“May I sit down?”
Olmsted looks up and recognizes Charles Wyllys Elliott. Elliott, who owns an ironworks, is a leader in the New York business community. Olmsted has come to know him well since Charley Brace introduced them five years ago. The forty-year-old Elliott had been something of a mentor: he helped Brace to found the Children’s Aid Society, and he lent his support to Olmsted’s efforts to arm the Kansas settlers. Like Olmsted, he is an ardent free-soiler, but they share other interests. Elliott has worked as a landscape gardener and horticulturist and once studied under no less than Andrew Jackson Downing. He also is a literary man. He has written a biography of Toussaint-Louverture, a book on rural architecture, another on witchcraft, and has just published a two-volume history of New England. In other words, his mind is as eager and undisciplined as Olmsted’s own.
They briefly discuss Miller & Curtis’s failure—Elliott was a frequent contributor to Putnam’s magazine. Since April he has been a member of the newly created Board of Commissioners of the Central Park. He is a political progressive and the vice president of the city’s Republican party, but his presence on the board is also a reflection of his experience in landscape gardening.
The idea of a large park for the city, which Downing had proposed six years earlier, is becoming a reality, Elliott tells him. Olmsted is well aware of this. Ever since the city acquired the eight-hundred-odd acres of land, the Democratic mayor and the infant Republican party (which dominates the state legislature) have been in intense political struggle as to who will control this enormous public works project. The Republicans have prevailed. This state-appointed commission is the result.
As a former Whig and now a Republican, Olmsted is interested to hear an account of the feuding inside the commission. The current issue, Elliott tells him, is the appointment of a superintendent, who will be in charge of the workforce and of organizing a park police. It is a delicate business, and they still haven’t found the right man. Since the chief engineer overseeing the project is a mayoral appointee, the Republican members of the commission, who are in a majority, want a Republican. At the same time, to ensure the cooperation of the reform Democrats, the new superintendent cannot be perceived to be a “practical” man, that is, a party hack. He must be someone able to manage the park independently of politics.
“I am delighted to hear it,” says Olmsted. He heartily disapproves of the patronage and corruption that mark New York municipal affairs. “There’s no limit to the good influence a park rightly managed would have in New York, and that seems to be the first necessity of good management.”
“I wish we had you on the commission, but as we have not, why not take the superintendency yourself?” says Elliott. “Come now.”
“I take it? I’m not sure that I would not if it were offered me,” he answers, good-naturedly playing along with Elliott’s jest. “Nothing interested me in London like the parks, and yet I thought a great deal more might be made of them.” He is embroidering a little—he hasn’t given much thought to parks since he wrote that article for Downing, which was more than six years ago.
“Well, it will not be offered you; that’s not the way we do business. But if you’ll go to work, I believe you may get it.” Eliott adds forcefully, “I wish that you would!”
“You are serious?” It dawns on Olmsted that his friend is not just making conversation. He really means it.
“Yes; but there’s no time to lose.”
“What is to be done?” Olmsted leans forward. He has to think some more about this, but it may be the solution to his financial problems.
“Go to New York and file an application; see the commissioners and get your friends to back you.”
“I’ll take the boat tonight and think it out as I go. If no serious objection occurs to me before morning, I’ll do it.”
* * *
1. Two weeks later, the failure of an insurance company and a burst speculative bubble led to the so-called Panic of 1857. Several banks collapsed. Among the more than five thousand businesses that failed were the popular Philadelphia magazine Graham’s; John P. Jewett & Company, the publisher of Uncle Tom’s Cabin; and Miller & Curtis’s chief competitor, the New York book dealer Bangs Brothers & Company.
HITTING HEADS
John Olmsted, c. 1860.
Mary Cleveland Olmsted, undated.
“Wherever you see a head, hit it” is my style of work, & I have not yet sowed my wild oats altogether.
—FREDERICK LAW OLMSTED TO JOHN OLMSTED (1862)
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Change in Fortune
AFTER SPEAKING WITH CHARLES ELLIOTT, Olmsted hurried back that very evening to New York. The next day he consulted James Hamilton, an influential New York politician and the son of Alexander Hamilton. James Hamilton, who had helped Olmsted with his free-soil campaign, urged him to apply for the position and offered his assistance. Emboldened, Olmsted called on John Gray, the vice president of the commission (the president was away), with a letter of introduction from Elliott. Gray, a Republican, was impressed by Elliott’s strong endorsement, but he told Olmsted that he would need the support of the board’s treasurer, Andrew Haswell Green, a reform Democratic who often sided with the Republicans. Gray also suggested that Olmsted meet the chief engineer, Egbert Viele. Green was supportive, Viele less so, but Olmsted was sufficiently encouraged that he immediately wrote a letter to the commission. He presented himself in the best possible light without altogether distorting the truth:
For the past sixteen years my chief interest and occupation has been with those subjects, familiarity with which is most needed in this office. Economy in the application of agricultural labor has especially engaged my attention, and my observations on this subject have been extensively published and discussed in this country and reprinted in Europe. For ten years I have practically engaged in the direction and superintendence of agricultural laborers and gardeners in the vicinity of New York.
