Signing Their Rights Away Read online

  In Congress, Sherman contributed to committees on finance (preferring higher taxes to overprinting paper money) and on military affairs. He served on the Committee of Five that drafted the Declaration of Independence, working alongside primary penman Thomas Jefferson as well as Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and Robert R. Livingston. He also helped draft the Articles of Confederation.

  By the time of the Constitutional Convention, Sherman wasn’t quite ready to abandon the Articles of Confederation—he just wanted to make a few tweaks, and, more important, he wanted a legislature with the power to enforce the laws. At the convention, he spoke at least 138 times in a New England accent that was, for many delegates, incomprehensible; Sherman was a Connecticut Yankee in a well-bred and well-born court.

  In his journals, Georgia delegate William Pierce observed that Sherman’s manner might be peculiar, but there was no doubting the man’s ability: “Mr. Sherman exhibits the oddest shaped character I ever remember to have met with. He is awkward, unmeaning, and unaccountably strange in his manner. But in his train of thinking there is something regular, deep and comprehensive; yet the oddity of his address, the vulgarisms that accompany his public speaking, and that strange New England cant which runs through his public as well as his private speaking make everything that is connected with him grotesque and laughable:—and yet he deserves infinite praise—no Man has a better Heart or a clearer Head. If he cannot embellish he can furnish thoughts that are wise and useful. He is an able politician, and extremely artful in accomplishing any particular object; —it is remarked that he seldom fails.”

  Throughout the convention, Sherman was clear about his views. He believed that national government should address defense, foreign treaties, and trade while leaving most other matters to the states. He also opposed long term limits, warning that if politicians stayed in the capital for extended periods, they would start adopting the habits and priorities of other politicians and forget the people they represented. (We’re not sure that having two-year terms for representatives has done anything to address this problem.)

  For all his concerns about politicians losing sight of their constituents, Sherman was against allowing every citizen to vote. He placed little faith in the average person to make a well-informed decision, saying, “They want [for] information and are constantly liable to be misled.” Sherman wanted the president to be elected by the legislature; if he bungled the job, the legislature would have the power to remove him.

  Sherman made history by breaking the convention’s biggest logjam: the problem of representation. As discussed in the introduction, the convention was divided between large states favoring the Virginia Plan (which offered proportional representation based on population) and small states favoring the New Jersey Plan (which allowed for one vote per state, regardless of size). Sherman’s “Eureka!” moment became known as the Great Compromise: there would be two houses, one in which representation was based on population, and the other would be fixed, providing equal representation for every state no matter its size. The deal stuck and the tenor of the Convention changed dramatically, allowing the delegates to move forward together.

  After signing, Sherman wrote numerous articles supporting the Constitution for newspapers back home in Connecticut. And this hard-working Puritan didn’t stop once ratification was achieved, despite his advancing age (the only signer older than Sherman was Benjamin Franklin). He went on to be a member of the House of Representatives in the first Congress and then worked as a senator, therefore serving in both chambers of the bicameral legislature whose existence he helped ensure. Few men could, ahem, fill his shoes.

  Fans of Sherman could argue that the cobbler-judge-surveyor-writer-politician should be remembered as a “co-father” of the Constitution, along with Madison, if for no other reason than that the convention might have imploded without him. His famous descendants include editorial guru Maxwell Perkins and actor Perry King (best known for his role on the 1980s television series Rip Tide). Sherman was buried at New Haven Green, but his grave was later moved (as has often occurred with the remains of the signers) to New Haven’s Grove Street Cemetery.

  IV. New York

  The Signer Who Died in a Duel

  BORN: January 11, 1755

  DIED: July 12, 1804

  AGE AT SIGNING: 32

  PROFESSION: Lawyer

  BURIED: Trinity Churchyard, New York

  Slight in size but big on brains, the prickly and persevering “Little Lion” is one of the most impressive and controversial framers of the Constitution. His list of enemies was nearly as long as his list of accomplishments, but the latter has certainly stood the test of time, establishing Alexander Hamilton as a major architectural force in the birth of the U.S. government.

  Most of his fellow signers hailed from privileged backgrounds. Hamilton, however, was born out of wedlock to a French mother and a Scottish father in the British West Indies. His father split, his mother died, and by age thirteen Hamilton found himself alone in the world. But the boy was sharp. He apprenticed to a merchant in town, but his intellect and ambition craved more. When a great hurricane struck the islands in 1772, he wrote a letter describing it, which ended up printed in the local newspaper. Hamilton’s writing was impressive, prompting Nicholas Cruger, one of his bosses, and local Presbyterian minister Hugh Knox to raise funds to send him to America. They packed him off with a bit of money and several letters of introduction. One was addressed to fellow Presbyterian William Livingston of New Jersey, who took in Hamilton for a spell, arranged for his education, and later signed the Constitution with him.

