On the morning of Maria’s first full day of incarceration, she was taken to the office of Dr. William Ring.
Dr. Ring was beloved in Buffalo. He was the first student to graduate from the Buffalo Medical College, in 1847, and it was said that he offered as much care for the underprivileged as he did for his wealthiest patients, and treated them with the same zeal. No physician did as much to benefit the sick and poor. On the day that Maria Halpin came into his office, Ring was fifty-two years old and had been affiliated with the Providence Insane Asylum since it had first opened its doors to serve fifteen impoverished patients. He came to the asylum once a week to offer his services gratis as attending physician. Standing at his side on these missions of mercy were his adolescent sons, William and Charles. Their visits to the asylum must had made a deep impression on the boys, because they both became doctors.
Like any good diagnostician, Dr. Ring was a keen observer of human mannerisms and conduct. He notes in his initial evaluation of Maria Halpin that she had been drinking—he would later use the word boozy to describe her disposition—although he could not yet tell whether she was a habitual abuser. But she seemed very “ladylike,” and there was nothing frenzied or manic about her behavior. It made Dr. Ring question the diagnosis of onomania and DTs. As he listened to Maria’s story and came to understand the powerful legal and political forces that had been arrayed against her, Ring grew indignant. This woman, he was beginning to realize, had been thrown into the asylum “without warrant or form of law.” Obviously, she was “not insane,” and the Providence Lunatic Asylum, he determined, had “no right to detain her.” He advised Maria to remain in the asylum for a few days—“long enough to get straightened out.” But after that, he refused to admit her as a patient. She was free to go.
On the morning of July 21, Maria felt well enough to leave. Her three days at the asylum had cleared her head, and now she was determined to find her son.
Milo A. Whitney was at his desk in his law office, pondering the woman seated across from him. Maria Halpin’s account was almost impossible to believe, and yet his lawyerly instincts told him she was telling the truth.
Whitney was forty-eight years old and stood five foot eight. He had light hazel eyes set above a prominent nose, was bald except for a fringe of gray hair, and had a mustache. Physically, Whitney was unimpressive, his features, by his own account, “ordinary.”
Taking on Grover Cleveland, one of the most admired lawyers in Buffalo, was something Whitney would have to think about. After all, the bar association of Erie County was a tight-knit professional organization of power brokers, influential insiders. Then there was the matter of linking Roswell Burrows to this messy scandal and the deceased lawyer Oscar Folsom; involving Folsom’s good name in it, however remote his connection, could backfire. And Roswell Burrows was more than a highly regarded former judge—he was also a neighbor who lived just a few doors down the street from Milo Whitney at 476 Franklin Avenue.
It was Maria’s good fortune that Whitney, a native of Vermont, was by nature a flinty New Englander. As he listened to her story, he became indignant, like Dr. Ring. If Maria was to be believed, Whitney later recalled, then Cleveland had “plotted” her abduction and “hired the men to carry it out.” It was clear to the lawyer that Cleveland was trying to get her out of the way by throwing her into an insane asylum, which Whitney deemed “outrageous.” Just four months before, Whitney’s wife, Mary, had given birth to the couple’s first child, Grace. Maria Halpin’s determination to take any measure necessary to reclaim her son surely moved this caring new father.
Whitney told Maria that he would have to investigate her allegations, but if everything she said held up under scrutiny, he would take the case and institute legal proceedings against “all concerned in the assault and abduction.” He was inclined to disregard her claims regarding breach of promise, for now. Bluntly, he informed Maria, the evidence was weak and open to dispute. Alleging kidnapping and false arrest would make for a far more muscular case.
The death of Sarah Kendall King and Dr. James E. King’s only child, Mary, age ten, in March 1874 had left Sarah bereft in her grief. The Kings lived in a grand house at 93 Niagara Street, but a grand house without a little one to raise was an empty and lonely place for a woman yearning to be a mother again.
