Yes, I took a class in college entirely about Walt Whitman.
It was really fascinating and I got to learn about much more than just good ole Walt; I got to study important historical events and attitudes from the Victorian era. I look back on this class fondly! Check out my final paper, “Not a Kiss for Walt?” – the title of which was based on a conversation between Whitman and Grace Gilchrist. I found it to be the perfect quote to use as a title!
Annabelle Otto
ENGL 375
05/04/18
“Not a Kiss for Walt?”: How the Lack of Affection in His Youth Affected Whitman’s Work
Walt Whitman has been analyzed alongside his notions of motherhood by many scholars. It is commonly known that his mother, Louisa Van Velsor, influenced Whitman’s views on feminism and robust motherhood. There has been less written about his father’s influence, Walter Whitman Sr. The very concept of fatherhood is seldom mentioned in Whitman’s works, however the few times it is may be revealing. It can be gathered that Whitman’s childhood was disappointing and may have left something inside him yearning for a better father. In his adulthood he may have reconciled this by stepping into the shoes of a father figure himself, building a wise, kind, fatherly side of his personality. Yet in his literature, the topic of perfect fatherhood was not analyzed by the Good Gray Poet as motherhood was. Using standards of fatherhood from Victorian times, Walter Whitman Sr., Whitman’s depictions of fatherhood, and the families that Whitman made for himself may shed some light on why Whitman did not like to write about fatherhood and whether he would have liked to be a father.
There was a time when children were thought little of. Punishment was the tool for moral combing. But towards the end of the eighteenth century, there was a fundamental religious evaluation of children. Robert Griswold wrote in “Fatherhood in America” that during this period “Rearing children was a process of nurture and growth, not a battle between righteousness and depravity” (12). This Puritan concept was slowly being pushed out of use while the more nurturing Quaker approach took its place (Frank 9). Children were dependent and innocuous, in need of guidance. As the status of children rose, so did mothers’. Who was going to give that constant care and attention that was now necessary for proper growth? Mothers seemed to be the best option. As E. Anthony Rotundo writes in “American Fatherhood: A Historical Perspective”, around the 1760s and 70s there was “a belief that women were inherently moral, more spiritual, and more tender than men” (3).
Fast forward to the nineteenth century, where national industrialization in the United States made it difficult for fathers to retain their bond with their children. In the past, according to Griswold, corporate household economies were very popular. This meant that the primary source of income was through the home, which was really a combination of the house and the workplace. These economies were usually things like small farms or artisan shops. In both cases, fathers were the definite head of household. This meant he was in control of what every individual of the family did since they all worked together. Yes, the father was the boss; “American Manhood: Transformations in Masculinity from the Revolution to the Modern Era” provides an overview of what the father’s responsibilities were in colonial times: “To head a household, in sum, was to anchor the status system, preserve the political order, provide a model of government, sustain piety, ensure productive activity, and maintain the economic support of one’s dependents” (Rotundo 12).
This all changed when industrialization swept through the country. Corporate household economies became less common as men were pulled to the city, where corporations and factories awaited them with paychecks. Fathers were driven out of their homes by this change, creating a physical distance between fathers and their families. Rotundo writes, “Middle-class fathers were away from the house far too often to participate effectively in the everyday give-and-take that bred feelings of deep intimacy between parent and child” (3). Therefore the physical distance increased the emotional distance between fathers and children. Eventually, fathers no longer passed on trade skills to their sons. Some fathers worked in offices now, or factories, depleting them of their marketable skills. What did fathers have to give their sons now? “Lacking land or a trade to pass directly to sons, fathers had little to offer but some free advice and some hard-earned money” (Griswold 16). “Breadwinner” became the father’s primary role. This idea would remain prominent in our society for decades to come.
However, fathers were not deemed unimportant by any means. Aware of the growing distance between families, moralists of the century encouraged fathers to bridge the gap. “Notwithstanding their amplification of specifically maternal duty, nineteenth-century moralists insisted that both sexes assume parental obligations, not only for the sake of the children but for the parents’ own spiritual well-being and for the benefit of society” (Frank 24). Medical professionals told men that fatherhood was the key to having a “complete and virile manhood” (25). Perhaps these encouragements were taken to heart by some men but the distance between the father and his family and how fathers were made to move aside by mothers may have been too much. The author writes in “American Manhood” that men were still encouraged to love and cherish their children, but “Given the lofty formal expectations held up for a father, and given his growing absence from the household, this love was not always offered with great personal warmth or informal ease” (Rotundo 27). Women were more comfortable with giving affection, it seems. Usually, women’s strong emotions are emphasized as weaknesses but in the nineteenth century, they were seen as tools for raising children. Seems like men could have used some tips for how to express themselves.
