. The draft document confirmed Abraham Yates' worst fears. Under it, the American system of government would be completely overhauled, with far more control at the federal level. The country would be led by a president who would wield enormous power. There would be two chambers of the legislature and a federal judiciary. But the Constitution wasn't a done deal. Two-thirds of the state legislatures first had to confirm it.

And one by one, the aye votes came in. First Delaware, then Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Georgia. There was a rumble among the delegates in New York's legislative chamber when it was announced that South Carolina had voted in favor of becoming the eighth state to ratify the Constitution. Only one more state was needed. The balance of power now lay with New York. If its state legislature voted in favor, the Constitution would go into effect. Abraham Yates was a state senator with considerable influence, and he made no secret of his distaste for the new Constitution.

But there was someone else who wouldn't let the new plan go down so easily. Alexander Hamilton was a member of the New York delegation and Yates' colleague. He had risen to fame as an aide to General Washington during the war, then resigned his commission in a dramatic fashion. He was one of the most famous men in the country by now, and among the strongest voices in favor of the Constitution and a federal system. The two men despised each other. It wasn't just their politics. Hamilton was young and handsome, while Yates was aging and plain. Both had humble origins, but Yates considered Hamilton the worst of all creatures, a common man ashamed of his roots, who fancied himself a member of the elite.

Hamilton returned the favor. He ridiculed Yeats' pride at being one of the common people. He declared that Yeats hates all high flyers, which is the appellation he gives to men of genius. Hamilton claimed that the Yeatses and their associates, meaning the anti-federalists, wanted to end the very concept of private property. This was completely untrue, and it infuriated Yates. The two men were headed for a showdown. Imagine it's May of 1788, and you're a young law student.

You've landed a job as an aide to the Confederation Congress, the governing body of the United States in New York. These are dramatic times. Yesterday, South Carolina approved the new Constitution. All eyes are now on New York. You hear a flurry of whispers as Abraham Yates enters the hall. He was only recently elected as a delegate from New York, but he is well known for all his longstanding service in many state governing bodies

and for his tireless opposition to the Constitution. Like most everyone else, you take note when Alexander Hamilton strides up to Yates. The two men have been working with all their might to pull their state and the nation in opposite directions. Yates speaks first. Sir, I completed a tally yesterday. It looks as though our colleagues will reject your constitution by a vote of 40 to 25. Your information is out of date, sir. The antis have said that with amendments, they will adopt the new constitution.

Amendments? What amendments? A bill of rights, sir. So you'll have your precious individual freedoms protected under the new federal system. You must think me a fool if you still believe I would stoop to put our country's freedoms in the hands of federalists. Yates, you obstinate cobbler. If you persist in blocking the Constitution, it may be the means to divide the Southern from the Northern states, and to divide the Union. I would be sorry of that, but I would risk a government of fewer states rather than adopt the Constitution. Bah! You

would see our country destroyed. I would see the freedoms that our citizens died for survive. Hamilton suddenly seems to become aware that nearly everyone in the hall is watching them. He lowers his voice. Our situation is difficult. I do not know how Providence will order it. Mr. Hamilton, I hardly think that Providence had a hand in a government involving corruption, falsehood, and misrepresentation. What are you insinuating, Yates? I am saying that you and your Federalists did not seem to concern themselves with Providence before when they were spreading false rumors about my positions on private property.

A government that is agreeable to Providence has for its pillars righteousness and truth. The Federalists only spread lies. Incensed, Hamilton turns on his heels and stalks away to a crowd of other delegates across the hall. You hurry over to Yates. I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't help overhear... No doubt the whole chamber could. But I wanted to say I support what you stand for. A country that loses its essential freedoms may as well not exist at all. But with Hamilton's

departure, all the fight seems to have gone out of Yates. He suddenly looks defeated. Thank you. I'm afraid you'll find not nearly enough delegates agree with us. At that, Yates turns in the opposite direction from Hamilton and disappears down the hall and out the building alone. Despite Abraham Yates' wrath, the states, including New York, ratified the Constitution. Adding a Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments convinced enough anti-federalists that the new system would ensure strength and stability while protecting individual freedoms. It was not enough for Yates, though. In disgust, he retired from national politics and lived his last years as the

mayor of his beloved city, Albany. But he remained deeply distrustful of the federal government and equally distrustful of elites. The populism that Yates personified became a defining feature of American society. Thomas Jefferson carried it forward when he became the nation's third president on a platform to resist Hamilton's push for a financial system rooted at the federal level. Three decades later, Andrew Jackson carried out a populist agenda when he favored states' rights and opposed the national bank. Abraham Yates channeled the emotions and convictions that incited America's revolution. He remained convinced to the end of his days that the federal

system was, as he said, a nefarious plot to destroy American liberties. For their part, federalists, including residents of his own town, saw him as a threat to the nation's stability. But he insisted that his anger was to a purpose, setting up the proper relationship between an individual and the government. I look to the rulers of my country with respect, but not servility. As I have to ask no favors, I fear no man's frown. I profess to be loyal, yet free, obedient, yet independent. On the next episode of American History Tellers, hear my conversation with author Russell Shorto about his book that inspired this series and how the ideals of the

American Revolution continue to be fought for today. Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. I hope you enjoyed this episode of American History Tellers. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Russell Shorto, edited and produced by Jenny Lauer, produced by George Lavender.

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