Playwright’s Notes
by
Donna Latham
How does history view Mary Todd Lincoln (1818-1882), a woman ahead of her time? It’s applied modern terms like hoarder and shopaholic. In her day, Mary was called hellcat, unfeminine, and dreadful. Born in Lexington,
Kentucky, Mary Todd grew up in a wealthy family and boasted an education uncommon for women of the era. Intelligent, vivacious, and fashionable, Mary adored arts and politics. An eloquent speaker and writer, she loved Shakespeare, a passion later shared with her husband. Mary was moody, tart-tongued, and not inclined to suffer fools. Ambitious and complex, she defied conventions and spoke her mind when women were expected to hush.
Mary met Abraham Lincoln in unsettled Springfield, Illinois, and despite buckets of beaux, pursued the roughhewn attorney. In 1842, she married against her family’s wishes and traded a comfortable life for a hardscrabble one. She threw herself into the cherished role of wife and mother and
became her husband’s partner and sounding board in his rising political career.
With President Lincoln in office and the Civil War underway, Mary couldn’t win. In Washington, many viewed her “western” ways as tacky and mocked her “loud” wardrobe. Mary dubbed herself scapegoat for both North and South. Northerners dubbed her a spy. They were suspicious of her
upbringing in a slave-holding household and her Confederate relatives. Southerners disliked her ferocious Union loyalty. Both united in their criticism of her extravagant spending sprees.
After Lincoln’s assassination, Mary fell prostrate with grief. She sought repeated advice from spiritualists, including huckster photographer William H. Mumler and others who preyed on the emotionally vulnerable. She vowed to wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life, taking a cue from her model of mourning, Queen Victoria. When she settled in Chicago, Mary found it impossible to live on her pension. Using the pseudonym Mrs. Clark, Mary traveled to New York with her confidant and dressmaker Elizabeth Keckley and attempted to sell her garments and jewelry. The “Old Clothes”
sale horrified the nation with its shocking breach of Victorian etiquette. Headlines were brutal. Mary was devastated.
As the ten-year anniversary of the assassination approached, Mary’s public conduct grew increasingly eccentric. Her son Robert, a lawyer, arranged an insanity trial in Chicago, a trial at which Mary was not allowed to speak. After ten minutes, long as it takes to boil water for tea, a jury of men pronounced Mary insane.
I created this play with flotsam and jetsam discovered in delicious bits and pieces of historical information. I considered Mary’s crushing grief—the assassination of her husband as she held his hand. The deaths of three sons and the metaphorical death of another through betrayal. Her alleged suicide attempts following the verdict. An anonymous poem attributed to Lincoln.
First and foremost, this is a work of imagination. Among other theatrical hocus-pocus, I’ve compressed and rearranged time and tweaked relationships. In some dialogue instances, I’ve used quotes from the historical figures; in others, I’ve given Mary a voice when she had none. In historical reality, Mary and Lizzie were estranged at the time of Mary’s confinement. Secretary Stanton wasn’t part of Mary’s trial, but through the magic of theatre, he rides the waves in the Sea of Men.
by
Donna Latham
How does history view Mary Todd Lincoln (1818-1882), a woman ahead of her time? It’s applied modern terms like hoarder and shopaholic. In her day, Mary was called hellcat, unfeminine, and dreadful. Born in Lexington,
Kentucky, Mary Todd grew up in a wealthy family and boasted an education uncommon for women of the era. Intelligent, vivacious, and fashionable, Mary adored arts and politics. An eloquent speaker and writer, she loved Shakespeare, a passion later shared with her husband. Mary was moody, tart-tongued, and not inclined to suffer fools. Ambitious and complex, she defied conventions and spoke her mind when women were expected to hush.
Mary met Abraham Lincoln in unsettled Springfield, Illinois, and despite buckets of beaux, pursued the roughhewn attorney. In 1842, she married against her family’s wishes and traded a comfortable life for a hardscrabble one. She threw herself into the cherished role of wife and mother and
became her husband’s partner and sounding board in his rising political career.
With President Lincoln in office and the Civil War underway, Mary couldn’t win. In Washington, many viewed her “western” ways as tacky and mocked her “loud” wardrobe. Mary dubbed herself scapegoat for both North and South. Northerners dubbed her a spy. They were suspicious of her
upbringing in a slave-holding household and her Confederate relatives. Southerners disliked her ferocious Union loyalty. Both united in their criticism of her extravagant spending sprees.
After Lincoln’s assassination, Mary fell prostrate with grief. She sought repeated advice from spiritualists, including huckster photographer William H. Mumler and others who preyed on the emotionally vulnerable. She vowed to wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life, taking a cue from her model of mourning, Queen Victoria. When she settled in Chicago, Mary found it impossible to live on her pension. Using the pseudonym Mrs. Clark, Mary traveled to New York with her confidant and dressmaker Elizabeth Keckley and attempted to sell her garments and jewelry. The “Old Clothes”
sale horrified the nation with its shocking breach of Victorian etiquette. Headlines were brutal. Mary was devastated.
As the ten-year anniversary of the assassination approached, Mary’s public conduct grew increasingly eccentric. Her son Robert, a lawyer, arranged an insanity trial in Chicago, a trial at which Mary was not allowed to speak. After ten minutes, long as it takes to boil water for tea, a jury of men pronounced Mary insane.
I created this play with flotsam and jetsam discovered in delicious bits and pieces of historical information. I considered Mary’s crushing grief—the assassination of her husband as she held his hand. The deaths of three sons and the metaphorical death of another through betrayal. Her alleged suicide attempts following the verdict. An anonymous poem attributed to Lincoln.
First and foremost, this is a work of imagination. Among other theatrical hocus-pocus, I’ve compressed and rearranged time and tweaked relationships. In some dialogue instances, I’ve used quotes from the historical figures; in others, I’ve given Mary a voice when she had none. In historical reality, Mary and Lizzie were estranged at the time of Mary’s confinement. Secretary Stanton wasn’t part of Mary’s trial, but through the magic of theatre, he rides the waves in the Sea of Men.