A Child in Blair House

That ignorance was soon removed. The master of Blair House was my uncle, Gist Blair, and when he and his wife, my Aunt Laura, adopted me in 1927 I became part of a Washington family that for over a century had exerted a major influence on our national life. Almost as soon as I arrived, Uncle Gist made me aware of that influence.

He did so in a very personal manner, taking me by the hand and walking me around his Blair House study and telling me stories about the mementos it contained. Because of the intimate associations that the Blairs had had with various American Presidents--and because my aunt and uncle were avid antique collectors--the house was full of historical memorabilia, and Uncle used his "props" to good effect in educating his young niece about her country’s past. I first learned about "General Andrew Jackson," for example, because Uncle Gist owned the seventh president’s cane. Back in the 1830s, ties between the Jackson and Blair families had been strong, and when Andrew Jackson died, the Blairs acquired both his private papers and his silver-tipped hickory walking cane. They gave the papers to the Library of Congress but kept the cane. During the years that I spent in Blair House, it rested in a corner of the library, as if awaiting the return of "Old Hickory" himself. When Uncle described the Battle of New Orleans, he first placed the hero’s stick in my tiny hands. It brought the War of 1812 very close to home.

I recall his speaking, too, of Robert E. Lee. Shortly before he accepted the command of the Confederate Army, Lee was offered the Union Army at Lincoln’s request. The offer was conveyed by Francis Preston Blair, the patriarch of the Washington clan and my uncle’s grandfather. "Lee declined the offer right in this room," I can remember my uncle telling me, "while he sat in that chair by the window." And there were his stories of President Lincoln. These were the most personal ones, because Uncle had been born in Blair House in 1860, and as a child he had played with Lincoln’s sons. Lincoln himself would frequently cross Pennsylvania Avenue to unwind from the cares of office at Blair House, and Uncle used to tell me, with obvious delight, about walking into the front parlor and finding his father (who was Lincoln’s Postmaster General) chatting with the President before a fire.

"They’d be resting their boots up on this mantle," he would say, as he walked me over to touch the spot. Or he would take me to the far corner of the room and point to a framed theater program. It was dated April 14, 1865, and it advertised a show called Our American Cousin. That was how I first learned the significance of Ford’s Theatre in American history--from Uncle’s copy of the program for that awful night.

Many of his stories were more recent, because he had been active in Republican politics himself around the turn of the century. In 1904, he had actually run for President. He was beaten in that contest by Teddy Roosevelt, who nevertheless remained a "bully" friend. As a consolation prize, Uncle used to joke, "T.R." allowed him to learn to drive a car in the back section of the White House grounds. He was on equally friendly terms with other presidents, especially with William Howard Taft. Taft was a frequent guest at Blair House, and my uncle had a raft of good stories about his relationship with that portly statesman.

Uncle Gist was my principal source for Blair House legends, but other people had their stories too. One of the most voluble and entertaining was my cousin Brooke Lee, the famous "Colonel Lee" of Maryland politics. Brooke used to tell me about finding John Brown’s pikestaffs-- the ones that were used to storm Harpers Ferry--down in the basement of Blair House; about Gist’s aunt, Elizabeth Blair, having to wash cigar smoke out of all the curtains after each visit by General U.S. Grant; and about himself and his cronies, back in the 1900s, dressing every bust in the mansion, including those of Washington and Benjamin Franklin, in top hats before a formal dinner.

There was also our strange Cousin Percy, a debonair bachelor whom Aunt and Uncle tolerated as one might put up with a prodigal son. Although embodying the essence of Washington charm, Percy was also a serious drinker, and I recall him stumbling into Blair House many times at three or four in the morning, fresh (or rather not so fresh) from a long chat with one of the Capitol area’s many madams. Percy knew every philandering congressman’s favorite "girl," and the stories I heard from him after hours made me think that if Blair House represented southern gentility, Percy must be our Rhett Butler.

And of course there were the servants. Since I came to Blair House as a child, and since my aunt and uncle were so often occupied with the obligations of the Washington social scene, I probably spent as much time with the house’s servants as I did with visiting dignitaries, political friends of my uncle, or other examples of the "right" people. Aunt and Uncle didn’t approve, and they discouraged me from seeking their company. I couldn’t resist it though: the "downstairs" crowd was such fun.