Marriage manuals were slim, how-to volumes with “experts” listing expectations for a good marriage. Most were aimed at women but some were written specifically for men as well. However, “Life with Father” reports that marriage manuals didn’t have much to say about paternal duties. “Rather, the good father came to be seen as a companionate husband who provided his wife with the material means” (Frank 25). Nothing in that description alludes to what the father’s relationship with his children should be like. It places importance on the relationship with his wife, but how should he act with his children?
The Working Men’s Party had something to say about it. This movement formed in 1829 as a place to discuss social issues. Joshua Greenberg assents that there’s no strong evidence this party was more concerned about fatherhood than other movements but nonetheless, they were very motivated to better the world for the next generation (198). Similar to scientists of the nineteenth century, the Working Men’s Party believed fatherhood was essential to life as a man. As Greenburg writes, “Fatherhood represented one of the most important aspects of working men’s domestic and civic masculinity because so many of the men gauged their success on their ability to care for their domestic responsibilities and dependents” (198).
Strong disagreements eventually tore the movement apart, only two years later in 1831. The movement split into three factions, all with different roles for fathers to play in a critical aspect of fatherhood: education of their children.
Of the three factions, it is most likely that Walter Whitman Sr. would align himself with Robert Dale Owen’s way of thinking. The father of the future Good Gray Poet already read and shared with his family the Free Enquirer, edited by Robert Dale Owen and Fanny Wright (Reynolds 27). Some fathers didn’t appreciate Owen’s plan for a proposed new system of education where all children at age two would be sent to equal-opportunity schools until age sixteen. This meant that fathers no longer could overview their children’s educations, an important role that would be hard to give up, in face of what little else fathers had to give their children.
After reading about Walter Whitman Sr., one understands why he might not oppose sending children away. He didn’t seem to be particularly affectionate towards his children.
Walter Whitman Sr. was born on July 14th, 1789, of English stock. By the age of fifteen, he was apprenticed in Brooklyn to a relative who was a carpenter and woodworker. At age 27, he was married to Louisa Van Velsor in 1816. This union of two people “led to what Walt always considered a fertile tension in the Whitman children between a more smoldering, brooding Puritanical temperament and a sunnier, more outgoing Dutch disposition” (Folsom and Price).
Walter Whitman Sr.’s temperament has been noted as “moody, taciturn” and “dour and inflexible” (Reynolds; Rietz). Even one of his own sons, Jefferson, commented on his distance in a letter: “this will be the eighth or ninth letter we have sent you, and we have not received a single one from you…Do write to us, Father, even half a sheet would be better than nothing. I go to the post office every day so we shall get it as soon as it gets here.” It’s easy to see how the Whitman children could have gone unappreciated by their father if this desperate plea is from a grown Whitman.
In addition to being unaffectionate, there is evidence that Walter Whitman may have been emotionally and physically abusive at times as well. Wesley Raabe explored Louisa Van Velsor’s life and personality through her letters to her second-eldest son Walt. They suggest that Louisa endured episodes of physical and/or emotional abuse in her marriage. “Louisa did not describe her own marriage, but her description of verbal and physical altercations in other marriages…suggest that behavior which by today’s standards might qualify as spousal abuse seemed to her a familiar part of married life” (Raabe). The author says that Walter Sr.’s frustrations with his finances didn’t sit well with his possible alcohol addiction. Walt told his friend Burroughs that his father went through heavy periods of drinking (Reynolds 23). Walter Sr.’s sour demeanor most likely degraded his marriage with Louisa. Usually, when husbands abuse their wives, the children are not much left out of it. Whitman stated himself that “The time of my boyhood was a very restless and unhappy one. I did not know what to do” (Reynolds 21). But the reason why Whitman would have felt his childhood was restless was probably due to his father’s carpentry practice. He would constantly run around and buy some land, build a house, move his family into it, then sell it. He did this between 1823 and 1833 and again in 1844.
Walt, being the empathetic son he was, recognized that his poor mother was being shuffled around by his father. In May 1855, Walt bought his mother a house on Ryerson Street. Raabe informs us that “Louisa’s deed for the Ryerson Street house was intended to be permanent and out of her husband’s reach. A legally binding note gave her full power over the property ‘without concurrence of her husband at any time during the present or any future couverture.’”
Louisa didn’t have to worry about her husband for so long after that. Walter Whitman Sr. passed on July 11, 1855, before he could ever see his second-eldest son’s published work. Horace Traubel commented on this to Walt in his later years. The poet responded, “No—and I don’t suppose it would have made much difference if he had” (32). This hints at the distance and apathy that Whitman most likely experienced with his father.
