Does anyone know about the accuracy of these descriptions?


>From "The Avenue of Presidents," by Mary Cable (1969):

"By the end of the ten-year period allotted by Congress for the creation of
the city, Pennsylvania Avenue was still little more than a gash in the
landscape.  Of the city's 263 private houses - some of brick, more of
frame - scarcely a dozen faced the Avenue, and most of these were on the
north side.  A few lots on the south side had been cleared as lumberyards,
but the ground there was low, wet, and swampy, and not an appealing building
site.  High tide washing into Tiber Creek came to within twenty-feet of the
Avenue itself, and storms regularly brought the water clear across it.
Receding, the river left catfish in the puddles.  When the tide was low,
small boys waded about in the Tiber, looking for turtle nests on its reedy
banks.  Rabbits and squirrels abounded.  When the birds were migrating,
there were so many wild ducks in the Tiber swamps that a person standing on
Pennsylvania Avenue might bring one down with stones.  The Mall was a
pasture and was generally known as The Commons; people had already forgotten
that it was supposed to be (in the words of L'Enfant) 'a public walk ...
that will give to the city from the very beginning a superior charm over
most of those of the world.' Certainly it is a measure of the optimism of
federal America, as well as of the persuasiveness of its leaders, that by
1800 more than 2,500 citizens called this unpromising village home."  (pps.
20-22)

"One stormy night in 1804 (according to this same chronicler), [Christian
Hines] the Tiber flooded Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol gate to above
6th Street.  A party of workmen who tried to ford the flood found themselves
over their heads.  'Some caught hold of and supported themselves by bushes,
others by the branches of trees, and others, who were able, climbed them.'
Among the crowd that collected was President Jefferson.  'Mr. Jefferson felt
such anxiety for these unfortunate men that he offered fifteen dollars for
each person saved, and the use of his horse to any one who would make the
venture to rescue them, but no one attempted it, and they had to remain in
their unenviable positions all night.  They could be heard at times calling
to each other to know if they were still living and encouraging each other
to hold on until day.' Among them was an elderly carpenter named Blewer,
whose 'pantaloons were torn nearly from his limbs, the skin rubbed off in
attempting to climb a tree or reach a limb, he being so much fatigued that
he would slide down again.' At the first light of day, a young man 'carried
Mr. Blewer out of the swamp," and collected $15 from the President." (p. 27)

"By the time of Jefferson's second inauguration, the poplars were
flourishing on Pennsylvania Avenue, the drains were working, and enough new
homes had been built on both sides so that it was beginning to look
something like a street." (p. 28)

One resident wrote the Washington City Council:  "'I find the communications
to and from my house intercepted by a ditch adjoining the pavement on
Pennsylvania Avenue and by a marsh which fronts me on the East.  A carriage,
a cart, or a single horse cannot pass from the Avenue to my house.  It is
even difficult for a person on foot.' (p. 36)

1819:  "Pennsylvania Avenue burgeoned with shops, and although no money was
voted for its improvement and the poplars were not doing well, nobody now
could deny that it had many of the aspects of a city street.  By this time
most of the primeval trees in the vicinity of the Avenue had been cut down.
Tree-felling was a source of income for industrious woodsmen, who could cut
and saw two loads of timber a day, selling the chips and bark for kindling.
It was true that L'Enfant's plan necessitated the felling of many large
trees, but many that could have been pared were set upon by the poorer
inhabitants and used for firewood.  'Beautiful banks of the Tiber!
Delightful rambles! Happy hours! How like a dream do ye now appear,'
lamented Mrs. Margaret Bayard Smith, a prominent Washingtonian.  'Those
trees, those shrubs, those flowers are gone.  Man and his works have
displaced the charms of nature ... the whole plain was diversified with
groves and clumps of forest trees which gave it the appearance of a fine
park.  such as grew on the public grounds ought to have been preserved, but
in a government such as ours, where the people are sovereign, this could not
be done."  An Englishman who visited the city in 1816 noted how unfortunate
it was not to have saved more trees.  'How agreeable would have been their
shade along the Pennsylvania Avenue where the dust so often annoys, and the
summer sun, reflected from the sandy soil, is so oppressive.  The Lombardy
poplar, which now supplies their place, serves more for ornament than
shelter." (p. 41)

"L'Enfant had called for connecting Tiber Creek by canal with another creek
that debouched into the Eastern Branch below the Navy Yard, but in 1796 the
idea had been abandoned as too expensive.  However, in 1807 private
enterprisers had obtained a charter from Congress permitting a canal from
the Eastern Branch to the Tiber at about 3rd Street and Pennsylvania Avenue.
The waterway would enable barges to carry produce to the center of town,
particularly to the Center Market, which occupied the area south of
Pennsylvania Avenue where the National Archives building now stands.  It was
opened for business in 1815; however, it was never the stimulating success
that its backers had hoped for. It was not deep enough and had to be dredged
continually not only for silt but also for refuse dumped into the canal at
the Center Market and Fish Market.  Meantime, where the Tiber and its
tributary creeks crossed Pennsylvania Avenue, substantial wooden bridges had
been put up to replace the perilous rough logs of an earlier day.  There was
no public transportation on the Avenue until 1830.  The poor walked, the
moderately well-to-do when by hack, and the rich had their own carriages.
Nobody, however, was safe from mud, dust, and wind on Pennsylvania Avenue.
John Quincy Adams, while he was Secretary of State in the Monroe
administration, noted in his diary, 'Our carriage in coming for us was
overset, the harness broken.  We got home with difficulty, twice being on
the point of oversetting, and at the Treasury office we were both obliged to
get out in the mud.  It was a mercy that we all got home with whole bones.'
(pps. 42-43)

Mark David Richards, Sociologist, mark@bisconti.com





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