Signing Their Rights Away Read online

  When all was said and done, Delaware supported the Great Compromise, which gave small states equal representation in the Senate. And so Read went on to sign—the first to do so for what would become the so-called First State—and then some. When his old pal John Dickinson, a Quaker lawyer and gentleman farmer, was forced by illness to leave before the signing ceremony, he instructed Read to sign in his place. That made Read the only delegate to sign the Constitution twice. Delaware went on to become the first state to ratify.

  Read served as one of his state’s first two senators in the new government he played such a significant part in framing. He was a staunch Federalist and supporter of Alexander Hamilton’s national finance system. He left Congress in 1793 and served as chief justice of Delaware’s supreme court. Read died in New Castle at age sixty-five, his life and efforts having helped little Delaware earn the big rep as the very first state.

  The Signer Who Trusted No One

  BORN: 1747

  DIED: Marh 30, 1812

  AGE AT SIGNING: About 40

  PROFESSION: Lawyer, judge

  BURIED: Masonic Home Cemetery, Christiana, Delaware

  Gunning Bedford Jr.’s story is filled with mysterious gaps. No one knows his birthday. His early years are a blur. And details of his military record—if indeed he even served in the Revolutionary War—are so spotty that military biographers tend to omit him entirely from their catalog of soldier-signers. Luckily for us, however, he springs most vividly to life in the history of the Constitutional Convention, where his rants crystallized the deepest fears of all the delegates.

  This oversized, tempestuous delegate was born in Philadelphia, the son of an architect. Young Gunning didn’t enter college until he was twenty, which made him the old man on campus in Princeton, New Jersey. One of his roomies was James Madison, the future president and father of the U.S. Constitution. By the time he graduated, the affable, sociable Gunning had acquired a wife, Jane Ballaroux Parker, who brought the couple’s first child to hear Bedford’s valedictorian speech in 1771.

  Bedford studied law in Philadelphia but moved to Dover, Delaware, to practice in 1779; eventually the family moved to a townhouse in Wilmington. No one has ever found records of Bedford’s service during the Revolutionary War, but his daughter described him in her will as an aide-de-camp to Washington; she bequeathed to the Smithsonian a pair of pistols, which she said the good general had given her father as protection during a secret mission from Trenton to New York. After the war, Bedford was elected to the Continental Congress and, shortly after, began working as attorney general for Delaware.

  By the time he showed up in Philadelphia for the Constitutional Convention, Bedford was all too aware of the current government’s deficiencies. And since Rhode Island had refused to send delegates to the convention, he and his fellow Delawareans were representing the single smallest state. Bedford spoke often and had a penchant for making impolitic statements; historians have described him as impulsive, impetuous, rash, agitated, and quick to temper.

  In one early-June session, he erupted, accusing the big states of “crushing” the others or having a “monstrous influence” on matters. On the last day of the month, a sweltering Saturday, when the small states had presented their compromise, the big-state delegates still clung stubbornly to an all-or-nothing position: the Senate must also be based on a proportion of the population. Bedford leapt to his feet and denounced the big states, saving his sternest condemnation for the three southernmost states, the Carolinas and Georgia, which didn’t have huge populations but were nevertheless siding with the big states in anticipation that one day they, too, would be big. His double chins flapping in the heat, Bedford then railed at all the big states in general: “I do not, gentlemen, trust you! If you possess the power, the abuse of it could not be checked.… The small states can never agree to the Virginia Plan … Is it come to this, then, that the sword must decide this controversy? Will you crush the small states, must they be left unmolested? Sooner than be ruined, there are foreign powers who will take us by the hand!”

  With these words, Bedford had summarized the profound underlying fear of the convention: the attendees were terrified of being dominated and controlled by their fellow states. Working together they had shucked off a monarch. Who in their right mind would now voluntarily sign away their rights to Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, or Virginia? Bedford’s reference to the sword was an all-too-prescient suggestion of all-out civil war. But his veiled threat that the small states would ally themselves with foreign powers was as childishly irrational as it was unlikely. And yet, his words echoed in the delegates’ minds when they adjourned for Sunday. Upon returning for a vote on Monday, Georgia sided with the small states, and for the first time the entire delegation realized that in order to save the union the small states had to get their way on something. They were far from finished, but the logjam had been broken.