  From an early age, Hamilton supported the revolutionary cause. When he was just eighteen years old, he made speeches in support of the Boston Tea Party and established his reputation as a pamphleteer. When the war came calling, it was like a siren’s song. He volunteered for the militia and was drafted by the state, with a commission as a captain. He fought in Long Island, White Plains, Trenton, and Princeton, but his most significant assignment came in 1777, when he became one of General George Washington’s aides-de-camp. The two men (separated in age by two decades) became fast friends and developed a relationship akin to father and son. (Not surprising since Washington fathered no children, and Hamilton had been abandoned so young.) Although the trusted confidantes later suffered a falling-out, Washington still trusted Hamilton enough to give him command of a battalion of light infantry in Yorktown. There, the young captain led a famous and tremendously successful nighttime bayonet assault on Redoubt 10, five days before the surrender of General Cornwallis.

  After Yorktown, Hamilton returned to Albany and to his wife, Elizabeth Schuyler (they had wed the previous year). The Schuylers were a well-connected and politically powerful family in New York, and the marriage gave him access to power and credibility. Both his law practice and his political career took off.

  Hamilton attended the Congress of the Confederation and worked closely with Robert “Financier of the Revolution” Morris, who was then the nation’s Superintendent of Finance and in charge of establishing monetary policy. Hamilton moved to New York City to set up his law practice, moving on to the state legislature and attending the Annapolis Convention in 1786. In fact, Hamilton wrote the report issued at the end of the Annapolis meetings, calling for the 1787 Constitutional Convention. Hamilton’s strong nationalist views were already fixed, and he is considered one of the driving forces behind the convention’s existence.

  Unfortunately, the rest of the New York delegation was considerably less enthusiastic. Because Hamilton was guaranteed to attend, thanks to his father-in-law’s connections, Governor George Clinton also sent John Lansing and Robert Yates—two men opposed to a strong national government. Moreover, Governor Clinton stipulated that at the convention two members of the New York delegation were required for the state to cast a vote, thus ensuring that Hamilton would perpetually be the odd man out.

  But feisty Hamilton was always ready for a rumble. He stayed silent for t
he first few weeks of the convention, but on June 18 he started talking and quickly made up for lost time; he delivered what is considered the convention’s longest speech, clocking in at five hours. He claimed that Britain’s government was the best in the world (probably not the most propitious time in history to make that case), and he presented his own plan for government, strongly modeled after Mother England. In his proposal, one branch of the legislature would serve for life, as would the chief executive. For all intents and purposes, Hamilton appeared to favor a form of monarchy. He also warned that “the people do not have the intelligence to determine what is right” and wanted restrictions on who would be eligible to vote. He feared, perhaps rather presciently, that “if elections are held too frequently, the people lose interest and do not bother to vote. Then the small number who do bother to vote can control the country.”

  The plan was neither seconded nor sent to committee.

  This cold reception may be what prompted Hamilton to leave the convention at the end of June, returning home to take care of various business matters. His fellow New York delegates didn’t last much longer; by July, Lansing and Yates had given up and gone home as well. Hamilton might not have rejoined the convention if he hadn’t received a desperate letter from George Washington in August, urging him back to Philadelphia. More nationalists were needed, Washington implored, and so Hamilton reentered the fray. Even though he was then the only member present from his delegation and therefore ineligible to vote, he nevertheless lent his support to the nationalist camp. He also served on the Committee of Style and Arrangement, which created the final language of the Constitution.

  Yet even after signing his name to the document—the only delegate from New York to do so and a noteworthy accomplishment in itself—Hamilton’s biggest contribution to the cause was yet to come.

  Enter Publius. This pseudonymous essayist took to the New York newspapers in a nonstop ratification campaign extolling the virtues of the Constitution. Though the authorship of some of the essays is disputed, it is believed that Hamilton wrote fifty-one of the eighty-five essays, of which seventy-seven were published in the newspapers. The entire collection was eventually gathered as Federalist: A Collection of Essays, which has become known more commonly as the Federalist Papers. Ratification passed in New York by a narrow margin of 30-27, and the essays remain a political-science touchstone to this day.

  When Washington took office as president, he appointed Hamilton as the country’s first secretary of the Treasury (after Robert Morris declined the offer), and in this post Hamilton retooled the nation’s entire financial system. He wanted the national government to take over state debts from the war. He wanted a national bank. He wanted the nation to be a force for industry and insisted on building infrastructure to support its growth. He was on a roll.

  But these ideas weren’t popular with everyone. Many people were still concerned about the federal government growing too powerful, and Hamilton’s aggressive policies, some believed, were just making matters worse. No one expressed these views more consistently than Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, whose constant bickering with Hamilton would lay the groundwork for the two-party political system that exists in the United States to this day.

  Jefferson argued that Hamilton didn’t understand the plight of the common man, which is plenty ironic, given that Hamilton grew up parentless and penniless while Jefferson was a patrician planter’s son. Their supporters tended to divide along class lines, with Federalists (city-dwelling bankers and businessmen) supporting Hamilton and Democratic-Republicans (pioneers and small farmers) supporting Jefferson.

