Historic Philadelphia

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Right: Philadelphia County’s nineteen
municipalities united into one large city in
1854, but many have retained their identity
as urban neighborhoods.
COURTESY OF BARBARA TORODE.
Below: The first ever Republican National
Convention assembled in Musical Fund Hall
on June 17, 1856. The grand new party
nominated John C. Fremont, forty-three, an
anti-slavery Georgia native famous for
exploring the Rocky Mountains. Senator
William L. Dayton of New Jersey was
nominated for vice president, beating out
the head of the Illinois delegation, Abraham
Lincoln. Note that the poster (bottom, right)
misspells “president,” perhaps beginning the
GOP misspelling tradition carried on by
Dan Quayle. The two-year-old party lost,
but would win the next six presidential
elections. (In the twentieth century, the
Musical Fund Society took its musical
activities elsewhere; the hall was used for
boxing matches, then for years as a tobacco
warehouse. In the late 1970s it was
converted to apartments.)
HALL PHOTO COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR. POSTER
COURTESY OF THE ATWATER KENT MUSEUM.
down on the arriving dignitaries, dousing the
elaborate gowns of some of the country folk
from remote areas like Byberry and Passyunk.
The upper saloon was set apart for the
popular mazy dance (part rhythm, part spasm)
and decorated with crimson and gold muslin,
laurel wreaths and mirrors. But it was
overcrowded, and the band didn’t play
continuously. Tickets for uninvited citizens were
$5. Newspaper reporters were annoyed because
they had to buy tickets and had been told they
could not bring ladies.
The governor and members of the legislature
arrived at 10 p.m. Supper was served downstairs
at 11:45. The tables were decorated with plaster
busts of Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, Franklin
Pierce, and other notable Americans. The food
included oysters, ham, turkey, chicken salad, ice
cream, wine and liquor, bread and butter;
“Everything,” reported someone who attended,
“that a man having any regard for his health
ought not to eat.” There were forty-six items on
the menu, which, to the bafflement of many, was
printed in French. The food ran out quickly, the
liquor quicker.
“The Committee of Arrangements,” said
one newspaper account, “had lubricated their
spinal marrows to a considerable extent long
before the opening, and at an early hour many
were wholly unfit to attend to the duties
devolved upon them.”
At 1:10 a.m., people who bought tickets
but didn’t get food, or were otherwise dissatisfied,
confronted the committee. Police intervened.
Some attendees began taking the floral
decorations. The police tried to stop them.
The crowd cried, “Shame! Shame!” Punches
were thrown. There were one or two arrests.
At 3 a.m., the lights were turned out.
People groped toward the exits. “As a whole,”
a Mercury reporter opined, “the ball was the
meanest and most contemptible affair ever
witnessed in this city.”
HISTORIC PHILADELPHIA
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