Victoria who?

Back in 1872, when Victoria Woodhull became the first woman to run for President of the United States, nobody would have asked that question. Considered a visionary by some, a “she-devil” by others, Victoria had acquired quite a reputation by the time she was nominated by the Equal Rights Party. She’d been born poor in rural Ohio, the daughter of a con artist and a fanatic spiritualist, and she lived exactly the sort of peripatetic life those beginnings imply. Social activist, stockbroker, newspaper editor, suffragette, spiritualist (many would add prostitute, con artist, and fraud), Victoria got around.

Victoria Woodhull

It would take more than one blog post to do justice to Victoria and her vivid existence. Her relevance to me, however, is more easily defined: my novel, Newport, was inspired by an incident in her life that took place during her spiritualist phase.

Victoria and her younger sister Tennessee had spent much of their childhoods traveling in the Claflin family medicine show, promoted by their father as fortune-tellers and psychic healers. Victoria grew into adulthood claiming an ability to communicate with the dead. This communication grew particularly lucrative in 1866 when, at the insistence of her “spirit guide (the Greek statesman Demosthenes),” Victoria relocated to New York City to join her sister, who was already there. It was in New York that Victoria and Tennessee caught the biggest fish of their spiritualist careers: Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the richest men in the country.

Cornelius Vanderbilt

The sisters met Commodore Vanderbilt at just the right time. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Vanderbilt was between spiritualists. His old one had made so much money getting rid of the two spirits the old man feared were haunting him that she could retire to Vermont, leaving the path free and clear for a new medium. Victoria and Tennie began hosting seances to ease Vanderbilt’s pains, both psychic and physical. Victoria channeled not only messages from Vanderbilt’s other-world mother and children, but stock tips from the great beyond. (Never mind that “the great beyond” was probably her friend Josie Mansfield, who was the mistress of one of Vanderbilt’s business rivals.) The tips worked so well that when Vanderbilt was asked about his stock market success, he replied, “Do as I do, consult the spirits.”

In the long run, the arrangement proved fortuitous for all parties involved. The sisters got the financial backing they needed to open the first female-run brokerage on Wall Street; Cornelius’s broken heart (and many other ailments) were soothed not only by Victoria’s seances, but by Tennie, with whom he had an affair.

Reading about this a few years ago made me think. At what point do people who grieve become so desperate that they’ll believe anything? What besides greed motivates the medium? Or …what if the medium is legit, and the messages delivered from “beyond” are real? Once the questions began flowing, characters, setting, and plot fell into place, and Newport was up and running.

Of course, Newport has many other plot points. But those who have read the book will recognize how this chapter from Victoria’s life impacted the story.

Who’s to say what will trigger inspiration for a book? Almost any tidbit or event will do, and once ignited, the writing process takes on a life of its own. Sometimes, the flow of ideas can feel like a gift from another realm. So, maybe I should add “muse” to Victoria Woodhull’s long list of professions.

Rumor had it that after Cornelius Vanderbilt’s death, his heirs paid Victoria and Tennessee to go away. If so, the money came at a good time. Recently divorced and exhausted, Victoria left for England, where she became a lecturer and magazine publisher. She married again and lived fairly respectably until her death in 1927 at the age of 88.

Victoria Woodhull was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame in 2001. You can read a little more about her here.

Woodhull for President

In 1891, Oliver Hazard Perry Belmont was a thirty-two-year-old divorced socialite who wanted to build a summer home in Newport. He hadn’t really accomplished much. He’d attended the United States Naval Academy, resigning after a brief and uneven naval career. He’d rejected the family banking business. His gambling, womanizing, and fondness for absinthe had ended an early marriage to debutante Sara Swan Whiting. But what OHP (as he was known) did have was wealth and connections. His recently deceased father, August Belmont, had been a financier, diplomat, and horse-breeder (he’s the namesake of the Belmont Stakes). His mother, Caroline Slidell Perry, was the daughter of Commodore Matthew C. Perry and great-niece of Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry. The Belmont family was well-known in both New York and Newport society. Oliver Belmont had little trouble getting what he wanted.

