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Presbyopia's Finest Hour
Ronald S. Fishman, MD
Arch Ophthalmol. 2002;120:65-66.
In March 1783, with the last peace negotiations all but final, an incident
occurred that might have defeated the American Revolution at the last minute.
The officers of the Continental Army had not been paid for almost 5 years.
A conspiracy arose among the officers to coerce the Continental Congress to
provide them benefits it had previously promised. George Washington recognized
that if the army could intimidate Congress, this precedent would be fatal
for the prospects of the new republic. He met with the agitated, hostile officers
and tried to reason with them without success. Then, in a piece of high political
theater involving his spectacles, he broke up the conspiracy within a few
minutes.
Counterfactual history is a game one can play that underlines the importance
of contingency in events. What if Abraham Lincoln had not been reelected in
1864? Would the secession of the Confederate states have been allowed to take
place, and what would our country be like today if it had? This approach shows
how seemingly small events can have great consequences. It can make us view
these events in a new light and realize that nothing in the present is preordained
or inevitable.
And so we come to the tale of George Washington and his spectacles.
Washington's greatest accomplishment as a general—keeping an army
that was always small and undersupplied from simply disintegrating—was
achieved largely through force of character. Strangely enough, this leadership
style was severely tested toward the very end of the war.
After accepting the surrender of General Cornwallis at Yorktown, Va,
Washington took most of the Continental Army back up to the Northeast to cover
the main British army, based around New York City. In the winter of 1782-1783,
with the peace negotiations going on in Paris, the encampment was located
near the town of Newburgh in New York State, on the Hudson River not far from
West Point.
A large wooden structure called the Public Building was built to serve
as a chapel on Sundays and a meeting hall on other days. The first Purple
Heart medals were awarded there that winter.
Washington stayed close to the camp that season because he was worried
about the discontent and demoralization of his officers. Most of them had
had no pay for 5 years. Some faced debtor's prison if they returned home empty-handed.
Congress had promised to provide pensions in lieu of pay but had not yet honored
its commitment.1-3
The situation came to a head on March 10, 1783. Washington was handed
a copy of an anonymous note being circulated in the camp, calling for a meeting
of all officers. The note proposed that an ultimatum should be sent to Congress.
If the response was inadequate, the army could refuse to disband, even desert
the government, leave the coast defenseless, and set up a new state in the
wilderness near the Ohio River. The meeting was to decide whether the officers
should trust Congress to redeem the overdue pay and pension claims or whether
they should pry open the nation's coffers with bayonets.
Washington was appalled. This was mutiny. If the army succeeded in this
attempt to intimidate Congress, it would have particularly ominous implications for
the future of the country. A democratic republic had not seen the light of
day since classical Greek and Roman times. How viable would it be if these
officers had their way? Washington had every intention of ceding his military
power to civil authority as soon as peace was official. This mutiny threatened
not only the fragile unity of the former colonies but raised the specter of
military dictatorship.
Washington decided to allow the meeting to take place but to delay it
for 4 days. Then he unexpectedly showed up at the assembly in the Public Building,
an event that one historian has called the most important meeting ever held
in the United States.
The room was packed with officers. The atmosphere was tense. Washington
faced his men and took his prepared speech from his pocket.
His aides had copied his notes in large script because they knew that
Washington, at age 51 years, had recently been having difficulty reading.
This had induced him to try other people's spectacles. He had selected one
pair and in January had asked that the lenses be duplicated: "I have sent
Mr Rittenhouse the Glass of such Spectacles as Suit my Eyes, that he may know
how to grind his Christals."4 David Rittenhouse,
an instrument maker and astronomer in Philadelphia, Pa, had built the first
telescope in America and was to become a leader of the American Philosophical
Society and the first director of the US Mint.5
Rittenhouse had sent 2 pairs of spectacles, and Washington had thanked him
on February 16, 1783:
The Spectacles suit my eyes extremely well—as I am persuaded
the Reading-Glasses also will, when I get more accustomed to the use of them.