  The other delegates asked Bedford to sit on the committee that hammered out the details of the Great Compromise. Either they respected his opinions or they hoped to buy his silence by allowing him to have input on this critical matter. Once the idea of a bicameral legislature was set in stone, Bedford fought off any attempts to limit its power. “Mr. Bedford was opposed to every check on the Legislative,” James Madison wrote at one point, practically sighing with exhaustion over his quill. Bedford signed the Constitution and went home to promote it at his state’s ratifying convention.

  Bedford was passed over for the House and Senate in the new Congress but was picked by George Washington to be the first U.S. district judge for Delaware, a bench he occupied till the end of his days. He and his wife bought a 250-acre farm outside Wilmington, where they derived a nice income from crops and enjoyed some town and country socializing. He was active in education, served as the first president of Wilmington College, and became an abolitionist. Never regarded as a brilliant or profound jurist, the convention’s corpulent hothead mellowed into an able judge of moderate talents. He died in the spring of 1812, when he was sixty-five years old. He was buried in a Presbyterian churchyard, but his body was later moved to a Masonic cemetery, where he is a prominent resident. The bullet-shaped monument over his grave hints at his size, proclaiming, “His form was goodly.”

  The Signer Who Never Signed

  BORN: November 8, 1732

  DIED: February 14, 1808

  AGE AT SIGNING: 54

  PROFESSION: Lawyer

  BURIED: Friends Burial Ground, Wilmington, Delaware

  He supported the revolutionary cause but was opposed to the Declaration of Independence. He sought a peaceful resolution to the colonies’ troubles with Britain yet joined the militia. He hailed from teeny-tiny Delaware but supported nationalist policies that favored his larger neighbors. At first blush, John Dickinson appears to be all over the map on issues of independence and government—but the reality is much simpler: throughout his life, Dickinson was true to his ideals and his countrymen, and he was always willing to do what was asked by his country, including compromise.

  Born in Maryland to a fairly wealthy landowner, Dickinson was raised in a Quaker family; his father was a judge. Young John grew up on an estate, surrounded by books and educated by tutors. After clerking in a law office, he studied law at Middle Temple in London, a popular choice for well-educated men of the day (and the alma mater of more than a few signers of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution).

  Returning colony-side in 1757, he practiced law in Philadelphia. Having a foothold in both Delaware and Pennsylvania gave Dickinson some interesting political options. At the time, the two states had separate legislatures but shared a governor. Dickinson began his political career in Delaware but over the years would serve in both colonies’ legislatures. The Stamp Act of 1765, the infamous tax on paper documents, set Dickinson’s pen in motion, and the ink kept flowing for the rest of his life. He represented Pennsylvania at the 1765 Stamp Act Congress in New York, where he wrote the “Declaration o
f Rights and Grievances,” which stated that “no taxes be imposed on them but with their own consent, given personally, or by their representatives.” The Congress was considered a success, and the tax was (temporarily) repealed. Dickinson believed that the colonists should have the same rights as British subjects living across the pond. He was already on his way to earning a nickname that would stay with him throughout his life: the Penman of the Revolution.

