By the Letter
There’s power in the written word—folded, sealed, stamped, and sent through the mail.
In the summer of 1996, I decided to write to three college friends while we were away from school for three months. Two were young ladies I fancied, and I figured that putting in the work now would have huge payoffs by the time school was back in session, even if I struck out with one. The other pen pal was a guy friend who was more knowledgeable than I was in how to lift weights, and therefore would share valuable tips. I thought I might as well get in better shape, so when August rolled around, I could dazzle these ladies with my charm and a nice physique.
This is how one becomes so popular in college.
Writing letters that summer felt like Christmas in July, arriving one envelope at a time. There’s nothing like the feeling of getting a personalized handwritten letter, one with a stamp, addressed to you, from somewhere else.
The exact details of every correspondence between each friend are a little hazy. However, I remember my friend Jason sending me a workout that included an exercise called “skull crushers,” which made my triceps look impressive while wearing a t-shirt. I did work out a lot that summer; I got into such great shape that I ran a mile in under 6 minutes, something I do not believe anyone else has accomplished in the history of running. I could be wrong about that.
In the days when computers were machines that produced term papers and book reports, the door to the world was opened through envelopes. That summer of ’96 will forever be remembered as the summer when a few friendships got closer, and eventually, love showed up almost a year later—even if it didn’t last. Looking back, the Summer of 1996 felt like a song.
Since we skipped the Maundy Monday Newsletter this week, I thought it would be fun to write an essay on an anniversary we celebrate this week, where the power of a letter changed how we viewed an American president.
Helpful Advice
While my letters hoped to improve my standing in the romance department, one letter reached a presidential hopeful with advice about his looks that would prove beneficial.
Grace Bedell was born in 1848 in upstate New York and grew up in a small rural town on the shores of Lake Erie called Westfield. By 1860, Bedell was deeply invested in current affairs, particularly the important presidential election that Fall. Her father arrived home one day and showed her a picture of the Republican nominee, a US Representative from Illinois named Abraham Lincoln. She quickly determined that Mr. Lincoln needed help in the looks department.
So on October 15, 1860, she wrote him a letter encouraging him to grow a beard to improve his chances of becoming president.
The 11-year-old didn’t bury the lede. She stated that growing a beard “would look a great deal better for your face is so thin.” If that wasn’t enough, Grace took a more reasoned approach: “All the ladies like whiskers, and they would tease their husbands to vote for you, and then you would be President.”
You can see, Grace wasn’t wrong.
Lincoln wrote back quickly, dispatching a note that said he didn’t have a daughter to give him such feedback, and while he wouldn’t make any promises, he would take growing some whiskers under consideration.
Within a month, he looked like this:
Imagine Lincoln smiling when he read this letter from a little girl from across the country, trying to be helpful, and think about the joy the little girl received a few days later with a response.
The rest, as they say, is history. Lincoln would go on to win the White House, and on his way there, he stopped in Westfield, NY, to meet his pen pal. When the President-Elect announced he wanted to thank Grace, he was directed to her, and reports at the time said she stood “blushing all over her fair face.” Lincoln kindly told her, “You see. I let these whiskers grow for you.”
A Moment of Grace
The connection between the president of the United States and a young girl during a challenging, uncertain, and scary time is a powerful moment to contemplate. Don’t you think there’s grace in the gap of time it takes for words on paper to reach someone? Does that make sense? I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this, it’s just a cool story.
In the following years, while President Lincoln was trying to save the Union, Grace faced the harsh reality of growing up in mid-19th-century America. At 15, she decided she needed to help her parents’ economic hardship, so she wrote to Lincoln again, asking for a job in the Treasury Department.
Only this time, he didn’t respond.
But that’s not the end of Grace’s story. In 2007, historian Karen Needles, the Director of the Lincoln Archives Digital Project, discovered another letter Bedell sent to the president as a follow-up. This second letter was technically her third since it referenced a previously sent note that was never answered.
The young girl gave Lincoln the grace that he probably never saw either one because she believed that Lincoln’s kindness wouldn’t refuse to respond if he did, and that was the end of the letter exchange.
However, in her relationship with the president, Grace showed she was a determined, ambitious woman who wasn’t afraid to reach out to anyone. Although the letter exchanges with Lincoln didn’t continue, Bedell would use her skills to set an adventurous course for her life. She married a retired Civil War sergeant, and eventually they made their way to the western frontier of Kansas, where they opened a bank, had a son, and lived until she passed away in 1936. She never sought fame and fortune from her interactions with Abraham Lincoln and her small role in shaping his iconic image.
Notes and Beards
I tried growing a beard five years ago. Nobody wrote encouraging me to do it because nobody cared what I looked like. But it was also a scary, uncertain time, so I thought changing my looks might distract me. It worked. Oh, I was distracted alright.
This is St. Patrick’s Day 2020. The first day of the “Beard Project.”
Over the next two months, I tried like crazy to grow something. This is how it turned out:
This is Memorial Day, 2020. Instead of “whiskers,” I grew “patches.” I agree, it’s rough. I look like your high school freshman history teacher.
I’m a big fan of writing notes and letters. It’s an important part of my job, but I also make it a personal priority. Anonymous and I write each other notes from time to time. They weren’t always long love letters, though.
When we first started dating, I would leave these stick-figure cartoon drawings for her. They would feature her, me, and Blue, showing off the good time we enjoyed in poorly formed artwork only a person who couldn’t grow a beard could create. I think she kept them. I haven’t seen them since I tried the “Beard Project.” Maybe I should try to resurrect this project again, or perhaps I should threaten to revive the “Beard Project, “ which will make them magically appear.
Do any of you write letters, beyond sending cards to loved ones? I’m thinking of creating a writing project where anyone who wants can exchange letters with me. Anonymous and I think keeping this method of correspondence is crucial, as anything we send into the digital world could be erased, and what will future historians think about our world unless they discover pen on paper?
Do you agree? Anyone interested in becoming pen pals?
Writing this essay brought me back to when I first began writing Okay History. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you would like to see more of these general history essays.
Thanks for supporting my work. I’ll see you all on Monday.
Have a great weekend!
Okay,
Chris