At present, I find some difficulty in coming at the proper focus; but when
I do obtain it, they magnify perfectly, and shew those letters very distinctly,
which at first appear as a mist—blended together and confused.6
Washington's aides had seen their chief trying a pair of spectacles
in the privacy of his office. But now, with the large script, Washington was
able to read his notes without them. The speech was calm and reasonable and
appealed to the officers' better natures:
[L]et me entreat you, gentlemen . . . not to take any measures
which, viewed in the calm light of reason, will lessen the dignity and sully
the glory you have hitherto maintained; let me request you to rely on the
plighted faith of your country, and place a full confidence in the purity
of the intentions of Congress. . . . 4
There was more exhortation in the same vein with a rhetorical flourish
at the end, but when he had finished, Washington looked up and knew that he
had failed. The audience was as disgruntled and unconvinced as ever.
In desperation, Washington retrieved a letter he had previously received
from a member of Congress. It might mollify the men even though his own speech
had not. But this letter was written in small script.
As Washington started to read it, he faltered. The letter was blurred, illegible
to him. A low sound came from the audience. Washington fumbled in a pocket
for his spectacles. As he put them on, the murmur increased. Were the men
even more annoyed with him? While he adjusted the glasses he said, "Gentlemen,
you must pardon me. I have grown gray in your service and now find myself
growing blind."1
But few listened carefully as Washington read the congressman's letter.
He had already won them over. The transformation in the audience was sudden,
unexpected, emotional. Washington's officers had not been annoyed but had
been overcome with pity and affection. This strong and charismatic man was
admitting to physical infirmity, right there in front of them. In all the
years they had served with Washington, the officers had never seen him wear
spectacles. Spectacles meant aging, blindness, decrepitude. Suddenly their
leader seemed tired, careworn, vulnerable. It was too much. They crowded around
him and reassured him. Some men wept. Washington left the hall, and the officers
quickly declared their "unshakable confidence" in Washington and the Congress.
And so there was no military coup. Congress eventually did provide benefits
for the army. The United States survived and, some may say, even flourished.
"I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind."
The line is such pure theater that one wonders, Was it scripted? No, Washington
was far too proud, and the dismay of the new presbyope is too palpable and
all too familiar.
Presbyopia may be the bane of middle age, but it had one great moment
at Newburgh, NY, on March 15, 1783—a date which does not live in infamy because of George Washington and his spectacles.
AUTHOR INFORMATION
Accepted for publication July 10, 2001.
Presented at the 14th Annual Meeting of the Cogan Ophthalmic History
Society, Stanford, Calif, March 24, 2001.
I thank Jay M. Galst, MD, who provided a useful reference on David Rittenhouse.
Corresponding author: Ronald S. Fishman, MD, 47880 Cross Manor Rd,
St Inigoes, MD 20684 (e-mail: rsfishman{at}mac.com).
From Johns Hopkins University, Institute of the History of Medicine,
Baltimore, Md.
REFERENCES
1. Freeman DS. I have grown gray in your service. In: George Washington: A Biography. Vol
5. New York, NY: Scribner; 1952:428-437.
2. Marshall GL Jr. The rise and fall of the Newburgh Conspiracy [Early
America Review Web site]. 1997;2:1-4. Available at: http://earlyamerica.com/review/fall97/wshngton.html. Accessed March 28, 2001.
3. Wensyel JW. The Newburgh Conspiracy. Am Herit. 1981;32:40-47.
4. Fitzpatrick JC, ed. The Writings of George Washington From the Original
Manuscript Sources, 1745-1799. Vol 26. Westport, Conn: Greenwood Press; 1976.
5. Gillispie CC, ed. Dictionary of Scientific Biography. New York, NY: Scribner; 1970.
6. Barton W. Memoirs of the Life of David Rittenhouse, LLD, FRS. Philadelphia, Pa: Edward Parker; 1813.
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