Walt and his father didn’t seem to have a particularly hostile relationship, but another reason for Whitman’s family blues was because of the social and economic changes they faced: “For the family of Walter Whitman these pressures were particularly great because the father was a man out of his times, a Jeffersonian rationalist in an age of ascendant religious revivalism, a lackluster businessman when shrewdness was the order of the day” (Reynolds 24). As we have seen, Walter Sr. wasn’t always in tune with the nineteenth century. This is where Whitman differs from his father. He was positively swept up in his century, marveling at the innovations, changes, and both ordinary and extraordinary people around him.
Knowing of Walter Whitman Sr.’s personality, it’s hard to believe that Whitman didn’t use his literary platform to try to steer young fathers in the right direction, away from the unyielding, strict image of his father. The poet used his words to voice concerns about so many things yet he never pointedly addressed the problems which surrounded fatherhood during his lifetime.
In December of 1841, Whitman wrote a short story titled “Bervance: or, Father and Son”. In a note before the actual text, Whitman himself writes that this is a story based on truth and written in the first person (of the father, Mr. Bervance) because that is how it was relayed to the poet. Then he goes on to write that the true solution of the story will be one based in an unsoundness of mind that “manifests itself in the morbid and unnatural paternal antipathy”. This is foreshadowing a theme of the story, and the possible sentiment Whitman felt his own father expressed towards him: hatred towards a child.
Mr. Bervance is a father who favors his eldest son best. His second-born, Luke, is “bold, eccentric, and high-tempered.” Yet his mental state goes beyond eccentricity—his physician warns Mr. Bervance that without treatment, cases like these end in total insanity. But the father waves off the concern, thinking that rigid rules will hold his son in place. One night when the family plans on attending the theater, Luke begs to go (since he is not allowed to go to amusement like that often for fear of him having an outburst). When his father disallows it, Luke shows up later at the theater anyways and causes a scene. He returns to the family home late at night and engages with his father, coming up with quick yet calm retorts to his father’s concerns, which further enraged him. When Mr. Bervance shakes Luke by the collar, Luke punches him in the face, causing him to bang his head on the corner of the furniture on the way down. The narrator expresses the shock of the situation dramatically: “the Son felled the Father to the earth with a blow!…and the hair that [the blood] matted together was gray!” The emphasis placed on the fact that the son punched the father (the exclamation points, the capitalization) reveals the thinking of the time. Surely this was an uncommon circumstance. Even if fathers weren’t the heads of house, they were still the disciplinarians when it came to major cases. If a son were to punch the father, it would result in displacement. It might be seen as the son trying to affirm himself as the boss, as a man. And this would be during a time where most houses had “a patriarchal family structure that did not readily accommodate two ‘men’ under one roof” (Frank 12).
Mr. Bervance had had enough of his son, Luke, and devised a vengeful scheme that night. He would send Luke to an insane asylum. “The wretched youth had his strange fits: those fits were so thinly divided from insanity, that who should undertake to define the difference?” (Whitman). Luke was held in the asylum for about a month before his faithful tutor sought out Mr. Bervance to ask him to release his son. He was sane now, any more time at that place would certainly wound him more than heal him. The father consented that if in two days Luke did not have any more fits, he could come back home. He should have listened to the tutor because the next night, Luke escaped from the asylum and his father was shocked at how insane he truly seemed to be now. His son cursed him for putting him in the mad house and didn’t stay long after that; no one ever saw him again. Mr. Bervance is mournful of his actions for the rest of his life. However, it doesn’t change what he did to his son. One can tell by the text that the father is obviously villainous in his choices yet his tone is confessional and full of regret. This may be a cautionary tale to other fathers and may also reveal a bit about how Whitman felt about his father—vengeful, cruel.
Whitman wrote another story about an unjust father in the same year of 1841 titled “Wild Frank’s Return”. The family’s name is Hall. The father had a favorite son, Richard, who was his right-hand man and the eldest of the children. Everyone followed his rule except for Wild Frank. He was a “capricious, high-tempered lad, and up to all kinds of mischief” (Whitman). However, he was charged with the care of Black Nell, the finest horse on the farm, and he loved her so. But Richard decided he wanted her and an argument ensued. The sons took it to their father to decide, and he, of course, chose Richard’s side, unreasonable the decision was. After given a stern lecture, Wild Frank called it quits. The next morning he was gone. Driven away by his cold father, it took nearly two years for him to return. He sought out his brother and Richard gifted his younger brother the mare that tore them apart so Wild Frank could ride home like a lord. This was rather a warm gesture for them. Whitman wrote, “Oh, it had been a sad mistake of the farmer that he did not teach his children to love one another.” But at least Richard, away from his father’s influence, extended this kindness to his younger brother.
