Pioneer Profiles – April 2021
I recently came across a March 1862 letter that Cornelius Beekman wrote to his parents in New York. After talking about how tough the winter had been locally, he wrote, “I must have a girl some way and can not get one in this Country to suit me…. I would like it if I could get a girl about 12 years old; I however want one of good disposition (with amiable manners).” He even asked if one of his uncles might have a girl they would spare.
My initial response was “What on earth!” Upon reading further, I learned that Beekman wanted someone to keep his wife Julia company while he worked until ten or eleven o’clock at the Beekman Bank every night.
Still the notion of having a girl sent from across the country seemed strange until Tim Colvig shared a letter written in 1959 by his great aunt, Helen Colvig Gale Cook, in which she reminisced about growing up in Jacksonville’s Colvig household in the late 1800s. In it, Helen talks about “‘hired girls’…an institution of that by-gone era,” noting that they could not possibly be put in the same class as servant or maids. I’ll let Helen tell you about them from her perspective:
“They were big, healthy, buxom, willing country girls who deemed it a privilege to be paid two dollars and a half—sometimes less—for living with a large family in town and doing all the heavy work and getting their room and board besides. They came as sort of a green apprentice to learn from the Lady of the house how to cook, sew, and tend babies in between chores of washing, ironing and scrubbing—even milking the cow if there was no one else about to do that. The dishwashing in such a large family as ours was a tremendous task three times a day, with all the water required for it to be drawn out of a well, and heated on a wood stove. Such piles of dishes!
“Aside from us five Colvig children there were two orphaned cousins living with us; then there always seemed to be a school teacher about whom Mama had invited to live with us awhile because the teacher couldn’t find a place to suit her in which to live. Jacksonville being the County Seat was over run with people from out of town whenever Court was in session so Dad was always bringing some client of his to a meal or to stay a few nights, also other lawyers who lived out of town and had to be in Jacksonville when their cases came up. We never counted relations as extras, even when they arrived in hordes. There was always enough to eat, hay and a place in the barn for their horses, and any or all of us children would gladly give up our beds to the visitors and sleep rolled up on the parlor floor if necessary.
“Did the hired girl complain, rebel, give notice to quit or demand higher wages? She did not. Instead she made up extra beds, washed piles and piles of dishes, laundered stacks of sheets, table cloths and napkins, towels and even some of the clothes of the visitors along with the regular family washing, which was no small item in itself. She was one of the family and it was hard sometimes to tell whether she or Mama was the hostess in that house. She aimed to please and she did it enthusiastically, cheerfully and tirelessly.
“These girls came to work for us and each one of them stayed years and years. None ever quit or was fired, and it was with tears on both sides that we parted when each one finally left to get married. The hired girl was always treated as one of the family. She ate at the table with us and in the afternoons and evenings when the work was done she sat in the living-room with us. Dad corrected her grammar and pronunciation of words just as he did us and Mama taught her manners and the art of fine embroidery. She shared our sorrows and joys and accompanied us on picnics and other family outings.”
Helen’s younger brother Vance “Pinto” Colvig (Bozo the Clown) recalled a particular “hired girl,” Ellen (Elly) Young Wilson, in his memoir, Clowns Is People:
“(Elly) was a darn good looker—no paint, powder or lipstick, but whatta complexion…. Come from somewhere back in the Ozarks. Was always talking about some relative who lived in (of all places) Knob Noster, Missouri.
“Elly used expressions like: ‘I’m s’hongry I cud eat a raw jackass ‘n’ a han’fulla greens.’ And: ‘I dun et s’much you could crack a flea on m’ belly!’ And another: ‘Ha! What you’uns call grave-eye, we’uns back thar in Missouri call SOP.’
“When we’d say: ‘No fooling, Elly, is that a fact?’ She’d answer: ‘Humph! Wa-al I should rather snicker than grin if it wa’nt!’”
Inevitably, not all hired girls had positive experiences. In an oral interview, regional historian Ben Truwe recorded a less than stellar experience his grandmother had back in Minnesota around 1910 when she was about 14. Her eighth-grade teacher had arranged Winnifred Truwe’s room and board with her own mother so that Winnie could attend high school in the nearby town. However, the eighth-grade teacher’s mother proved to be mentally unstable, Winnie was not allowed to go out or have friends over, and her new high school teacher was sarcastic and belittled the students. Winnie decided she wanted no more of that and returned home!
The tradition of “hired girl” continued well into the mid-20th Century, at least in Europe. When I was studying in Florence, Italy in the late 1960s, the Italian senora I boarded with had been a hired girl. She still brought in young girls from her hometown mountain village and taught them all the household skills. Then she would send them back home “to find good husbands.”
We do not know if Cornelius found his 12-year-old girl in 1862, but Louise Ensele, who worked for the Beekman family from about 1905 to 1917 certainly was a hired girl. Louise was one of 12 children. She had dropped out of high school and gone to work to help support her family.
While Louise certainly tended to the household chores, in many ways Carrie Beekman treated Louise as her protégé. Carrie helped Louise complete her education and also taught her to play the piano and organ. Louise was viewed as both hired girl and companion and often accompanied the family when they went visiting and even occasionally on trips. Louise had her own bedroom with her own entrance; she was paid $20 to $25 a month; and she had one day a week off.
When Louise married Floyd Minear in 1917, the Beekmans gave the couple a silver flatware service as a wedding present. However, they omitted the knives—so as not to “cut the friendship.” Carrie Beekman maintained a relationship with Louise even after the latter’s marriage, and she sent Louise $50 every Christmas until 1959, the year Carrie died.
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Featured image: Floyd Minear and Louise Ensele on their wedding day in 1917