When a Roosevelt Found Health in Virginia Hills

By Goodridge Wilson

Elliott Roosevelt's place in history is not conspicuous; but it is unique in that no other man has yet been the brother of one President and the father-in-law of another. His place in the affections and in the esteem of those who knew him was much larger than his place in history. A lovable and charming gentleman, indeed, was this delightful young man who died in his early thirties while his daughter, the present "First Lady of the Land," was a little girl, if the 40-year-old reputation left by his two years' residence in Virginia may be taken as trustworthy testimony to the big heart of him, the fine sportsmanship and the irrepressible boyishness of him, the genuine manliness of him, the vigor of his mentality, and the fascinating charm of his manner and his speech.

Other testimony as to what manner of man he was may be found in the volume of his letters edited by his daughter, Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt, and in the book, "My Brother, Theodore Roosevelt, written by his sister, Mrs. Douglas Robinson, and also, could they be gathered, from memories of him cherished by those who knew him in New York, in England, throughout the Continents of Europe and Asia, in the wide spaces of the West and the South. For such men as he do not cease to live upon the earth while their friends are alive upon it. But 40 years is a long time in this swift-moving age. Today not many of those who knew and loved him in places all around the world are left alive to tell about him. Perhaps nowhere else, outside of the immediate family connection, can a truer picture of him be pieced together now than from fragments of memories and stories to be found among the beautiful Southwestern Virginia hills, where he spent the greater part of the last two years of his short, eventful life, in intimate association with small town dwellers, with farmers and country gentlemen, with miners and lumbermen and mountaineers. They were tragic years, those last two years of his life, filled with suffering and sorrow; yet beautiful years, filled with the joy of brave living, with busy activity in sports and in business, with warm happy friendships, with innumerable kindnesses and generous service to his fellow men.

He found congenial spirits and made fast devoted friends among the children of cultured homes and of mountain cabins; among the hard-drinking convivial sporting bloods; among the elect ladies and pious churchmen; among the Negroes who tended his horses and dogs and served him in other ways, and who would come to sing sweet melodies outside his door when he lay ill abed. The sick and the poor found in him a minister of mercy, for it is still remembered that he had an almost uncanny knack of learning about cases of sickness and distress around him and a way of quietly sending money, or delicacies, or flowers, or words of comfort and cheer as the occasion required. At Christmas he would buy hundreds of turkeys from the farmers and have them distributed to the poor.

*          *          *

Abingdon in the nineties was a sprawling old Virginia village of some 1,500 inhabitants, the county seat of Washington County and the trading and social center for a well-populated area extending over this and several other counties. It was and is a fine old town with pioneer background and cultural associations, situated 2,000 feet above the sea in one of the loveliest sections of country in any land. Vast virgin forests, since mostly cut away, covered the mountains all around and thousands of acres of the rich valley lands as well. Blue grass carpeted the clearings and wild flowers in lavish profusion and endless variety bloomed in forest and field.

Some colleges of long and honorable career were in and near the town. Old families of the Virginia aristocracy type lived in mellowed houses within the corporate limits and on outlying plantations, or farms as they are called in this part of Virginia. Army officers, congressmen, State Governors and Supreme Court judges, and men of their ilk had always been among the leaders of the community.

In 1892 Elliott Roosevelt came from his business in New York and his home on Long Island to Abingdon. He had left his young wife and his three little children, Eleonor, Elliott Jr. and Hall, in New York. He came searching for health and the restoration of shattered nerves. He was then 32 years old. The heavy strain of his work and his gay social and sporting life had combined with a smashup from a fall riding in an amateur circus to undermine a constitution already seriously impaired by fever contracted while hunting tigers in India. Douglas Robinson, his brother-in-law and boyhood pal, had given him employment in connection with the Douglas lands, a vast acreage of glorious mountain forests which was then, except for cabins and little clearings of squatters, in much the same gorgeous wild state as when in 1797 the old Scotch merchant of New York, James Douglas, acquired title to it. From hunting, fishing, riding, and working over these princely mountain wilds, living the quiet village life of Abingdon and riding about the beautiful Southwestern Virginia countryside, this strenuous invalid had high hopes of regaining his health and steadiness of nervous control.

He fell in love with the beautiful country and its warm-hearted hospitable people, he saw great possibilities for constructive work in the developments then taking form, and he began to talk seriously of making a permanent home in Abingdon, plans which might or might not have carried through if he had lived longer. He became a heavy stockholder in the Abingdon bank. Railroads were being laid to tap the rich coal fields on the Virginia Cumberlands and the upper Clinch and Big Sandy River basins. Band mills were being introduced to harvest the virgin timber.

He became interested in mining, lumbering and land improvement operations. With Judge W. E. Burns of Lebanon, Va., and W. W. Coe of Philadelphia and others he launched the Coeburn Land Development Company, named at his suggestion by combining the names of these two of his associates. Under the auspices of this company and largely under his personal supervision the beginning of Coeburn, Va., now a flourishing coal town, was made. He spent much time at his "diggings," located some 60 miles northwest of Abingdon, riding horseback to and from them across several mountains, thoroughly enjoying the long arduous rides. When the panic struck in '93, paralyzing his operations and throwing the men out of employment he worked desperately for relief of the starving miners. They would listen to him when they would pay attention to no one else. His bank at Abingdon failed in the panic. He made strenuous efforts to save it, offering to head a list of new capital subscribers with his own subscription for an amount equal to one-fifth of the original capital, but the other stockholders could not meet his offer and the bank crashed. He handled successfully the business of the Douglas Land Company.