I have visited and examined as a student most of the large parks of Europe—British, French, Italian and German; and while thus engaged have given special attention to police details and the employment of labor in them.
It was true that he had supervised workmen, though only five or six, nowhere close to the five or six hundred who were already employed on the park. His Southern reporting could be described as dealing with “economy in the application of agricultural labor,” though his real “chief interest” for the last four years had been journalism and publishing.
Hamilton had advised him to seek letters of support from prominent New Yorkers, and Olmsted canvassed his friends and acquaintances. Parke Godwin, with whom he had worked on Putnam’s, wrote warmly that the candidate was “a practical farmer, a man of exquisite tastes, most delightful habits and decided character.” Asa Gray, the eminent Harvard botanist, was also fulsome: “I desire very simply and sincerely to say that I know Mr. Olmsted well, and that I regard him as eminently fitted for that position. I do not know another person so well fitted for it in all respects, both on practical and general scientific grounds; and I have no doubt that if the choice falls upon him, he will do great honor to the situation and to his already high and honorable reputation.”
Hamilton wrote the text of a separate petition:
The subscribers earnestly recommend Mr. F. Law Olmsted for the office of superintendent of The Central Park New York—From this Gentleman’s practical training as an agriculturist, His horticultural writings—His talents and character we believe him eminently qualified for the duties of that office—and that from his perseverance and industry he will perform them with usefulness to the Public; and credit to himself—September 1857
This document was signed by seven New York notables, including Hamilton, David Dudley Field, a prominent lawyer, and the wealthy philanthropist Peter Cooper. The most impressive signatory was Washington Irving, the grand old man of New York letters. There were several applicants. A building contractor and a surveyor had the qualific
ations but were considered too politically partisan. John Woodhouse Audubon, the son of the famous naturalist, was a skilled draftsman but did not impress the board. The two strongest candidates to emerge were Joel Benedict Nott, a chemistry professor at Union College in Schenectady, and Frederick Law Olmsted.
One of the commissioners later maintained that it was Washington Irving’s support that swung the final vote. Olmsted claimed not to be sure exactly why he was chosen. That was false modesty: he was an attractive candidate. He was young—Nott was sixty years old—and obviously energetic. His professional credentials were hardly more meager than those of a professor of chemistry. Olmsted had made a name for himself as a result of his Times articles, his books, and his work on Putnam’s. His own petition contained almost two hundred signatures—two hundred!—including that of William Cullen Bryant, the editor of the New York Evening Post. Bryant’s endorsement was important, for in 1844 he had been the very first (even before Downing) to call for the creation of a New York park. Since the idea of a large public park was a novelty, Olmsted’s firsthand knowledge of European parks (he had, after all, written about Birkenhead in The Horticulturist) was an asset. So were his politics. His efforts on behalf of the free-soilers made him welcome to the Republicans. His complete lack of involvement in municipal politics—and his reputation for scrupulous honesty—reassured the Democrats, especially Green, who, together with Elliott, championed Olmsted’s appointment. Finally, his cultural and social background and his deep Yankee roots were like those of the majority of the commissioners. He was one of their own. The final vote was eight for and one against.
• • • •
Only in hindsight can this moment be described as the auspicious beginning of a new career. Olmsted obviously worked hard to get the job. Yet it was not more than that—a job. This was after all quite a comedown: from editing “much the best Mag. in the world” and hobnobbing with Longfellow and Thackeray, to being a sort of glorified foreman. He saw himself as a man of letters, so what impelled him to seek this practical position? The annual salary was to be three thousand dollars when Olmsted applied, but arguments among the commissioners reduced it by half. At that point he almost withdrew his name from contention, but “having had time to reflect, ‘what else can I do for a living?,’ & also considering that the salary will probably be increased, if I prove the importance & responsibility of the office, I let it alone.” When he did get the position, he ruefully admitted in a letter to his brother that “on the whole, as the times are, I shall think myself fortunate if I can earn $1500.”
His eyes were open. He had put on the best possible front for the commissioners. He understood that chiefly his literary contacts had got him the job. He knew that these carried little weight with Egbert Viele, a hard-boiled West Point graduate and army veteran. Olmsted expected political intrigues. “I shall try the frank, conscientious & industrious plan,” he wrote his brother, John, laconically adding, “and if it fails, I shall have learned something more & be no worse off.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Colonel Meets His Match
OLMSTED’S FIRST DAY on the job was inauspicious. He showed up at Viele’s office and, after being kept waiting, was peremptorily sent off with an underling on a tour of the site. His guide purposely led him through the worst terrain. Olmsted’s street clothes were soon covered in mud, and he thought himself the butt of a crude joke. The workmen he encountered likewise treated him casually. The young gentleman was obviously an interloper. They knew that he had no real power—he could not hire or fire. They owed their jobs—and their political allegiance—to the Democratic party and its representative, the chief engineer.