On his way home, Wild Frank decided to stop and rest atop a hill for a while, tying a cord between him and Black Nell so she wouldn’t stray. However, Wild Frank fell asleep and soon after the atmosphere began to change. A thunderstorm rolled in and Black Nell grew more fearful, all while Wild Frank slept on soundly. A loud peal of thunder sent the horse racing down the hill, dragging the sleeping body behind her. The story ends abruptly with the Hill family looking upon the mangled corpse of Wild Frank.
The father is not even mentioned at the end; it is the mother who is struck by her son’s death. Yet it was the father who drove his children apart with judgment, the father who drove away Wild Frank in the first place. He is just as unjust and prideful as Mr. Bervance. Perhaps this is a reflection, or more likely in typical Whitman style, an exaggeration of Walter Sr. These stories are some of the few in which a father is a main character and portrayed in such a poor light. However, behind that pain is a need for closure. In the poem “As I Ebbed with the Ocean of Life” Whitman discloses his deeper need for affection in the lines, “I throw myself upon your breast my father, / I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, / I hold you so firm till you answer me something.” There was no chance that Walter Sr. saw this revealing poem because it was written in 1860, five years after his death. Something was missing from Whitman’s childhood and from his relationship with his father. Stability, reliability, affection? How did Whitman try to fill this role that his father left unfulfilled?
It’s clear from some of his happier works that Whitman pondered fatherhood and he would have doted on children if he ever had any. In “A Song of Joys”, Whitman writes, “O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all! / My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard”. According to Reynolds, Whitman envied his friends of their children but was most likely never inclined to have any due to his fondness for men. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t still showcase paternal instincts. It all started in his own family. It can be assumed that since Whitman was the second-eldest of nine children he would have taken on some responsibility, especially since he doted on his mother and would’ve wanted to help her. Berthold and Price write that “It was characteristic of Walt to take this parental role: the younger children were often ‘in his charge’ and he gradually assumed a greater and greater responsibility for the family finances.”
One can see that Whitman fostered paternal feelings towards his siblings in the story titled “My Boys and Girls”, published in 1844. Authors say that this is partly autobiographical since he mentions some of the names of his siblings, like “little Louisa” (Hannah Louisa), Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Andrew Jackson. There are a couple of places where he only lists initials and these have been hard to connect with any friends or acquaintances of his. In the story, he ruminates on youth and on his relationship with these “children.” Perhaps the most fatherly-sounding line is, “Blessings on the young!… Had I any magic or superhuman power, one of the first means of its use would be to insure the brightness and beauty of their lives.” Here Whitman presents the selfless tendency that fathers usually have, wishing the best for their children, wanting to help them however they can.
In a poem written in the 1864 volume of Leaves of Grass, “Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night”, Whitman plays the role of loving and dutiful father to a fallen soldier. Whitman occasionally addresses this soldier as his son: “Vigil of silence, love and death—vigil for you, my son / and my soldier”. The character watches him fall in battle and then keeps watch over him throughout the night until he finally lays him to rest in the Earth.
Though Whitman displays fatherly images in his works, he writes nothing of fathers when he announces that robust mothers are to uphold the future. Neither in his discussions or notes did he write of the importance of fatherhood in a child’s life nor how it benefitted society. However, one can look at his behavior in his life to understand that he carried out paternal behavior, which leads one to believe that Whitman tried his best to be different from his father and establish a type of manhood which was loving and engaged.
“The Wound-Dresser” (1865) reflects a time when Whitman dedicated himself to his fellow man. From 1862-1865 Whitman volunteered as a nurse in Washington D.C. to the wounded soldiers. He developed many a strong bond with these lost and lonely men. In his poem, he writes, “Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested / Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.” The soldiers benefitted greatly from this physical affection that Whitman freely gave out. He gave them his time and listening ear as well, creating a safe and comfortable space for the soldiers to feel more at home. Nurses and doctors at the time were trained to maintain a professional, but cold, manner to their patients in efforts of being efficient. The way Whitman spent time with his soldier friends must have helped their mental/emotional states greatly.