Although the panic disrupted his business ventures he was, during the first half of his stay in Abingdon, happy and on the whole successful. His health was steadily improving. His friends, his horses and his dogs were multiplying. His irrepressible youthful spirits and tireless energy were finding outlets through varied activities which would have been remarkable for a man in sound health, and for an invalid were amazing.

*          *          *

The gentle folk of Abingdon, particularly the ladies and the young social set, at first were not a little flustered by the advent of this attractive young New York society man in their midst. They were just a little afraid of him, and more than a little sorry for him, thinking that he must be frightfully bored with life in their stuffy town. They decided to invite him to a reception, a very stiff and formal and altogether proper affair. He came. The stiffness thawed out, the formality disappeared and the reception became one of the jolliest of their usual easy and natural parties. From then on he was simply one of the crowd, except that he was the life of every party and his presence in any gathering was a guaranty of a jolly good time for everybody.

The young ladies were in their seventh heaven of delight when invited to drive with him on the high seat of his swanky trap or in his two-seated yellow jersey wagon and he was a much sought addition to the masculine conclaves of men both young and old. He did not remain long in the quarters over the Main Street store, but rented rooms in the home of Mrs. Mary Branch Campbell, a lovely old lady of motherly heart and infinite understanding of the ways of young men. Here the young people would gather about his piano to sing songs until late in the night, or to swap stories, or to listen to him read. He was a lover of poetry and an excellent reader. Here his little friends, the children, would visit him and his puppies, and here he would entertain out-of-town guests. He would sing in the choir of the little Episcopal church and was a regular worshipper at the Sunday services. The rector, Mr. Loyd, was his intimate friend and the rector's little daughter was one of his favorites among the children.

On fall and winter evenings he was fond of casually dropping in at certain homes to sit in the family circle about the open fire eating apples and cracking nuts and talking about Europe or his hunting in India and elsewhere, but most of all he loved to talk about his own family, his wife and children, his father and mother and brother and sisters. In these intimate circles he never tired of talking about his brother, Theodore, of whom he was frankly and immensely proud. These little privileges of home life meant much to him in his enforced exile from his own home and loved ones, and much, too, to the friends who delighted to have him with them. In winter when snow was on the ground he would round up the whole town, rich and poor, old and young, in grand and glorious whooping and uproariously coasting parties under his exubriant leadership.

Breeding of fine horses was a prideful occupation on the blue grass farms. Mr. Roosevelt would buy them, shipping many to the North and keeping a full stable for his own use. When his health permitted he was in the saddle every day, often riding far--to the coal fields 50 to 100 miles northwest of Abingdon, through the Douglas lands extending for scores of miles across the mountains to the southwest, far and wide over the picturesque country.

*          *          *

He was accustomed to take early morning rides through the fields, accompanied by the children of his friends. Having his gun along he would usually bring in small game from these early morning consitutionals. In quail season farmers would be awakened at dawn by the popping of his gun in their fields.

Game was plentiful--turkey, bear and deer in the mountains and all manner of small game everywhere. He hunted everything from snakes to bear. Old Bill Findley, illiterate but fearless and skilled hermit hunter of the mountains and a lineal descendant of the Findley who guided Boone to Kentucky, was his companion in bear hunting. Old Bill was [illegible] of bestowing his confidence and choosy about his associates, but between him and young Roosevelt there developed a close friendship, based on mutual liking and respect.

The terriers were his chums, but he had numerous dogs of many sorts, among them a varied and fine collection of hunting dogs.

Thus occupied with his sports, his horses, his dogs, his business affairs, and his friends Elliott Roosevelt lived happily in Southwestern Virginia until heart-breaking bereavement came near the close of the disastrous year of 1893. A few days before Thanksgiving he got word that Mrs. Roosevelt was dangerously ill. He had accepted an invitation to a Thanksgiving dinner party at Mr. Daniel Trigg's, four miles in the country from Abingdon, the social event of the season. He told his host that he could not attend the dinner, and distressed and anxious, held himself in readiness to go to his wife at any hour the telegrams might call him. But on the evening before Thanksgiving Day his anxiety was relieved by a message saying that she was so much improved as to be practically out of danger and that he need not come. Gay and happy on Thanksgiving evening he drove out with the merry party to Mr. Trigg's. While the dinner was being served a messenger arrived with a telegram saying that Mrs. Roosevelt had suddenly passed away. Driving madly through the four miles of mud to Abingdon he barely had time to catch the night train to New York.

From this blow and from the death of his little son, Elliott Junior, he never recovered. His health declined. He suffered recurring attacks of his old Indian fever and was ill a great part of the time. He died in a New York hosptial in August, 1894.

After Mrs. Roosevelt's death he placed in the little Episcopal church in Abingdon a pulpit Bible inscribed on the fly leaf to her memory. The Bible was destroyed a few years ago when the building burned. In the new building erected on the site Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt placed another Bible inscribed to the memory of her father and her mother, a fitting memorial to this Christian gentleman, of charming personality, a rare and beautiful spirit whose life was a daily practice of the golden rule.