The Sporting Life
“Healthy sports,” said Mrs. Astor, are “a well-earned diversion” for gentlemen in business and the professions. She bypassed ladies’ athletic endeavors; but the playgrounds of the Gilded Age Four Hundred were alive with men’s and ladies’ games and competitions, and their waterways foamed with bathers and boaters.
In the city, the men’s New York Athletic Club (founded in 1868) offered amateur boxing (sparring), fencing, and wrestling and later on squash and racquet ball, together with track and field and rowing on Long Island Sound, where the club had a second location called Travers Island (named for William R. Travers, the businessman who arranged to purchase the property in 1886). A New York gentleman might also install a gymnasium in his country house. George Vanderbilt’s Biltmore estate in Asheville, North Carolina, featured an indoor tiled swimming tank and dumbbells for workouts. The Gilded Age college men of Harvard had the Hemenway Gymnasium and Holmes Field. (Theodore Roosevelt trotted around the field in a red football jersey in his student days in the mid-1870s.) College women, meanwhile, exercised in the gymnasium at Mount Holyoke and in the open air and inside the “Calisthenium” at Vassar. They embraced basketball as a favorite team sport and competed hotly against Smith College. When plans were under way for the Colony Club, a women’s “athletic and social club” in the city, the socialites Mary Harriman and Helen Barney demanded squash courts and a “running-track.” (Colony Club charter member Daisy Harriman recalled, however, that she never saw a club member on the track.)
Boating
At the tiller or hoisting canvas, an afternoon on the waters of Narragansett Bay was hands-on recreation for lads and lassies under sail in the summertime at Newport. Some took up the oars to power a dinghy along the shoreline, while cutters and catboats offered the basics of small craft sailing. Hoisting a mainsail, fastening lines, tying knots were just a few challenges for day sailors who welcomed the chilly splash of salt spray and the fresh breezes that filled their sails and sent their craft scudding through little whitecaps when the waters stirred. Whether running downwind or tacking in a zigzag, the amateur sailors delighted to be offshore in a vessel powered solely by wind.
Most day sailors were boys and young men, but younger ladies of the Four Hundred raced broad-beamed catboats in the Newport harbor. Each single-sail boat was captained by a lady with a one-person crew. According to Daisy Harriman, the races were usually won by Anna Sands in her “fast little boat called Mr. Brown.” Harriman lamented that her own boat was “clumsy,” her maneuvers at the tiller awkward, and her brother-in-law crewman’s effort to speed the craft by slicking the hull with Vaseline a failure. She recalled, “He was as keen to have me win as if it were an international event.”
Polo
“A marvelous game where sheer sportsmanship of man and beast is called to its highest pitch,” gushed Daisy Harriman, recalling the equestrian sport introduced to Newport by the New York newspaper heir James Gordon Bennett Jr. (1841–1918), who brought his string of “Texan and Mexican ponies” to Newport and imported a polo team from England to play against him. Gordon Bennett, as he was known, showed “a manner at once imperious, magnetic, suave, and abrupt.” (“His air is that of a man accustomed to being obeyed,” wrote Francis G. Fairfield in The Clubs of New York.) On match days in summer, “a gay crowd of onlookers” gathered at Izzard’s Field, formerly the estate of a Charleston family, to watch “polo at Newport.” Small boys fringed the grass, while the Four Hundred were ringed about in coaches, phaetons, and dogcarts. Remarked May Van Rensselaer, “There is no more brilliant sight than the ranks of handsomely appointed equipages, the gaily dressed women mixed with the bright uniforms of the players.” The Newport doyenne Maud Elliott best captured the scene:
I see Bennett tearing across the field, riding like a wild Indian, brandishing his stick over his head like a weapon, blood streaming down his face from a wound on his forehead; a frantic scrimmage—men, ponies, ball and sticks all mixed up in one gorgeous melée. I hear the thud of the ponies’ hoofs as they gallop by, the resounding whacks of the sticks, the panting of men and beasts, the nervous whinny of a pony, the excited oath of a man—for they “swore awful in polo.”
