Watching the news is disheartening: we have the war on crime, the war on terror, the war on poverty, the war on drugs… Too many wars! With so many wars happening all at once, it’s easy to bury my head in the sand or under a pillow and give in to the idea that “I’m just one person; what can I possibly do to make a difference? What impact can little ol’ me have?”
Maybe we must be born into greatness. But several of the “greats” in the world have evolved from nothing, so there must be more to it. Maybe we must face trials. There may be some validity in that statement. But how intimately must we “face” these trials? Does watching it on the news count? Does it count if it happens to someone we know? And what kind of “trial” must we face? Most would say that a divorce counts as a trial, but unfortunately, almost everyone has faced a divorce – either themselves or through someone they know and yet certainly not everyone goes on to make a difference in society. So the trial must be somewhat unique, but then how many people must the trial affect? A few hundred – like in the unexpected wrongful death of well-loved church member? A few thousand – like the all-too-common school shootings? A few million – like the hunger associated with third-world countries? One idea seems certain; although our experiences in life may lead us to greatness, only a cataclysmic event has the ability to push us to act out our potential – and what constitutes a cataclysmic event is subjective. And how people react to our actions determines whether or not society will remember us. So with this in mind, the basic requirements for making a difference and reaching the level of greatness include 1) having a voice, 2) living in the appropriate time period, 3) witnessing a trial, 4) enduring a loss, 5) reaching a tipping point, and 6) having a receptive audience. I thought of all this during my recent visit to Cincinnati, Ohio to tour the Harriet Beecher-Stowe House. Her life exemplified these requirements and as a result, as President Lincoln said, “[was] the little lady that started a war.” Her writing made a difference; she made a difference. She reached the level of greatness. Harriet Beecher Stowe was not born great but life lead her to greatness and certain events pushed her to reach her potential and write Uncle Tom’s Cabin in 1851. For those of you who haven’t read this classic there is still time - it’s not too late to read it. I read it as an adult and it still caught me in its grip frantically turning pages to discover what would happen to the gentle-souled Tom, to little Eva, to rambunctious Topsy, to courageous George and Eliza, to cruel hearted Legree. I cried with these characters over their disappointments, challenges, and the cruelty they encountered; and I smiled when they loved, forgave, and triumphed as Harriet Beecher Stowe desperately portrays the harsh conditions of slavery in America’s South. It catapulted Southerners to erroneously defend their “traditions” and enraged Northerners into action. Out of everyone in America, why Harriet Beecher Stowe? Why this 40 year-old woman? What lead her to take action and write? A path existed and it wasn’t a short one. Harriet Beecher Stowe had a voice. Harriet’s family provided the foundation for her first step on her path to greatness. As a sought-after Calvinist preacher, her father taught, and eventually became president, at the Lane Theological Seminary in Cincinnati, OH. And although her intensely religious mother would have also helped lay that foundation of strong morals, she passed away when Harriet was only five years old. Fortunately, Harriet’s sister Catharine Beecher, an adamant proponent for female education and herself a teacher, picked up the reins and educated Harriet in math, Latin, and philosophy – topics well beyond the typical education for girls at the time. Because of her father’s reputation, her sister’s well-known advocacy for higher education for females, and Harriet’s own talent for absorbing knowledge, when Harriet spoke, people listened. Harriet also lived in a tumultuous time period when the average member of society thought the education of women a baseless expense. Fortunately, upon moving to the two-story white house on top of the hill at 2950 Gilbert Avenue in Cincinnati with her father, he allowed the literary club of elite intellectuals called the Semi-Colon Club to meet in his study and encouraged Harriet to participate in their discussions. And as my feet step onto the once carpeted floors of this same study over 180 years later and hear the creak of the now bare wood floors, it does not take too much imagination to picture Harriet pulling a book from her father’s wooden roll-top book cabinet and then sitting on the richly upholstered divan nearby ready to listen with an open mind and to contribute to the discussion her own thoughts on the text or even share with the group her own budding writing samples. One particular member of the group, the seminary professor Calvin Stowe, noticed Harriet’s mindfulness and began to court her. And as I slowly ascend the stairs to the private chambers, I can imagine the young Harriet blushing as she looked into the mirror contemplating this prospect of marriage. And it pleased her. Unlike so many husbands of the era, Calvin encouraged her to share her knowledge and she continued to teach. During her teaching career, Harriet crossed the state’s border into Kentucky to visit an ill student at which time she witnessed a slave auction. It was one thing to know that the South auctioned off African American men but seeing mothers