Sarah was born in Pembroke, New Hampshire, in 1841. Her father, Prescott Kendall, was an early follower of the biblical prophet William Miller, who predicted the Second Coming of Jesus Christ sometime between March 21, 1843, and March 21, 1844. When March 21, 1844, turned into a day like any other day, Miller, upon further biblical analysis, prophesized a new date—April 18, 1844. He tried again with October 22, 1844. When this day also passed into night, the Millerites “wept till the day dawn” over what became known as the Great Disappointment. Prescott Kendall remained a disciple and lived to the ripe old age of ninety-five, even after his doctor had given up all hope, because, it was said, he wanted to live to see the Second Advent of Christ.
Sarah’s sister, Elizabeth, or Lizzie as she was known, left New Hampshire in 1850 to seek her fame and fortune as a dancer and actress. When she returned, she had banked enough cash to rescue the Kendall family farm from foreclosure. Then she went back on the road, this time accompanied by Sarah and another sister, Jenny. Appearing under the name the Misses Kendall, the sisters were a sensation, performing at theaters as far west as Chicago, usually as second billing to such Irish farces as “How to Pay the Rent,” and the saucy comedy “Day After the Wedding.” Sometimes their brother Charles Kendall, who played the fiddle and banjo, accompanied the Misses Kendall.
Their reviews were excellent, and always emphasized the correctness of their performance in an era when many women in the theater were considered to be one step from the gutter. A Philadelphia critic called them “young, beautiful and graceful,” and wrote that they were blessed with a fairy-like grace. Appearing in Chicago in 1856, the Kendall Sisters were praised for their “deportment in their public and private life.” The backstory of how they had saved the family farm through hard work and talent added to their popularity.
Jenny was the sister with the blushing rosy cheeks; Elizabeth, who danced with the tambourine, had a “dazzling gaze”; and Sarah, the youngest of the three, walked out on the act and married Dr. James E. King.
King was born in 1821, in Warren, Pennsylvania, and settled in Buffalo, seventy miles to the north, after earning his medical degree. He shunned romantic entanglements, telling friends he was too busy building a medical practice to worry about raising a family. He was in his late forties when he saw Sarah Kendall onstage and became besotted with her fine figure and exquisite face. She had the natural poise and melodious voice of a born performer. Whatever uncertainty Sarah may have harbored about their twenty-year age gap, at least James offered the young dancer a lifetime of prosperity and social position. The esteemed Reverend Dr. Alexander Hamilton Vinton married James and Sarah at St. Paul’s Church in Boston on New Year’s Eve. Then James King brought his lucky catch of a bride back with him to Buffalo, and Sarah was welcomed into Buffalo society. Dr. King’s mother, Betsey, who was in her eighties, lived with them, as did a servant from Norway, Dorothea Johnson, who helped around the house.
Their daughter, Mary, was born in 1864 and died in 1874, seven months before the birth of Oscar Folsom Cleveland. Mary’s death had been a crushing blow, and Sarah wanted another child, but for whatever reason—perhaps medical—whether she could conceive again was uncertain. For Sarah King, Oscar Folsom Cleveland’s birth came as a blessing. She had been one of the schemers who had arranged to have her sister-in-law Minnie Kendall (her brother William’s wife) nurse Oscar from birth. Now, with Oscar’s return to the custody of the Buffalo Orphan Asylum and with his mother Maria under siege, Sarah was consumed with bringing into her life this child who, so incongruously, seemed to be wanted by everyone and no one.
Maria was finally coming to the realization that if she were to succeed in
winning custody of Oscar, she needed her family’s support. Throughout the tumult of her life in Buffalo, she had kept the Halpins and her father, Robert Hovenden, in the dark about Grover Cleveland. They knew nothing of her pregnancy or the birth of Oscar. It was time to brace them for the news.
Simeon Talbott, now the titular head of the Halpin family, was Maria’s brother-in-law, having married Maria’s late husband’s sister, Lizzie Halpin. Talbott was born in Brooklyn, and Maria had gotten to know him when he was courting Lizzie. Now the Talbotts were living in Jersey City and taking care of Maria’s two adolescent children, Freddie and Ada. The entire clan resided in the sprawling home of the master engraver Frederick Halpin Sr., sixty-six years old in the year 1876 and in failing health. When Talbott heard from Maria, he was beside himself, to say the least. Without delay, he boarded the train for Buffalo to manage the crisis.