Mrs. Harriman agreed that polo was “the most thrilling sport pageant in the world” but confessed her quandary: “Which was more glorious at Newport, yachting or polo, I could never decide.”
Bathing
At the Newport shoreline, Bailey’s Beach offered “a dip in the sea at the society bathing-grounds on which the public were not permitted to trespass.” Guarded by a low wall, Bailey’s Beach, according to May Van Rensselaer, was “the favorite bathing beach of the fashionable world.” Elizabeth Lehr called it “Newport’s most exclusive club.” A syndicate called the Spouting Rock Beach Association (a.k.a. Bailey’s Beach) purchased the beach in the little cove in 1896, having constructed one hundred new oceanfront bathhouses and a pavilion. It was guarded by a “watchman in his gold-laced uniform” who “protected its sanctity from all interlopers.” (“He knew every carriage on sight, fixed newcomers with an eagle eye, swooped down upon them and demanded their names.”) Those who did not have proper credentials were dispatched to Easton’s Beach, “the Common Beach,” as the habitués of Bailey’s were wont to call it.
Some few ventured to swim, but a lady’s bathing costume, when wet, almost nullified the effort. The apparel for Bailey’s Beach (or any seashore of the Gilded Age) was better termed a “bathing dress.” Manners, Culture and Dress of the Best American Society detailed the fabric and shape of the garment, which “should be made of flannel.” A “gray tint” was advisable because “it does not soon fade and grow ugly from contact with salt water.” The “best” style was either a “loose sacque” or “yoke waist.” The dress was belted at the waist, and the skirt reached “midway between the knee and the ankle.” Beneath this dress were “full trowsers” with the pant legs “gathered” into bands at each ankle. An “oilskin cap” was suggested “to protect the hair, which becomes harsh in salt water.” A pair of “socks the color of the dress complete the costume.”
Undaunted by the flannel, “the flower of the smart set” all crowded “the picturesque club- and bath-houses” of the “Bailey’s Beach Bathing Association” during the summer months. May Van Rensselaer described the scene. “During the morning, the sands are covered with maids and children who splash the water and make sand castles, while the air resounds with merry cries and laughter.” Strolling the beach or lolling “under the shade of the outspread awnings,” she continued, were the young men, matrons, and young women who were also called “maids” (not to be confused with the servants tending the children). Occasionally “a frolicksome matron gives a lunch or a tea on the beach,” and the sight is “droll”: “the bathers in their scanty dress being served by footmen tightly buttoned in the smartest of trim liveries.”
Tennis
Tennis was the “new game that was putting croquet into the discard.” So said Maud Elliott, the Newport matron who in This Was My Newport recalled that “one of the earliest courts in America” was “laid out on the grounds” of the Bellevue Avenue estate of Society’s prominent Mrs. Paran Stevens. The credit for tennis in Newport, however, went to Mrs. Paran’s neighbor, the wealthy sportsman Gordon Bennett, who founded the Newport Casino. A social center for the Four Hundred, the Casino drew groups for bridge, dining, music, or summer theatrical performances. The grass courts at the heart of the Casino signaled one sport only: tennis.
The Casino opened in 1880, and Maud Elliott, an early enthusiast, described the first match between champion Richard Dudley (“Dick”) Sears and Dr. James Dwight of Boston. “They wore knickerbockers,” she recalled, and “blazers, caps, belts, cravats, woolen stockings, and rubber soled canvas shoes.” There was no grandstand, and the spectators “sat on camp stools in a space roped off outside the courts.” Soon a grandstand rose, and later private boxes. Tennis Week was a highlight of the summer, “the third week in August,” wrote Elliott, “the very bull’s-eye of the season.” “It is a dazzling sight,” recalled May Van Rensselaer, “when the lawns are covered with well-dressed women, whose jewels sparkle in the sunlight, rivalling the brilliancy of their eyes.” Beautiful women with “gay parasols,” however, proved distracting for the players and prompted national tournaments to relocate elsewhere. Maud Elliott rued the fact that “Newport’s whole attitude toward tennis was social rather than sporting.” Society might ask, How could she think otherwise?
