Historical meeting between the governors of the two Carolinas (relating to vanity?)

[bibliophage]

I’ve just finished reading the novel David Harum by Edward Noyes Westcott published in 1898. There’s mention at the beginning to Chapter XXVII to a meeting of the governors of the two Carolinas that from the context seems to refer to their vanity (or clothing?). It seems to be a reference to a real historical meeting, not a fictional one, but I’ll be darned if I can find anything about it. Anybody have a clue?

David is relating to John the story of how he bought a fancy set of clothes and modeled them for his sister Polly to show her how city folks dressed.

“‘Turn round,’ she [Polly] says. ‘Ye look f’m behind,’ she says, ‘like a red-headed snappin’-bug, an’ in front,’ she says, as I turned agin, ‘like a reg’lar slinkum. I’ll bet,’ she says, 'that you ain’t throwed away less ‘n twenty dollars on that foolishniss.’ Polly’s a very conserv’tive person,” remarked her brother, “an’ don’t never imagine a vain thing, as the Bible says, not when she knows it, an’ I thought it wa’n’t wuth while to argue the p’int with her.”

John laughed, and said, “Do you recall that memorable interview between the governors of the two Carolinas?”

“Nothin’ in the historical lit’rature of our great an’ glorious country,” replied Mr. Harum reverently, “sticks closter to my mind–like a bur to a cow’s tail,” he added by way of illustration.

[Freddy_the_Pig]

I don’t have any solid info, but this sounds an awful lot like something that would have involved Pitchfork Ben Tillman.

Tillman was governor of SC from 1890 to 1894, and his sartorial habits might be deduced from the following:

At the time, Ben R. Tillman, the senior senator of South Carolina, was a power with “One gallus boys,” a name he loved to call the farmers of his state. He cultivated their friendship in many ways. The author’s great-grandfather related that once he was on a train with “Pitchfork Ben” journeying from Washington to Gaffney and about the time the train passed Grover, North Carolina, Tillman arose from the seat they shared and retired to the men’s room. He was wearing a fine ruffled shirt and cutaway suit when he entered the men’s room and when he came out he was wearing overalls with the sleeves of a work shirt rolled above the elbows. After he was again seated, he took a chew of tobacco. In response to the question directed to him as to why he bad changed his dress he replied, "This is the way people in Gaffney expect to see “Pitchfork Ben’ and I would not disappoint them.”

In other words, it would have been in character for Tillman to “dress down” for a meeting with the governor of NC, especially if it were held in an informal setting. And, if the characters in your novel were SC dandies, it would be equally in character for them to remember it and have been embarrassed by it. (It was one thing for your governor to be a raving bigot, as Tillman was, but it would have been something else entirely for him to be out-dressed by the governor of backwoodsy, non-aristocratic North Carolina. That would be unforgivable.) Tillman was well known enough, even nationally, that the incident might have been recognizable without further elaboration to readers of 1898, much like a reference to a governor announcing XFL football would be recognized as a reference to Jesse Ventura today.

Of course, if the characters in your novel were from North Carolina, that blows my theory out of the water. But in any case, if nobody else has a better idea, see if you can hunt down a good biography of Pitchfork Ben.

[Tammi_Terrell]

I only know of one 19th-century anecdote involving governors from both states, and I have to confess that I’d never heard of this tale until sometime last year, when I happened upon it in Benjamin Botkin’s A Treasury of Southern Folklore (1949). (At least I’m pretty sure that’s where I saw it.)

As unfamiliar as the anecdote may be to us now, a hundred years ago most gentlemen could supply the punchline to “as the Governor from North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina …” Curiously, while there was agreement that he quipped something like, “it’s a long time between drinks,” there’s been no consensus on the details of that anecdote (who the principals were; when, why, and where they met; what transpired between them) and, in fact, whether that encounter ever actually took place. I suspect that attempting to verify elements of the various forms of this particular legend was at one time as popular a pursuit amongst Carolina folklorists and historians as determining the true origin of “Tar Heel.”

Anyway, here’s a popular telling (one of many variations, some humorous and some serious) that’s contemporaneous with the publication of David Harum.

[From “What the Governor Said; A Florida Journal’s History of a Notable Remark,” The New York Times, 8 July 1897, Pg. 6. Originally printed in The Jacksonville (Florida) Times-Union.]

Nearly a century ago a man prominent in political affairs in North Carolina moved across the border and settled in South Carolina. He had been there only a short time when he committed some small crime, for which he was indicted. To escape arrest he returned to his old home in North Carolina. In due course of time the Governor of South Carolina issued his requisition on the Governor of North Carolina for the fugitive criminal.

The fugitive had rich and influential friends in his native State, and they interceded with the Governor until he refused to grant the requisition. A long official correspondence followed. Prominent men in South Carolina told the Governor that the had not been treated with proper official courtesy by the Governor of North Carolina. The result was that the Governor of South Carolina, accompanied by a large part of friends and advisers, journeyed by stage to Raleigh for a conference with the Governor about the matter of giving up the criminal.

The Governor of North Carolina, with a large party of distinguished friends, met the Governor of South Carolina and his party several miles from town, and escorted them to the Governor’s Mansion with all the ceremony due such distinguished visitors. Before the object of his visit was stsated the entire assemblage sat down to an elaborate dinner. After dinner wine was served, and after wine came brandy – the applejack for which the old north State is famous.

After many rounds of drinks the decanters and glasses were removed, and the Governor of South Carolina stated the object of his visit. He demanded the surrender of the fugitive criminal. The Governor of North Carolina refused. Then followed a long and heated discussion, in which the Attorneys General of the two States took an active part. Finally the Governor of South Carolina grew angry, and rising to his feet, said:

“Sir, you have refused my just demand and offended the dignity of my office and my State. Unless you at once surrender the prisoner I will return to my capital, call out the militia of the State, and, returning with my army, I will take the fugitive by force of arms. Governor, what do you say?”

All eyes were turned on the Governor of North Carolina, and his answer was awaited with breathless interest. The Governor rose slowly to his feet and beckoned to a servant who stood some distance away. His beckoning was firm and dignified, as became his position. He was slow about answering, and again the Governor of South Carolina demanded:

“What do you say?”

“I say, Governor, that it’s a long time between drinks.”

The reply restored good humor. Decanters and glasses were brought out again, and while the visitors remained if any one attempted to refer to the diplomatic object of the visit he was cut short by the remark that it was a long time between drinks. When the Governor was ready to return home he was escorted to the State line by the Governor of North Carolina, and they parted the best of friends. The fugitive was never surrendered.

As I understand it, depending on the version one heard, “it’s a long time between drinks” was taken as a charming expression of conviviality (i.e., let’s put our disagreements aside and have another drink) or, more rarely, as something of an insult (i.e, what you’re telling me is boring me; my time would be better spent drinking [or certainly doing something else].)

I’m sort of at a loss to know, though, whether Westcott was making use of this anecdote for John’s conversation with Harum.

For what it’s worth, Robert Louis Stevenson (and his co-author) had a character allude to this quip in 1889’s The Wrong Box; similarly, Kipling included the line in The Light That Failed (1890). (By the way, Barry Popik looked for early appearances of “it’s a long time between drinks” and, while he found several variations of its use, he couldn’t document anything before 1862.)

– Tammi Terrell