Streets Trod by Mary Todd

I was in Springfield for a couple of days for a work-related meeting. Here’s the view from my hotel room looking out over the capitol section of the city. Doesn’t it look all Springfieldy?

This is where our most notorious leader, Rod Blagojevich, began his political career. Since Springfield is also the home of Abraham Lincoln, everything is Lincoln-this and Lincoln-that. Whenever I’m here, though, I can’t help but reflect on the life of his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln.

Such a tragic figure, she was. Imagine, losing three of your four sons to illness while they were young. Then, your husband gets assassinated. Then your remaining son has you committed to an insane asylum. Finally, your favorite hat designer cuts off your line of credit.

The mind reels.

But looking out over these streets, I like to think of Mary Todd upon her first arrival in this city. She had just completed a college education (a very rare feat for young women in the 1830s) and had left her home in Kentucky to stay with an older sister here in the new, frontier capital city. Aside from being fluent in French, she was witty, politically savvy, beautiful, and the talk of the town. Here, she had her pick of dozens of eligible, young bachelors and she selected one that would make her a First Lady.

And the rest, as they say, is history. . . .

I'm No Lincoln

This week, I clocked 900 miles driving around the state of Illinois on work-related matters. It’s something I actually enjoy especially when I have a rental car equipped with satellite radio. You just haven’t lived until you’ve driven to Peoria while listening to a Concerto for Bass Flute.

While driving through Springfield, one can’t help but notice that everything is “Abraham Lincoln This” and “Abraham Lincoln That” and that got me thinking about Illinois’ second-most famous president.

Long before he became president, Mr. Lincoln worked as a circuit attorney serving a number of counties across central Illinois. Back in those days, there was no Interstate 55 or 74 connecting Springfield to anywhere else. Mr. Lincoln had to go from town to town by horseback. On a horse.

If any of you have ever ridden a horse for a whole day, then you know what it means to be saddle-sore. Oh my gosh, there is nothing worse. Just when your crotch gets raw and bruised all the way up to your ears, the horse starts trotting. Mr. Lincoln had to endure that day after day after day. The mind reels.

I thought of that because I have a slight case of plantar fasciitis in my right foot and my heel was getting sore from pressing on the gas pedal so much. I was glad my rental had cruise control.

There were no Applebee’s or Ruby Tuesday’s along the way at which Mr. Lincoln could stop for a bite to eat. No, Mary Lincoln probably stuffed some beef jerky and a few leftover corn pones in an old saddlebag for him.

I thought of that one night when was I too tired to walk down to the hotel lobby for dinner. I had room service bring a maple-glazed salmon with roasted vegetable medley.

And what about hotel accommodations along the way? Hampton Inns are nice but while in Springfield, I stay at the Hilton downtown (we get a state rate there).

Mr. Lincoln had to make do with flop-houses along the way. There, you’d get a meal and a bed –but back then, it was expected that male guests would share a bed with each other. And people didn’t bathe back then. Can you imagine riding a horse all day and then sharing a small bed with a smelly stranger with a sore crotch? The mind reels.

I thought of that when I asked the desk clerk to move me to another room because the one I had was on the first floor next to the parking lot. (It just didn’t feel private enough.). However, this hotel did have my favorite shampoo – Coconut & Lime Verbena by Bath & Body Works.

So, yes, as I drove through Springfield, I gained new respect for Mr. Lincoln and what he had to endure.

I was glad to get back to Chicago late Wednesday evening. I plunked my bags with the doorman while I returned my rental car and then headed up to the lovely solitude of my condo on the 50th floor.

Mr. Lincoln had to go home to Mary Todd.

The mind reels. . . .