Archery and Croquet
The Archery Club of Newport was organized by Louis Rutherford, doubtless to please his daughter, Daisy, who never managed to win its annual prize, a gold bracelet that was “worn for many years by Miss Fannie Russell, the champion.” In This Was My Newport, Maud Elliott regretted that she “never bent a bow” but “longed to have a try at it,” for archery was “the most graceful of sports.” May Van Rensselaer agreed that “the graceful dames who created Newport as a fashionable summer resort . . . devoted themselves to such mild sports as . . . archery.” Edith Wharton, who spent summers at Newport as a member of the Four Hundred, saw the grace of the bow and arrow as an opportunity for her novel The Age of Innocence, set in the 1870s and featuring a young matron who wins first prize in archery in the Newport season. With “bow and arrow in hand,” she steps to the “chalk-mark traced on the turf,” lifts the bow to her shoulder, takes aim, and hits the target with goddess “Diana-like aloofness,” vanquishing all rivals. Wharton’s readers immediately suspect, correctly, that this modern-day goddess of the hunt will prevail over a possibly wayward spouse.
Wharton’s “Diana” wears a white dress “with a pale green ribbon about the waist” and a hat wreathed in ivy. The costume for Newport croquet with its wickets, stakes, balls, and mallets was sharply different, according to Manners, Culture and Dress of the Best American Society. The fashionable lady on the croquet ground was urged to seek “brilliancy in color” and a skirt short enough to reveal “a handsomely fitting boot.” “Croquet gloves should be soft and washable,” and the hat should be broad brimmed “so as to shield the face from the sun and render a parasol unnecessary.” “We children played croquet at any hour that pleased us,” Elliott recalled, but “formal croquet parties of the elders were held in the afternoon.” She regretted the frequent “cheating in croquet” and concluded, “It is hardly human to resist the temptation of pushing the ball into a position where one stroke will carry it through a wicket, when the other player is busy at the other end of the ground.”
Golf
Golf took “whole cow pastures to play in,” remarked Daisy Harriman, “and effete millionaires that tagged around after balls no larger than a parrot’s egg.” The acerbic Mrs. Harriman lost no love for the game newly come from Scotland to Newport. An equally tart chronicler of Newport, May Van Rensselaer, described the golf course “perched on the rocks near the ocean” and “attracting the men and maids who love to play with a stick and a ball.” Founded in 1893, the Newport Country Club soon had a clubhouse featuring locker rooms, dining facilities, and a piazza suitable for evening balls. “A good chef” was among the “glittering possibilities” envisioned by backers Gordon Bennett, Harry Payne Whitney, and Herbert Harriman, who hoped “to make the restaurant popular for supper and dinner parties” (and envisioned commuting by yacht to the links via a canal to be cut across Newport, a project that remained a pipedream). Maud Elliott boasted that the first amateur championship of the newly formed United States Golf Association was played on the Newport Country Club links in the summer of 1895. She pointed out that women were welcomed into the game: “The Newport Club was one of the first where women’s playing was encouraged.” Daisy Harriman, for her part, conceded that golf “has led the tired businessman into green fields and pastures new, and his wife and daughter into comfortable clothes.” She lamented nonetheless that the game had ruined evening conversations. Witty repartee had lost out to entire evenings of tedious “golf post-mortems.”
Cycling
From salaried clerks to millionaires, the bicycle was de rigueur by the 1890s. “There is no question now but that bicycling has become a society fad,” said Leslie’s Weekly in May 1895, warning that failure to own a “wheel” was now “a serious detriment to one’s life.” Cycling was promoted for health and social recreation in the city and in Newport: “To the rich it gives a healthy distraction and amusement, as vivifying as it is innocent.” Across the pond in England and Europe, members of royal families were cycling, including Czar Nicholas II of Russia, who frustrated the guards scrambling to keep pace with him.