  Hamilton wrote a good bit of Washington’s famous farewell address before another Federalist, John Adams, was set to take office. Though Hamilton and Adams belonged to the same party, they were far from friends. In the 1800 election, Hamilton blasted Adams in a missive titled “Letter from Alexander Hamilton Concerning the Public Conduct and Character of John Adams.” After Aaron Burr, the vice-presidential candidate for the Democratic-Republican Party, leaked a copy to the newspapers, the Federalist Party was divided and Thomas Jefferson waltzed into the White House. No wonder Adams bad-mouthed Hamilton as “a bastard brat of a Scotch peddler.”

  Of course, this wouldn’t be the last time that Hamilton and Burr crossed paths. In 1804, Burr ran for governor of New York against a Democratic-Republican and wanted the support of Federalists. Naturally, Hamilton urged his fellow party members to support Burr’s opponent and even wrote newspaper editorials describing Burr as dangerous and untrustworthy. The smear tactics worked. Burr lost the election and was so angry that he challenged Hamilton to a duel. The two-pistol dance with death was on.

  The encounter was scheduled for July 11, 1804, on the west bank of the Hudson River, near what is now Weehawken, New Jersey. Hamilton’s shot went wide, but Burr’s aim was true. A wounded Hamilton was rowed across the Hudson to New York City and died the next day, July 12, at age forty-nine. Burr fled the city and was charged with murder, though he never stood trial.

  If you wish to commune with the spirit of Hamilton, a plaque in Weehawken commemorates the duel. Hamilton is buried in Trinity Church, in the heart of New York’s financial district. His house, known as the Grange, is a National Park site in New York City and is open to the public. The home has the notoriety of having been relocated not once, but twice. For its most recent move, the house had to be lifted off the ground, hoisted into the air on a platform of stilts, and transported over the corner of a neighboring church before being rolled to its new location in Saint Nicholas Park in Harlem.

  Of course, if you’re not in the mood for travel, you can simply head to your local ATM and snag a $10 bill. Hamilton is one of only three nonpresidents (along with Benjamin Franklin and Salmon P. Chase) to be honored on U.S. paper currency.

  V. New Jersey

  The Signer-Poet

  BORN: November 30?, 1723

  DIED: July 25, 1790

  AGE AT SIGNING: 63

  PROFESSION: Lawyer, writer, shipowner

  BURIED: Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, New York

  William Livingston may have believed the pen was mightier than the sword, but he was willing to take up both, as needed, throughout his life. A would-be painter who longed to be a gentleman farmer, Livingston set aside his dreams to obey his family’s wishes: he went to law school. If his creativity wasn’t encouraged, it was never completely extinguished either. He exhibited fresh ideas through his writing throughout the course of a distinguished political career.

  The Livingston family was a financial and social powerhouse in New York and beyond. William was born the fifth child (out of nine) on the family’s mammoth estate, Livingston Manor, along the Hudson River. He was raised by his maternal grandmother and, when he was only twelve years old, spent a year with a missionary among the Mohawk. His family worked in the mercantile and fur trades, and they believed that experience on the frontier would be good for William, since he might one day take over the business. Later in life he wrote that the experience gave him “a good opportunity to learn the genius, and manners of the natives.”

  But Livingston didn’t want to be a businessman. What he longed to do was study painting in Italy. Then, as now, most parents weren’t thrilled with the prospect of sending a child to art school, so they shipped him off to Yale instead. He pursued law and graduated at the top of his class with a command of several languages—and a desire to write. While clerking for lawyers in New York City, he began drafting a series of essays that skewered the legal profession, the Church of England, and, later, the British. He needed a creative outlet, and he had finally found one.

  A self-described “ugly-looking fellow”—the man had a ski slope of a schnoz and did himself no favors with his choice of hairstyle—William fell in love with Susanna French, who hailed from a prominent landowning family that had seen some tough financial times. Initially his parents refused to consent to the union, but they came around when William agreed to dela
y the wedding by three years. These plans unexpectedly went astray, however, when Susanna found herself pregnant; the couple wed in secret and moved in with an aunt. Livingston’s family was not pleased. Later, when his father gave gifts of New York City townhouses to his boys, William was the only son who didn’t receive one.

  Throughout his successful legal career, Livingston kept writing, crafting poems, and railing against the Church of England. He decried the church’s attempts to control King’s College (Columbia University), which Livingston thought should be a nonsectarian school; when he was offered a position on the school’s board, he declined. Eventually, his editorials became so incendiary that his printer refused to publish them. He defended his prose, saying, “I do declare that I never wrote a syllable with a view of censuring the church as such: I have only exposed her unreasonable encroachments … it was my duty, my bounden, my indispensable duty.”

  It’s no surprise that a lawyer from a prominent family who had a talent for stirring up the pot would find his way into politics. Along with his older brother Philip, William became a member of New York’s colonial legislature. But over time he soured on New York politics and moved to New Jersey, where he bought an estate near Elizabethtown (Elizabeth) and built a mansion called Liberty Hall. Shortly after moving in, a young lad who had recently arrived from the West Indies showed up at his door and presented him with several letters of introduction. Livingston took in the young boy and arranged for his education. The kid turned out well—his name was Alexander Hamilton.