  Beginning in 1767, Britain introduced the Townshend Acts, which brought higher taxes for daily staples such as paint, paper, and the colonists’ beloved tea. In response, Dickinson penned a famed series of essays, “Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania to the Inhabitants of the British Colonies.” A hard-working lawyer and farmer himself, Dickinson spoke out against unfair taxation but stopped short of encouraging an uprising: “Be upon your guard against those, who may at any time endeavour to stir you up, under pretences of patriotism, to any measures disrespectful to our Sovereign and our mother country …”

  In 1770, Dickinson married Mary Norris, the only child of one of Philadelphia’s richest men, and the couple moved to a large estate. Moderate, nonviolent Dickinson was a delegate to the first Continental Congress, in 1774, and sparred with the more radical or “violent” New England faction. Dickinson favored boycotts of British goods—hit them in their coin purse, he said. He wrote a “Petition to the King” that was later adopted by Congress. “We ask but for peace, liberty, and safety,” he wrote. But John Adams and other hardliners read his words as a softball; they wanted more. Dickinson didn’t care: “If you don’t concur with us in our pacific system, I and a number of us will break off from you in New England, and we will carry on the opposition by ourselves in our own way.”

  The stakes were higher at the second Continental Congress, in 1775. Skirmishes between British troops and colonists were heating up, and Dickinson introduced his “Declaration on the Causes and Necessity of Taking Up Arms” (along with coauthor Thomas Jefferson). “Our cause is just,” it stated. “Our union is perfect.” These statements sound bold until you read the words that soon follow them: “We mean not to dissolve that union which has so long and so happily subsisted between us, and which we sincerely wish to see restored.”

  Dickinson was opposed to Richard Henry Lee’s famed resolution on June 7, 1776, which called for the colonies to break with Britain. He thought the timing simply wasn’t right, that the colonies could resolve the situation without a war. The “Olive Branch Petition” was Dickinson’s last stab at making nice with George III, but the impetus toward independence had already left the gate. Rather than vote for or against independence, Dickinson stayed home when the vote was taken on July 2, 1776. By abstaining, he allowed Pennsylvania to vote yea, and the rest is hot dog and fireworks history. He differed greatly from his buddy Robert Morris, who also abstained. Morris went on to sign the Declaration of Independence, but Dickinson would not. He was not reelected to Congress at the time but did his best to support the majority. He joined the militia, starting out as a private and finishing as a brigadier general, ending his soldier days in 1777.

  While Jefferson toiled on the Declaration, Dickinson and a small committee crafted guidelines for this new independent nation. He became the primary author of the Articles of Confederation. In 1779, Dickinson signed his document when he returned to Congress, this time as a Delaware delegate. He went back to colonial politics in 1780, serving on the Delaware Assembly, and in 1781 was elected president (as chief execs of colonies were often called) of Delaware. He stayed in that post until 1782, when he became president of Pennsylvania. The jobs overlapped by a couple months, so Dickinson was governor of both states simultaneously.

  Not one to view his writing as too precious to touch, Dickinson agreed that the Articles of Confederation needed revision. He chaired the Annapolis Convention of 1786, the precursor to the Constitutional Convention. A year later, at the 1787 convention, Dickinson cut an interesting figure and was often described as sickly, emaciated, and habitually clad in black. He brought to mind an underfed Puritan, though he was in fact a very well fed Quaker. Though he favored a strong central government, he was still a vocal advocate for the small states, stating, “Rule by a foreign power would be preferable to domination by large states.”

  In the end, Dickinson—who was sick during much of the convention—could not attend the signing ceremony on September 17, 1787. George Read, his fellow Delaware delegate and friend, signed for him, making Dickinson the only signer of the Constitution who did not physically sign the document for himself. Once ratification was under way, however, Dickinson, writing under the pen name “Fabius,” encouraged citizens to support the new Constitution. His efforts helped Delaware become the first state.

  After retiring at age sixty, Dickinson wrote additional letters as Fabius, criticizing John Adams’s administration. He founded Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, contributing books and about seven hundred acres to the school. His life ended at home at age seventy-five, a loss noted by Thomas Jefferson: “A more estimable man or truer patriot could not have left us … his name will be consecrated in history as one of the great worthies of the revolution.” Dickinson’s house and plantation, Poplar Hall, are open to the public today.

  The Signer Who Overcame Religious Discrimination

  BORN: April 2, 1745

  DIED: August 16 or September 15, 1815

  AGE AT SIGNING: 54

  PROFESSION: Lawyer, planter

  BURIED: Wilmington and Brandywine Cemetery, Wilmington, Delaware

  George W. Bush was one. So was his vice president, Dick Cheney.

