querulous

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It was quite a change from the reign of that proper old Dutchman Peter Stuyvesant In place of the peg-leg Protestant, we had as governor under the English a tastefully rouged and beautifully gowned lady. One thing remained the same however; both Governors Stuyvesant and Cornbury were men.

This twisted tale of political corruption and gender confusion occurred a century after the changeover from Dutch to English rule. Although Stuyvesant had been a lion rampart, ready to the guns for king and country, his ever more practical underlings saw defense of the colony as impractical and decided to see to the main chance.

So Stuyvesant was left alone and unaided, having to surrender his beloved city to that loathsome enemy, the English. Imagine how much more repulsive when the English stopped merely appointing non-entities and decided on a character with a screw loose to be our new governor. Thus began the 400-year history of political corruption and insanity that has characterized the City of New York from the days of the Dutch, through Boss Tweed and Taminent Hall and down to the scandals of the minute.

Edward Hyde, whose titles included Lord Cornbury, and Earl of Clarendon, was a cousin of Queen Anne, who governed this largely Dutch speaking city between 1702 and 1708. He was a man of legendary avarice, gall and flamboyance like so many New York City mayors still to be born. But he did them one better. At least they kept their pants on. Stories abound of his having adopted women's garb under the theory that since he was the Queen's cousin, he was to represent her in every way. A portrait alleged to be cross-dressing Cornsbury hangs in the New York Historical Society to this day.

He was also supposed to have a fetish for his wife's, "shell-like" ears which he said were the best in the empire, and to have demanded that visitors to the governor's mansion feel and admire them at length. Such demands had the salubrious effect of causing all and sundry to avoid both governor and lady and take their querulous complaints with them. And it didn't hurt that he charged an admission fee for visits as well

Then there were the stories about his transportation preferences. Always a man in a hurry in the days before subways, he was supposed to have ridden his horse into the King's Arm's tavern for liquid refreshment for both.

He was also helped institute a tradition of stealing the city blind that would endure into present day. His defalcations included stealing the money needed to defend New York against the French and giving away huge tracts of public to those who financed his own ever-growing debt. His wife was a kleptomaniac too. Citizens on whom they paid call often noticed the odd bauble gone missing. But fear not, all was well. Within a few days they would be afforded the opportunity to repurchase the item that had briefly graced the governor's mansion—at a slight mark-up of course.

Then there was his legendary cost-savings ideas. Modern mayors could well copy his novel formula for cutting down on the expense of running the official residence. He instituted a court in the manner of his cousin's in London and all the daughters of the best families vied to take their place in it. Foreseeing a future as ladies in training, learning the arts of courtesy and embroidery, they were well shocked to discover that all of the servants had been discharged and they were to be the replacements. Their parents descended in force on the governor to retrieve their daughters.

Finally the pleas and imprecations of the imposed upon burghers of New York reached London and he was recalled. He was promptly clapped into debtor's prison upon setting foot to land and remained there for the next year until the fortuitous death of his father provided the means to settle his American bills.

Although all of these stories have been documented in countless books and records throughout the history of the city, one should know that character assassination was the blood sport of the Enlightenment and that many of these tales had their origins with people who had an ax to grind. However, in the classic lines of John Ford's The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend."

Sources:

The History of New York, Bill Harris
Chapter 2, pages:. 35-39
Portland House, div. Dilithium Press
Distributed by Crown Publishers, Inc.
1989 edition