The “velocipede” had evolved from the early 1800s, when the “mechanical horse” was at best an awkward contraption. The US Gilded Age and the bicycle moved in tandem. The post–Civil War years saw Pierre Michaux, a French blacksmith, devise an ingenious two-wheeler that was propelled by foot pedals and a crank at the front axle. The safety bicycle frame was modernized by the chain and gears that shifted propulsion to the rear wheel and allowed the cyclist to pedal comfortably in an upright position, arms out and hands gripping the handlebars. The spring-cushioned seat absorbed shocks, and the coaster brake efficiently slowed or stopped the “metal steed.” Inflated pneumatic tires also helped soften the ride on bumpy surfaces.
Cycling clubs included New York’s exclusive Michaux Cycling Club, founded by Mr. Elisha Dyer and other gentlemen. They cycled in Central Park or along Riverside Drive, and they organized Bicycle Teas, afternoons of cycling capped with the beverage suitable for ladies and gentlemen. (“It was evident,” said Leslie’s, “that they preferred riding in parties rather than alone.”) In the park, the cyclists found themselves accompanied by cycling policemen who at times reined in runaway horses and otherwise kept order.
However, just as horsemanship was best mastered in remote settings away from inquisitive eyes, so was bicycling best learned out of sight of those who were amused by “innumerable falls.” (Cautioned Cosmopolitan magazine, “The process of learning to ride is apt to be a trifle fatiguing and is productive of both annoyance and bewilderment.”) Attitude was everything: “The best way . . . is to visit in a humble and cheerful spirit one of the bicycling academies.” One caveat was specific to ladies, how “impossible for a woman who has not the control of her nerves to be a successful bicyclist.”
The lessons often took place indoors in cavernous sites such as an armory. Among the students were ladies of the Four Hundred, including Mrs. William Jay, Mrs. Clement Moore, and Mrs. Charles U. Francklyn. Reported Leslie’s, “They were taught by a colored man who now does not hesitate to say he has more money than he ever thought he should see together in his whole life.” The news from Paris that ladies of the smart set were cycling in the Bois de Boulogne spurred their American sisters to ride on Riverside Drive in the early morning hours, “conspicuous and decidedly daring” but nonetheless determined. Their conservative friends were “at first horrified, then interested,” and at last became “enthusiasts.”
Newport embraced the bicycle. May Van Rensselaer recalled the “bewildering rapidity” of traffic on Bellevue Avenue—bicycles weaving among the victorias, the omnibuses, and baby carriages. Said Leslie’s, “It was a pretty sight on Bellevue Avenue at Newport to see . . . Mrs. Ogden Mills and her daughters and all the other women in their smart duck suits and simple shirtwaists, riding along for dear life.” The informal cycling attire required considerable forethought. On horseback, the ladies rode sidesaddle, their skirts flowing along the horse’s flank. But the bicycle frame must be straddled, and a long skirt was apt to be caught in the spokes, “entangling the skirt.” The bicycle, said Cosmopolitan, “demands a more or less radical change in costume.” English women favored “a modification of the shooting dress.” The French “have characteristically adopted many fantastic and daring dresses . . . and all variety of theatrical dress.”
Shunning flamboyant stage wear, New York ladies of the Four Hundred such as Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt and Mrs. Harry McVickar summoned leading tailors to outfit them for the bicycle pathways of the city and Newport. Both chose dark fabrics, favoring cheviot wool, mohair, and serge for the city and cotton duck for Newport. All American women cyclists were advised to don trouser-like undergarments called knickerbockers, short skirts, and hats “undecorated” with flowers. Women and men alike wore gaiters (a cloth or leather wrap around the lower leg), low-heeled shoes, and soft shirts or, for ladies, shirtwaist blouses, some with ballooning mutton sleeves. Cool weather called for cutaway jackets for women and jackets at all times for gentlemen. Bicycle gloves completed the ensemble. The experience was “without parallel,” for “the whole body becomes alive, the circulation is increased, indigestion cured, and nerves forgotten.” In sum, exclaimed Cosmopolitan, “This wonderful machine has brought health, happiness, and a new life.”