Signing Their Rights Away (8 page)

After Yorktown, Hamilton returned to Albany and to his wife, Elizabeth Schuyler (they had wed the previous year). The Schuylers were a well-connected and politically powerful family in New York, and the marriage gave him access to power and credibility. Both his law practice and his political career took off.

Hamilton attended the Congress of the Confederation and worked closely with Robert “Financier of the Revolution” Morris, who was then the nation’s Superintendent of Finance and in charge of establishing monetary policy. Hamilton moved to New York City
to set up his law practice, moving on to the state legislature and attending the Annapolis Convention in 1786. In fact, Hamilton wrote the report issued at the end of the Annapolis meetings, calling for the 1787 Constitutional Convention. Hamilton’s strong nationalist views were already fixed, and he is considered one of the driving forces behind the convention’s existence.

Unfortunately, the rest of the New York delegation was considerably less enthusiastic. Because Hamilton was guaranteed to attend, thanks to his father-in-law’s connections, Governor George Clinton also sent John Lansing and Robert Yates—two men opposed to a strong national government. Moreover, Governor Clinton stipulated that at the convention two members of the New York delegation were required for the state to cast a vote, thus ensuring that Hamilton would perpetually be the odd man out.

But feisty Hamilton was always ready for a rumble. He stayed silent for the first few weeks of the convention, but on June 18 he started talking and quickly made up for lost time; he delivered what is considered the convention’s longest speech, clocking in at five hours. He claimed that Britain’s government was the best in the world (probably not the most propitious time in history to make that case), and he presented his own plan for government, strongly modeled after Mother England. In his proposal, one branch of the legislature would serve for life, as would the chief executive. For all intents and purposes, Hamilton appeared to favor a form of monarchy. He also warned that “the people do not have the intelligence to determine what is right” and wanted restrictions on who would be eligible to vote. He feared, perhaps rather presciently, that “if elections are held too frequently, the people lose interest and do not bother to vote. Then the small number who do bother to vote can control the country.”

The plan was neither seconded nor sent to committee.

This cold reception may be what prompted Hamilton to leave the convention at the end of June, returning home to take care of various
business matters. His fellow New York delegates didn’t last much longer; by July, Lansing and Yates had given up and gone home as well. Hamilton might not have rejoined the convention if he hadn’t received a desperate letter from George Washington in August, urging him back to Philadelphia. More nationalists were needed, Washington implored, and so Hamilton reentered the fray. Even though he was then the only member present from his delegation and therefore ineligible to vote, he nevertheless lent his support to the nationalist camp. He also served on the Committee of Style and Arrangement, which created the final language of the Constitution.

Yet even after signing his name to the document—the only delegate from New York to do so and a noteworthy accomplishment in itself—Hamilton’s biggest contribution to the cause was yet to come.

Enter Publius. This pseudonymous essayist took to the New York newspapers in a nonstop ratification campaign extolling the virtues of the Constitution. Though the authorship of some of the essays is disputed, it is believed that Hamilton wrote fifty-one of the eighty-five essays, of which seventy-seven were published in the newspapers. The entire collection was eventually gathered as
Federalist: A Collection of Essays
, which has become known more commonly as the Federalist Papers. Ratification passed in New York by a narrow margin of 30-27, and the essays remain a political-science touchstone to this day.

When Washington took office as president, he appointed Hamilton as the country’s first secretary of the Treasury (after Robert Morris declined the offer), and in this post Hamilton retooled the nation’s entire financial system. He wanted the national government to take over state debts from the war. He wanted a national bank. He wanted the nation to be a force for industry and insisted on building infrastructure to support its growth. He was on a roll.

But these ideas weren’t popular with everyone. Many people were still concerned about the federal government growing too powerful, and Hamilton’s aggressive policies, some believed, were just making
matters worse. No one expressed these views more consistently than Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, whose constant bickering with Hamilton would lay the groundwork for the two-party political system that exists in the United States to this day.

Jefferson argued that Hamilton didn’t understand the plight of the common man, which is plenty ironic, given that Hamilton grew up parentless and penniless while Jefferson was a patrician planter’s son. Their supporters tended to divide along class lines, with Federalists (city-dwelling bankers and businessmen) supporting Hamilton and Democratic-Republicans (pioneers and small farmers) supporting Jefferson.

Hamilton wrote a good bit of Washington’s famous farewell address before another Federalist, John Adams, was set to take office. Though Hamilton and Adams belonged to the same party, they were far from friends. In the 1800 election, Hamilton blasted Adams in a missive titled “Letter from Alexander Hamilton Concerning the Public Conduct and Character of John Adams.” After Aaron Burr, the vice-presidential candidate for the Democratic-Republican Party, leaked a copy to the newspapers, the Federalist Party was divided and Thomas Jefferson waltzed into the White House. No wonder Adams bad-mouthed Hamilton as “a bastard brat of a Scotch peddler.”

Of course, this wouldn’t be the last time that Hamilton and Burr crossed paths. In 1804, Burr ran for governor of New York against a Democratic-Republican and wanted the support of Federalists. Naturally, Hamilton urged his fellow party members to support Burr’s opponent and even wrote newspaper editorials describing Burr as dangerous and untrustworthy. The smear tactics worked. Burr lost the election and was so angry that he challenged Hamilton to a duel. The two-pistol dance with death was on.

The encounter was scheduled for July 11, 1804, on the west bank of the Hudson River, near what is now Weehawken, New Jersey. Hamilton’s shot went wide, but Burr’s aim was true. A wounded
Hamilton was rowed across the Hudson to New York City and died the next day, July 12, at age forty-nine. Burr fled the city and was charged with murder, though he never stood trial.

If you wish to commune with the spirit of Hamilton, a plaque in Weehawken commemorates the duel. Hamilton is buried in Trinity Church, in the heart of New York’s financial district. His house, known as the Grange, is a National Park site in New York City and is open to the public. The home has the notoriety of having been relocated not once, but twice. For its most recent move, the house had to be lifted off the ground, hoisted into the air on a platform of stilts, and transported over the corner of a neighboring church before being rolled to its new location in Saint Nicholas Park in Harlem.

Of course, if you’re not in the mood for travel, you can simply head to your local ATM and snag a $10 bill. Hamilton is one of only three nonpresidents (along with Benjamin Franklin and Salmon P. Chase) to be honored on U.S. paper currency.

V. New Jersey

The Signer-Poet

BORN
: November 30?, 1723

DIED
: July 25, 1790

AGE AT SIGNING
: 63

PROFESSION
: Lawyer, writer, shipowner

BURIED
: Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, New York

William Livingston may have believed the pen was mightier than the sword, but he was willing to take up both, as needed, throughout his life. A would-be painter who longed to be a gentleman farmer, Livingston set aside his dreams to obey his family’s wishes: he went to law school. If his creativity wasn’t encouraged, it was never completely extinguished either. He exhibited fresh ideas through his writing throughout the course of a distinguished political career.