How I Dined With President Grant
BY B. F. RILEY
IT was in November, 1875. At that time I was a student in Crozer Theological Seminary, near Philadelphia. The country was just rallying from the effects of a long and disastrous war, and as the centenary of the nation would occur the following year, preparations were being made for the celebration of the event by a great exposition, which was to be held the next year in the City of Brotherly Love. This was the first of our great American expositions. It will be remembered that this was called the Centennial Exposition.
General Hawley, now a senator from Connecticut, was made the superintendent of this first great national undertaking in the way of expositions. In order to procure an adequate appropriation from Congress, General Hawley and the Centennial Commission conceived the plan of bringing to Philadelphia all the dignitaries and celebrities from Washington. They were to be shown the grounds and the unfinished buildings, as well as the scope of the mammoth undertaking. It was further proposed that the people of Philadelphia should give a banquet to the distinguished visitors from Washington. This banquet was given in Horticultural Hall, the only building that was sufficiently completed for such a function. The sound of thousands of hammers and the swish of many saws resounded throughout the Centennial grounds in Fairmount Park.
A magnificent train was to bring the distinguished guests from Washington, and it was to arrive in Philadelphia at a given hour of the evening. President Grant and his Cabinet, both branches of Congress and the judges of the Supreme Court were to constitute the excursion. They were of course the guests of the city of Philadelphia, and on their arrival were driven direct to the hotels. As might naturally be expected, such an event and occasion set the city all agog, and the Philadelphia press was filled with the manner of their coming as well as the purpose. Public excitement ran high, and the excursion was the subject of universal comment.
At that time I was an occasional correspondent of two Alabama papers, one a religious journal and the other a secular one. Aware that this was the most favorable opportunity I should ever have for seeing so many of our distinguished men, I resolved to go to Philadelphia, and, if possible, come into contact with them. No better plan was suggested than to present myself as a member of the press. I imagined that there would not be the slightest difficulty in accomplishing this, and that all that was needed was to represent myself as such, and the opportunity sought of mingling with the great would be at once afforded. Decking myself in my best garb, which was none the better for its long service, I hied away to the city, fifteen miles distant, on reaching which the suggestion of a lean purse was followed in going to a cheap boarding-house.
After a scanty supper I went to the chief hotels where the great guests were already arriving, bought an evening paper for two cents, and found that a committee of citizens had been appointed to give information to all strangers relative to the trip and the banquet of the next day, which committee was to be known by the red rosettes which they wore. I threaded my way as best I could through the jammed corridors of the hotel, jostling with army officers in brilliant uniforms, and elegantly dressed statesmen, until one of the committee wearing a rosette was found.
Without apology, and perhaps in rather an assertive way, I began in a direct manner, telling him who I was, what I was, and what I wanted as a representative of the Southern press. In reply to his question as to what papers I represented, I frankly told him, when he asked for my credentials. But these were in the vocative, and so I could produce none. He eyed me very closely and with a distrustful look while I sought to atone for the absence of credentials by telling him that, being in the city at the time of learning fully of the event, I had not the means of obtaining the desired credentials. After hearing my statement he told me that he feared nothing could be done, and bluntly gave me to understand that he could do nothing. Once again I met him in the jam, but he declined to notice me, of course.