and their children ripped apart only a few feet away devastated her. She couldn’t imagine their suffering, and she quickly returned to her home in Cincinnati and tried to put the event out of mind while she planned her wedding to Calvin Stowe. Historians say that the wedding most likely took place in the small parlor adorned with the warmth of the existing white mantled fireplace. Again, as I walk into this same parlor, I can only too easily imagine Harriet in her full wedding gown standing beside her bridegroom with the fire blazing in the hearth behind them as a room full of loved ones witnessed their vows to “have and behold…until death do [them] part.” She had no idea that events in the near future would change her life’s path and push her one step closer to greatness. Although Harriet and her husband lived in another house just down the street, because Calvin busied himself with seminary duties, she continued to spend a lot of time at her father’s house and continued to join in the Semi-Colon Club’s discussions. During one of these discussion in April 1836 the events taking place outside reminded her that she lived in a city caught at the edge of a divided nation, with slave-state borders just a few miles away. Hearing the chaos on the streets and witnessing the aftermath, Harriet along with other members of the Semi-Colon Club sympathized with African Americans during the Riots of 1834 when angry Irish mobsters destroyed their houses and businesses because of the increasing job competition threat. Seeing the destruction in the city and the devastation on the afflicted faces reminded her about the devastation she witnessed at the slave auction years before. Disgust in humanity continued to build, and so she took her first step towards action by housing escaped slaves and vowed to never stand on the sidelines again. And Calvin and Harriet didn’t have time to stand on the sidelines. They continued a routine for quite some time of having children approximately every two years (for an astounding seven: Harriet & Eliza (1836), Henry (1838), Fredrick (1840), Georgiana (1843), Samuel (1848), and Charles (1850)) and helping fugitive slaves. As I concluded the tour of the inside of her father’s home, I ventured back upstairs to her girlhood bedroom and stood in awe. Since Calvin often traveled, this is the type of four wooden posts bed where Harriet supposedly delivered many of her children. Our modern mattresses did not exist; instead the firmness of the bed depended on the tightness of the woven ropes, and the softness depended on the amount of down bedding layered on top of those ropes. Of course during the winter months she probably welcomed the extra layers, but in the midst of the dreaded humidity of the summer months, I cannot even imagine wanting one layer of bedding. And if she delivered her children here, this bedroom also most likely became her place of grief and solitude, for it is here that she tried to nurse her ailing eighteen month old son Samuel back to health but Cholera’s death grip proved too strong and he died in her arms. In the depths of her depression, she penned, “Having experienced losing someone so close to me I can sympathize with all the poor, powerless slaves at the unjust auctions. You will always be in my heart Samuel Charles Stowe.” Obviously the horrific slave auction she witnessed more than sixteen years ago had a lasting effect, but the death of her own son personalized that loss only a mother can feel and Harriet once again vowed to take action, but this time through her voice as a mother, an abolitionist, and finally as an author. At the age of forty, she sat down and penned Uncle Tom’s Cabin. And in 1851 people felt the power of her words. And almost 170 years later, because of her experiences, because of her loss, we – modern day American’s – still feel the power of her words reaching us from the pages of her legacy. So most likely society won’t remember me as one of the “greats.” And maybe I should be thankful for this. Although I have experienced several of the requirements that lead to greatness -my parents instilled in me a strong moral compass, I certainly live in a time period ripe with strife, I have witnessed and even experienced a few minor trials, and I have a voice – I count my blessings that I have not endured a tragic loss and therefore accept my level of non-greatness. But as I stand on the steps of the Harriet Beecher Stowe House and look out across the city below, I can’t help but wonder that if everyone relied on good morals and a kind heart, how the world would change by the absence of negativity and wrong-doings.
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AuthorLet me introduce myself. I am Julie Blasofsel. While teaching high school English for the past dozen years, my appreciation for works of literature increased after visiting several locations associated with the authors and their texts. You can't help but feel the presence of Ralph Waldo Emerson as you stand on the shores of Walden pond, the despair of Henry Longfellow as you stand in his house, the loneliness of Edgar A. Poe as you descend into his walled basement, the candor of Samuel Clemons as you reach his men-only study. My goal is to gather information and relate my experiences about these places of literary significance in this literary hive. Please add your literary travel experiences and recommendations. Together we can bring these authors to life and light the flame of passion for reading in others. Enjoy! Archives
October 2018
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