Letters from an American - February 14, 2024

Episode Date: February 15, 2024

Get full access to Letters from an American at heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/subscribe Get full access to Letters from an American at heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/subscribe

Letters from an American Written by Heather Cox Richardson Read by the author February 14th, 2024. I'm at home for a short break, and Buddy and I have spent the day taking it easy, a plan I intend to continue for the next several hours. But rather than posting a picture and taking the night off,

I'm reposting one of my favorite pieces ever for what it says about love, loss, humanity, and history. It feels appropriate these days. On Valentine's Day in 1884, Theodore Roosevelt lost both his wife and his mother. Four years before, Roosevelt could not have imagined the tragedy that would stun him in 1884. February 14, 1880 marked one of the happiest days of his life. He and the woman he had courted for more than a year, Alice Hathaway Lee, had just announced their engagement. Roosevelt was over the moon. I can scarcely realize that I can hold her in my arms and kiss her and caress her and love her as much as I choose," he recorded in his diary.

What followed were, according to Roosevelt, three years of happiness greater and more unalloyed than I have ever known fall to the lot of others. After they married in fall 1880, the Roosevelts moved into the home of Theodore's mother, Martha Bullock Roosevelt, in New York City. There they lived the life of wealthy young socialites, going to fancy parties and the opera and traveling to Europe. When Roosevelt was elected to the New York State Assembly in 1881, they moved to the bustling town of Albany, where the state's political

wire pullers worked their magic. Roosevelt's machine politician colleagues derided the rich, Harvard-educated young man as a dude, and they tried to ignore his irritating interest in reforming society. In the summer of 1883, Alice discovered that she was pregnant, and that fall she moved back to New York City to live with her mother-in-law. There she awaited the birth of the child who Theodore was certain would arrive on February 14th. As headstrong as her father, Roosevelt's daughter beat her father's prediction by two days. On February 12th, Alice gave birth to the couple's first child, who would be named after her. Roosevelt was at work in Albany and learned the happy news by telegram, but Alice was only fairly well, Roosevelt noted.

She soon began sliding downhill. She did not recover from the birth. She was suffering from something at the time called Bright's disease, an unspecified kidney illness. Roosevelt rushed back to New York City, but by the time he got there at midnight on February 13th, Alice was slipping into a coma. Distraught, he held her until he received word that his mother was dangerously ill downstairs. For more than a week, Middy Roosevelt had been sick with typhoid. Roosevelt ran down to her room, where she died shortly after her son got to her bedside. With his mother gone, Roosevelt hurried back to Alice. Only hours later, she too died. On February 14, 1884, Roosevelt slashed a heavy black X in his diary and wrote,

the light has gone out of my life. He refused ever to mention Alice again. out of my life. He refused ever to mention Alice again. Roosevelt's profound personal tragedy turned out to have national significance. The diseases that killed his wife and mother were diseases of filth and crowding, the hallmarks of the growing Gilded Age American cities. Mitty contracted typhoid from either food or water that had been contaminated by sewage, since New York City did not yet treat or manage either sewage or drinking water. Alice's disease was probably caused by a strep infection, which incubated in the teeming city's tenements, where immigrants, whose wages barely kept food on the table, crowded together. Roosevelt had been interested in urban reform because he worried that incessant work and unhealthy living conditions

threatened the ability of young workers to become good citizens. Now though, it was clear that he and other rich New Yorkers had a personal stake in cleaning up the cities and making sure employers paid workers a living wage. The tragedy gave him a new political identity that enabled him to do just that. Ridiculed as a dude in his early career, Roosevelt changed his image in the wake of the events of February 1884. Desperate to bury his feelings for Alice along with her, Roosevelt escaped to Dakota territory, to a ranch in which he had invested the previous year. There he rode horses, roped cattle, and toyed with the idea of spending the rest of his life as a western rancher. The brutal winter of

1886 to 1887 changed his mind. Months of blizzards and temperatures as low as minus 41 degrees killed off 80% of the Dakota cattle herds. More than half of Roosevelt's cattle died. Roosevelt decided to go back to Eastern politics, but this time, no one would be able to make fun of him as a dude. In an era when the independent American cowboy dominated the popular imagination, Roosevelt now had credentials as a Westerner. He ran for political office as a Western cowboy, taking on corruption in the East. And with that cowboy image, he overtook his Eastern rivals. Eventually, Roosevelt's successes

made establishment politicians so nervous they tried to bury him in what was then seen as the graveyard of the vice presidency. Then, in 1901, an unemployed steel worker assassinated President William McKinley and put Roosevelt, that damned cowboy, as one of McKinley's advisors called him, into the White House. Once there, he worked to clean up the cities and stop the exploitation of workers, backing the urban reforms that were the hallmark of the progressive era.

Letters from an American was produced at Soundscape Productions, Denham, Massachusetts. Recorded with music composed by Michael Moss.