In correspondences between Whitman and his soldier friends, many address him as “Father”. Elijah Douglass Fox is perhaps the best example of a soldier finding a truly good paternal instinct in Whitman. In a letter to Whitman on November 10, 1863, Foxx wrote, “Dear Father, You will allow me to call you Father wont you. I do not know that I told you that both of my parents were dead but it is true and now Walt you will be a second Father to me wont you, for my love for you is hardly less than my love for my natural parent.” Whitman certainly charmed these men and a letter written on July 14 the next year exhibits the amount of care Whitman demonstrated as well; “you know I used to call you Father or ‘Pa,’ and I still think of you as such for I am sure no Father could have cared for their own child, better than you did me.”
Foxx was only one of the men who addressed Whitman as Father or thanked him for his care, among others being John M. Rogers and William E. Vandermark. It is clear that Whitman provided excellent friendship and attention to those who needed it.
When writing “American Manhood”, Rotundo commented on the importance of male friendships. “In providing love, security, and a sense of being special, these intense attachments gave male youths a substitute for the emotional nurture provided most often in boyhood by a mother. A somewhat older bachelor might also provide the sort of worldly counsel that a young man had once received—or wished for—from his father” (86). Whitman was there for the soldiers at a time when they were fighting death, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, and he was there for them all. But this bachelor was interesting to more than young soldiers—an Englishwoman was to hook herself on the unintended bait Whitman placed in Leaves of Grass.
After Anne Gilchrist read Whitman’s work in 1869, she was sure that she was his soul mate. She pined for 6 years across the sea before deciding to move her family from England to Philadelphia. Burroughs described the Gilchrists moving there as a “god-send to Walt” since he was so unhappy living with his brother George in Camden. Whitman was comfortable with the Gilchrist family upon first meeting and Anne gave up her fantasy of finding a lover. He was clearly uninterested in romance. But he was searching for something else: a real home. As Alcaro points out, “And the warmth of family love and respect and the exhilaration of being the center of attention that was as essential to living as oxygen for Walt Whitman were something that the poet needed desperately” (160). He made himself quite at ease in the Gilchrist home, making demands, inviting friends over as if it were his own home. He stayed at the Gilchrists for long periods of time and even had his own room. They seemed to dote on him hand and foot, especially Herbert Gilchrist who followed him around like a puppy. Alcaro writes in an entry in Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia, Whitman “was devoted to Anne’s children…For the only time in his life, Walt was the father figure in a family that included children and was presided over by, in his words, ‘a true wife & mother’ (Whitman 91).” This went a step further than just sitting at the bedsides of wounded or dying soldiers. This was an intelligent, appreciative family that didn’t have a father or husband available to them. Whitman simply stepped into their house and basked in the light they cast him in as a wise father.
Being in the spotlight was natural for him. In the Gilchrist home, he was not only a famous poet but the only man in company. And Anne, Beatrice, and Herbert were all fans of Whitman’s work so, of course, Whitman would soak up that adoration as can befit a father figure.
Whitman cast his spell over many people. Another devoted supporter of his was Horace Traubel. He recorded Whitman’s thoughts for 4 years but he knew Whitman personally since age fourteen. Folsom is in concurrence on the special relationship Traubel and Whitman had: “Traubel described himself as Whitman’s ‘spirit child,’ and for the twenty-seven years he lived on after Whitman’s death, he served the poet as a dutiful son” (Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia).
An example of Traubel’s dedication to his elderly friend resides in the fact that Traubel was due to get married at his father’s house but moved it to Whitman’s house since he was ill. Whitman must have had quite a significant role in Traubel’s life if he moved his wedding away from his actual father’s house. Traubel was so faithful to Whitman that he held his hand as he passed away. It would be likely that Whitman was glad to have such an earnest, committed young man at his side that he viewed as family.
Whitman exuded paternal behavior for sure, despite never having children himself. He loved being the center of attention and placing sage advice upon others and devoting himself to caring for wounded soldiers. He found in himself a father figure, one that was much better than Whitman’s own father. Whitman mostly took after his mother, empathetic and nurturing. The focus on the cult of womanhood was probably one of the reasons why Whitman was dissuaded from using his literary platform to encourage young fathers to try harder to bridge the gap with their children. Most of society was set on supporting mothers to be more active, to get healthier, to maintain the morals of the family. It left fathers the title of “breadwinner” and hardly anything else. The cult of womanhood might have been one of the ways Whitman jumped on the bandwagon during his life. Perhaps there was no room for him to discuss fatherhood at length—he was quite possibly hurt from his childhood and father was a sensitive and complicated subject. Whitman might not have used his career as a place to disclose his inner feelings about fatherhood, but in his real life, Whitman created comfortable relationships with others in order to develop a paternal side to his own personality. These interactions may have fulfilled something missing inside Whitman, perhaps giving him a richer life.
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