Oliver Belmont

Although Belmont hired Richard Morris Hunt as architect for his “cottage,” he personally designed it. Hunt swallowed down each idea by remembering it was his client’s money he was spending. From 1891 to 1894, Belmont’s mansion, Belcourt, rose on the corner of Lakeview and Bellevue Avenues. By the time it was completed, it had grown to 50,000 square feet and 60 rooms. It was mostly French Renaissance and Gothic decor but also incorporated touches of Italian, German, and English architecture. The entire first floor was designed with Belmont’s prized horses in mind, built so that the coachman could drive the carriage right into the castle, drop Belmont off, and then continue to the stables located on the other side of the house. Aside from the servants’ quarters (there were approximately thirty servants employed at Belcourt), the mansion had only one traditional bedroom and bathroom. It didn’t have a kitchen, either: Belmont was terrified of fire, so Belcourt’s kitchens were located several blocks away, accessible by tunnel. Meals were ferried by carriage to the mansion. Belmont didn’t see any of this as problematic, since he only intended to be in residence at Belcourt for six to eight weeks of the year.

Many times remodeled (no surprise there), Belcourt stayed in the Belmont family until 1940, when Oliver Belmont’s brother, Perry, sold it. For the next fourteen years, the mansion sank into further disrepair as buyers declined to live in it. Finally, in 1954, Belcourt was bought for $22,500 by Elaine and Louis Lorillard, founders of …you guessed it … the Newport Jazz Festival. The Lorillards saw something in this magnificent white elephant of a house. They saw lawns that could accommodate thousands of people. They thought the facades (masonry and stucco) would provide good acoustics. They envisioned concerts in the large central courtyard, workshops in the huge rooms of the mansion itself.

The first Newport Jazz Festival (actually called “The First Annual American Jazz Festival”) was held in 1954 at the Newport Casino on Bellevue Avenue. It was such a success that the Casino declined to host it a second year, claiming that it could not accommodate the crowds. This was Belcourt’s chance …

…except for neighborhood objections and zoning laws. In the end, Belcourt hosted the 1955 festival’s workshops and receptions, but the concerts were held in a sports arena nearby. The Lorillards, unable to use Belcourt as they’d hoped, sold the crumbling mansion to the Tinney family the following year.

There are a few epilogues here:

Belcourt stayed in the Tinney family for over fifty years. They renovated it, lived in it, and even opened it as a museum in 1957.  (Belcourt is currently owned by Carolyn Rafaelian, owner of the Rhode Island-based company Alex and Ani.)

In 1896, Oliver Belmont married Alva Vanderbilt, ex-wife of his good friend, William Vanderbilt. He became more politically active, serving in the New York Congress from 1901-1903 and publishing a newspaper called The Verdict, meant to expose corruption in business. In short, OHP grew up.

And the Newport Jazz Festival ? It’s this weekend – July 31-August 2.

Just not at Belcourt.

The Cliff Walk begins benignly enough at Memorial Boulevard and Easton’s Beach, where it looks like this:

But while much of Cliff Walk is paved, there are many portions of it that are not as easy to navigate, and walkers are advised to take caution should they choose to follow the Walk to its end. There are spots along the way where the cliffs have drops of over 70 feet. In case you don’t believe the written warnings, this picture helps drive the point home:

The dangers were even more apparent after Superstorm Sandy, which slammed into Newport on October 29, 2012. Sandy devastated Cliff Walk. Parts of the walkway washed away. Retaining walls caved in. Tangled fencing littered the paths. Cliff Walk did not completely reopen until June 24, 2014.

…which didn’t mean that SOME people (*ahem*) didn’t slip past the warning gates and chains to see the damage for themselves. As always, the views were wild and wonderful, this time edged with the reminder that no matter how developed, the coast is always vulnerable to the whims and ravages of nature.

I last walked the Cliff Walk at the end of April 2015. Because I didn’t have to worry as much about falling off as I did in October 2013, I was able to observe a little more.  There are new trail markers along the Walk now, sixteen of them placed at various points of interest along the way, each including a QR code that visitors can scan with their smart phones to learn more about what they are seeing.

The views, as always, were spectacular in every direction. But I also noticed this:

That’s right: random padlocks on any length of chain link fence along the way. These are love locks, which started popping up throughout Europe in the early 2000s and spread globally. According to legend, couples write their names or initials on the padlock, lock it, and then throw away the key, symbolically locking their love for eternity. It’s said that if both of the lovers are not present as the lock locks, their love is forever jinxed. It might be a better idea for these couples to figure out what it means if the locks get cut off, as is now happening at various bridges across the globe when the weight of these padlocks begins to cause structural damage to the bridges themselves. Will true love be any safer along the Cliff Walk?

There’s so much to experience along the Cliff Walk, and I plan to write more about it at a later date. For today, though, I’ll leave you with a few images to enjoy. If you try really hard, maybe you’ll feel the sea breeze on your face. Better still, plan a trip. You won’t be disappointed!