  Hilary Clinton was one, and they still let her serve. Today, Methodists make up the third-largest religious denomination in the United States. But during the Founding era, this offshoot of Anglicanism was still in its missionary stage, and its adherents were looked upon with suspicion by American patriots. None of the signers of the Declaration of Independence were Methodists, and only two Constitution signers were members of that denomination.

  Richard Bassett, one of those two men, was born in the northeastern corner of Maryland, just under the site of the present Pennsylvania border. When his tavern-keeper father, Arnold, ran out on the family, Richard’s mother, Judith, allowed her son to be raised by her wealthy relative Peter Lawson, who trained Bassett in the law and later bequeathed to him Bohemia Manor, a massive, six-thousand-acre estate near the Delaware border. He would spend the rest of his life split between the two states.

  Bassett practiced law in Dover and later Wilmington, Delaware. At first reluctant to bear arms against his king, he eventually served as a rebel captain of a Dover troop of light-horse militia. During the war, he met one of the nation’s first Methodist bishops, the charismatic Francis Asbury, and became a convert in 1779 (at a time when it was generally assumed that all Methodists were Tories). One night while the war raged, a mob appeared at the door of Bassett’s home while a local Methodist judge was dining inside. They demanded that Bassett hand over the man for punishment. The normally cheerful, affectionate Bassett donned his militia gear and went to the door brandishing his pistol and waving his sword. He defended his friend, saying he was no Tory. If you thugs want to manhandle the judge, Bassett said, you have to kill me first! The overzealous patriot mob melted away.

  The signer’s military service was brief, for he resigned from full-time active duty upon being sent to the Delaware legislature in 1776. He served in the legislature for a decade, right up to the year the Constitutional Convention was called. Bassett had attended the Annapolis Convention in 1786 and believed, as many did, that the government needed to remake itself or risk falling apart. By the time Bassett arrived in Philadelphia for the convention, his reputation had preceded him. He was one of the wealthiest participants, with two homes and another vast plantation. He had lobbied hard (and failed) to end the practice of slavery in his state. He had also funded a Methodist church in Dover and delivered sermons as a Methodist lay preacher.
/>   Bassett lodged in Philadelphia at a tavern that was a home away from home to several delegates, including John Rutledge and Charles Pinckney of South Carolina; Dr. Hugh Williamson, the star-gazing physician from North Carolina; Nathaniel Gorham of Massachusetts; and the brilliant but difficult Alexander Hamilton of New York. Nestled in their cozy quarters, these men from different walks of life and states of the union could socialize, raise a few pints, and discuss the affairs of the day. In this environment, they could view one another as real men, flesh-and-blood comrades, and not as overbearing self-interested politicians. Such a convivial situation went a long way toward softening Bassett’s position on the big vs. small state debates. He didn’t contribute much to the debates and served on no committees, but he never missed a session. He probably supported the New Jersey Plan and voted often with Dickinson and Read in favor of a strong central government. He signed the Constitution at the end of the summer and went home to pitch the new document to his fellow future first-staters.

  Soon afterward, Bassett was elected one of the first two Delaware senators to serve in the country’s new Congress. In that role, he was instrumental in designing the structure of the American court system. In favor of moving the nation’s capital from New York City to a more politically neutral territory, he voted for the creation of the District of Columbia. When he left Congress in 1793, he focused on state politics for the rest of his life, first as a judge and later as Delaware’s governor. A lifelong Federalist, he was one of the “midnight judges” John Adams tried to appoint during the waning hours of his presidency, under a statute of the Judiciary Act of 1801 (which Adams had hastily passed before leaving office). But before Bassett could ascend to the bench, newly minted president Thomas Jefferson blocked the appointments—a move that was later supported by the Supreme Court in the famous case Marbury v. Madison, which found that Adams’s Judiciary Act was unconstitutional.