Talbott was a good-looking traveling salesman with an outsized walrus mustache that looped over his entire mouth like a furry bandage. He worked for a New York City wholesale leather dealer, Henry Arthur & Co., and his business kept him on the road for most of the selling season, taking him as far west as Indiana.
As Talbott heard Maria’s story straight from her lips, he came to the conclusion that this Grover Cleveland was a “seducer” of vulnerable women, who had made his sister-in-law a “positive promise of marriage.” The more he learned about Cleveland, the more a quiet fury built within Talbott. He came to believe that the man was a “notorious libertine and kept a regular harem in Buffalo”—or at least those were the stories he was hearing from Maria.
Even so, Talbott remained levelheaded. He didn’t appreciate the fact that Maria had hired a lawyer. Above all, he told Maria, scandal must be avoided and the Halpin name protected. After listening to everything Maria had to say, the best advice he could offer her was to forget about the boy, leave Buffalo, and return to the bosom of her family downstate. From Talbott’s point of view, Oscar Folsom Cleveland was a bastard child born out of a rape, and not fit to live with the Halpins. If Cleveland wanted to assume financial liability for the boy and pay the $5 fee required by the orphanage, then let him take the responsibility.
There was the added factor of Maria’s children, Freddie and Ada. Freddie was now thirteen, Ada eleven. They needed their mother. Wasn’t it about time Maria started looking out for their interests? Come home, Talbott told Maria, and connect with the family again. In the meantime, he would personally meet with this Grover Cleveland and see what could be worked out.
Over at the law offices of Milo A. Whitney, preparations for Maria Halpin vs. Grover Cleveland were proceeding at a quickening pace. Whitney seemed to be looking forward to the litigation; he thought it was shaping up to be an exceptionally strong case. Then one day, on the eve of filing the lawsuit, Maria Halpin came to see him. Accompanying her was a gentleman Whitney had never met before, her brother-in-law, Simeon Talbott. It quickly became evident to Whitney that his client was taking direction from Talbott, that the traveling salesman from Jersey City was calling the shots.
Talbott informed Whitney that there had been a change in strategy. There would be no litigation. The case was over. The Halpin family was not willing to risk a “public scandal.” Talbott said “innocent parties”—presumably meaning the Halpins and Maria’s two children—would be “bowed down in an exposure of Maria’s shame.” Before Whitney could absorb this extraordinary statement, he was handed another shock: a signed agreement made between Maria Halpin and Grover Cleveland. Talbott had done all the negotiating, and everything had been worked out. Cleveland would pay Maria the single lump sum payment of $500. In return, Maria Halpin agreed to “surrender her son, Oscar Folsom Cleveland, and make no further demands of any nature whatsoever upon his father.”
Whitney could not believe it. As he examined the settlement accord, he saw that it had been written in Grover Cleveland’s own hand. The crafty Cleveland had settled the case out of court without even the knowledge of Maria’s own attorney. And from Whitney’s point of view, it had been settled for a ridiculously low figure.
Right then, Whitney realized, even if he still believed Cleveland to have committed an egregious abuse of power, the lawsuit had been irrevocably “compromised.” His representation of Maria Halpin “ceased as soon as he saw that agreement.” The litigation had ended before it was ever begun.
As Whitney watched Maria Halpin and Simeon Talbott walk out of his office, his compassion for Maria was unchanged. Evidently, the poor woman had “yielded” to unrelenting family pressure, which left Whitney in a state of profound distress. He also had to wonder about the other pathetic victim in the case. What would be the fate of the orphaned boy, Oscar Folsom Cleveland?
New Year’s Day 1877 was marked by great events across the globe. In Delhi, in the fortieth year of her reign as British monarch, Queen Victoria was proclaimed Empress of India. At the stroke of midnight at Trinity Church in Manhattan, under a crisp cold sky, and to the solemn strikes of the belfry clock, an immense throng welcomed the New Year. In London, a British astronomer issued a warning to humanity that the sun could one day “blaze up” and destroy the earth. And in Washington, President Ulysses Grant, holding court at the Executive Mansion, received the diplomatic corps in their brilliant decorations and official regalia. Outside, a blinding snowstorm had begun in the nation’s capital; by nightfall, a foot of snow would render the streets impassable.
