once said, âI do not think it would be wise. But we should prepare now for eventual abolition of slavery by educating our Negroes and giving them opportunities to learn a trade and earn their independence.â As an independent merchantâs son, he tended to equate freedom with free enterprise.
At college, John Jay had decided upon a career in law. An older brother, James, had already joined the family import-export business and was more or less running it while Peter Jay, now semiretired, busied himself managing his big farm and country estate in Rye.
John Jayâs decision to become a lawyer had made his father a little nervous. The law had become the most snobbish ofprofessions in New York and, through such institutions as The Moot club, had become an elite fraternity that welcomed no outsiders. A few years earlier, an association of New York lawyers had adopted a resolution designed to keep the profession, and the business, to themselves. It was a perfect catch-22 rule: No one could become a lawyer who had not apprenticed as a clerk, while, on the other hand, no clerk âwho proposed to enter the professionâ could be hired. But this stricture had proven to be impossible to enforce, and it had been loosened a bit. Clerks, the legal profession had conceded, could in fact train to be lawyers and even be licensed as such, but âunder such restrictions as will greatly impede the lower class of the people from creeping in.â Would his son be deemed a gentleman enough to be a lawyer, or would he be labeled a lower-class creeper? This worried Peter Jay.
Then, in the spring of 1763, when John Jay was in his last year at Kingâs College, an incident occurred that could have ruined his career forever.
It seemed that, as a lark, a group of high-spirited young students had decided to set upon and smash a certain table that sat in a corner of College Hall. The sounds of splintering furniture attracted several professors to the scene, who proceeded to summon Dr. Myles Cooper, the college president, who was not amused. He lined the errant students up in military fashion and asked each young man, in turn, two questions: âDid you break the table?â and âDo you know who did?â To both questions, the young men answered âNoâ as Dr. Cooper moved down the line. Near the end of the line, the president approached Jay. âMr. Jay, did you break the table?â Dr. Cooper asked. âNo,â was the reply. âDo you know who did?â âYes,â replied John Jay.
Dr. Cooper then demanded to know the names of those responsible for the nefarious deed, to which John Jay responded with a lawyerly argument in which he pointed out that nowhere in the collegeâs regulations was there a rule that required a man to inform on his fellow students. Dr. Cooper was unimpressed, and John Jay was given a one-year suspension from Kingâs College over the affair. Returning the following year, however, Jay completed his studies with honors and, in front of His Majestyâs Council, General Thomas Gage, and other colonial worthies, he delivered an impressive dissertation on the blessings of peace and was given his bachelorâs degree in 1764.
Two weeks later, in return for the sum of two hundred dollars, he was admitted as a clerk-apprentice in the offices of Mr. Benjamin Kissam, a barrister âeminent in the profession,â to serve for five years. He completed his training in four years, was admitted to the New York bar in 1768, and was ready for the next step upwardâthe dynastic marriage.
John Jay may have seen himself as a man more suited to the contemplative life of âa College or a Village,â but his lively and ambitious young wife saw herself as someone cut out for far more than that. Sarah Livingston Jay was a woman who seemed to be designed for grand entrances, for great, theatrical descents down marble staircases, for red carpets and gilded
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