Colonel Egbert Ludovicus Viele—he insisted on the military title—was not someone to be trifled with. A small man with a heavy mustache, he affected a rough, intimidating manner that hid his genteel, Knickerbocker background. His father, a judge and a regent of the University of the State of New York, was a state senator; his Dutch forebears had settled in upstate New York in the early seventeenth century. The thirty-two-year-old Viele had spent six years in the military, serving in the Mexican War, and fighting Indians on the Southwestern frontier. After resigning his commission he had come to New York, where he set himself up as a civil engineer. He had no training in this field—he had been in the infantry, not in the prestigious Corps of Engineers. Nevertheless, intelligent and enterprising, he knew how to organize men and get things done, and he persevered. He was employed by the State of New Jersey to conduct a topographical survey. Subsequently Fernando Wood, the mayor of New York, appointed him chief engineer of the projected Central Park.
Viele’s first task was to prepare a topographical survey. Although he had no background in landscape gardening, he proposed a design for the park. His straightforward, functional plan had the practical advantage of being adapted to the terrain and exploiting the existing natural features. A winding drive made a circuit of the park, to be traversed by four streets. There was a cricket ground and a botanical garden; he accorded pride of place to a fifty-acre parade ground. The Viele plan was officially accepted by Mayor Wood; however, when state legislators stripped the discredited mayor of many of his powers, this changed. The new park commissioners retained Viele to complete the survey, but set aside his plan. Ostensibly the reason was aesthetic—the design was held to be unimaginative. There was also reluctance to vest total control over the park in a Democratic appointee. On top of this disappointment, Viele was now saddled with Olmsted, this literary gent who, he suspected, didn’t know the first thing about the practical world.
Viele seriously misjudged Olmsted—and his abilities. The man who had ridden through Louisiana bayous and across the Texas plains was tougher than Viele imagined, and smarter. Within only a few weeks of his arrival, Olmsted made his presence felt. Some of the commissioners, including Elliott and Green, were disaffected with their arrogant chief engineer. In a deliberate snub, the board asked Olmsted to prepare a comprehensive report on draining the low and swampy land. Subterranean drainage was precisely one novel subject with which Olmsted was intimately familiar. It took him less than two weeks to submit a report. Unlike his literary writing, which was sometimes convoluted, Olmsted’s technical prose was a model of clarity. He described details, prices, and schedules. Drawing on his Staten Island experience, he included a long discussion of the benefits of manufacturing the drainage tiles on the spot. He quoted from current British technical journals. He reminded the commissioners that he had met Josiah Parkes, the world authority on underground drainage, and had inspected several installations in England and Ireland. He mentioned diplomatically that the chief engineer had to be consulted, while he left no doubt of his own expertise. A week later he submitted an equally authoritative report on tree planting, estimating the number, species, and cost of the trees required. Thus he defined the full range of his landscape-gardening knowledge. Round one to the literary gent.
The commissioners’ faith in their enterprising superintendent grew. In October they gave him full authority to hire up to one thousand laborers, and to dismiss those who were ineffective or malingerers. This was crucial, since many of the jobs were political sinecures. Soon Olmsted wrote proudly to his father: “I have got the park into a capital discipline, a perfect system, working like a machine.” In January the commissioners increased his salary to two thousand dollars, which was what Viele was being paid.
• • • •
In less than four months Olmsted had won the confidence of the board. He had taken firm control of his responsibilities, outmaneuvered Viele, and been given a raise—all as he had planned. But now he was overwhelmed by a singular personal tragedy. On November 13, 1857, his brother, John, wrote that his health had taken a considerable turn for the worse. He was in Nice, bedridden, and heavily sedated with opium. He was failing fast. “It appears we are not to see one another any more—I have not many days, the Dr says.” Eleven days later he was dead. He died attended by Mary and his th
ree children, as well as by his father, stepmother, and half sisters, who had hurried from their European tour to his side. He was buried in the Protestant cemetery overlooking the Mediterranean. He was thirty-two.
Nothing prepares one for a death in the family. Olmsted felt the loss all the more, as he and his brother had recently spent so much time together: on the farm, roughing it in the Southwest, editing the final manuscript of A Journey Through Texas. “In his death I have lost not only a son but a very dear friend,” wrote his father. “You almost your only friend.” That was an exaggeration—Frederick had many intimate friends, not the least of whom was his father. But the two brothers were unusually close. John’s last letter included a sweet farewell: “I have never known a better friendship than ours has been & there can’t be a greater happiness than to think of that—how dear we have been & how long have held such tenderness.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mr. Vaux
THE OLMSTED FAMILY returned from Europe in mid-January 1858. In a welcoming letter Olmsted brought his father up-to-date. A Journey in the Back Country was now substantially complete, save for a chapter on Southern politics. Olmsted was trying—without success—to find a publisher who would reprint A Journey in the Seaboard Slave States and A Journey Through Texas, which had gone out of circulation with the demise of Miller & Curtis. At the end of his letter, Olmsted added that he was “living with my partner Mr. Vaux, & up at the park every other day.”
A Clearing In The Distance: Frederick Law Olmsted and America in the 19th Cent Page 17