On this same day, January 1, 1877, in the city of Buffalo, a little boy departed the grounds of the Buffalo Orphan Asylum for the final time. Archival records indicate that he was “taken by his guardian.” The record is silent on the name of the guardian. It could have been Judge Burrows. It might have been Grover Cleveland. We do not know who took the youngster by the hand that day, but we do know where he was ultimately delivered: To 93 Niagara Street, the home of Dr. James E. King and his wife, Sarah.
Oscar must have been bewildered as he took in these splendid surroundings and got to know his new parents. It was a clapboard house with a front porch and veranda and a picket fence. This was the first real house he had ever experienced; until now he had lived only in dank apartments and boarding rooms. Perhaps Dr. King informed the boy of their exceptional connection. He, Dr. King, had been present at his birth. He had delivered the boy into the world.
At some point, the boy was informed that he would now be known by another name. He had been born Oscar Folsom Cleveland. For the first year of his life, the woman who was his caregiver had called him Jack. Henceforth, the puzzled little boy was told he would be known as James. From this day on, he was James E. King Jr., the doctor’s son.
6
PATH TO THE PRESIDENCY
GROVER CLEVELAND COULD never have imagined that as he swung open the doors of Billy Dranger’s saloon he was taking the first step on a journey that in just three years would catapult him from a lawyer unknown outside the city of Buffalo to the presidency of the United States.
It was October 22, 1881, around seven thirty on a Saturday evening. Cleveland was forty-four years old. Five years had passed since that unpleasant business with Maria Halpin, an episode in his life that, as far as he was concerned, was now ancient history. The Halpin woman had vanished from the city of Buffalo; Cleveland had no idea where she was living. From what he gathered, his biological son, now known as James E. King Jr., was doing well, although whispers of the boy’s true heritage and his link to Grover Cleveland remained a steady undercurrent of gossip. For all its big-city complexity, Buffalo fundamentally remained a small town.
Cleveland walked into the saloon at Eagle and Pearl, positioned his large belly against the bar, and ordered a drink. Off at a corner table, some men were talking in raised voices. Cleveland turned and saw they were five Democratic Party leaders having a drink and a bite to eat. One of them was Warren F. Miller, the lawyer who was in Oscar Folsom’s buggy that terrible summer night in 1875 when Folsom was killed. They hailed Cleveland over. He sat down, wondering what had
brought them to Dranger’s.
It turned out that Miller and the others made up the search committee that county chairman Peter Doyle had appointed to find a Democratic candidate to run for mayor, preferably an eminent businessman with an unblemished record. They had a short list of top men and had first called on the banker Stephen Clarke. They moved on to businessman Delavan Clarke and the merchant prince Stephen Barnum. Then to Charles Sweet, president of the Third National Bank, and Charles Curtis, president of the Board of Trade. They had started at the top of their list, and offered all of them the nomination. Every one of them had turned it down. It had been a day of mounting frustration, and with just three days left before the Democrats of Erie County were to hold their convention, this was shaping up to be a huge embarrassment for the party. In short, the first contender to answer in the affirmative would have the nomination.
As they vented, Cleveland listened. Republicans outnumbered Democrats in Buffalo; in this election cycle, Buffalo’s citizens were expected, as usual, to go Republican. The mayor earned a salary of $2,500 a year—for a job with so many headaches, Cleveland totally understood why these estimable businessmen had all said no.
Then somebody on the committee had an inspiration. The solution to their problem was staring them in the face. Grover Cleveland was the man!
Cleveland shook his head and told them not a chance. He had zero interest in running for elective office again. Besides, he told them, he was a lawyer, and the mandate from Doyle was to find a rich businessman whose integrity and reputation for honesty could not be questioned. But the more Miller and the others thought about it, the more Cleveland seemed like the perfect candidate. Plus, they were desperate. Cleveland protested vigorously; then he started to waver. This buoyed the committee. Everyone knew Cleveland as a proven vote-getter, and he had been elected sheriff with the support of independents and Republicans, a coalition he would need to cobble together to win the mayoral race.
A Secret Life: The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland Page 11
